FORS  CLAVIGERA 


Lktters  to  the  Workmen  and  Labourers 
OF  Great  Britain 

COMPLETE  IN  FOUR  VOLUMES 

VOLUMES  I  AND  11 


BV 

JOHN  RUSKIN,  M.A. 

AUTHOR  OF  "the  SEVEN  LAMPS  OF  ARCHITECTURE,"  "THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE," 
"sesame  and   lilies,"  ETC. 


ALDINE 


BOSTON 
BOOK  PUBLISHING 

PUBLISHERS 


CO. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


LETTER  I. 

Denmark  Hill, 

Ist  January^  1871. 

Friends, 

We  begin  to-day  another  group  of  ten  years,  not  in  happy 
circumstances.  Although,  for  the  time,  exempted  from  the 
direct  calamities  which  have  fallen  on  neighbouring  states, 
believe  me,  we  have  not  escaped  them  because  of  our  better 
deservings,  nor  by  our  better  wisdom  ;  but  only  for  one  of 
two  bad  reasons,  or  for  both  :  either  that  we  have  not  sense 
enough  to  determine  in  a  great  national  quarrel  which  side  is 
right,  or  that  w^e  have  not  courage  to  defend  the  right, 
when  w^e  have  discerned  it. 

I  believe  that  both  these  bad  reasons  exist  in  full  force  ; 
that  our  own  political  divisions  prevent  us  from  understand- 
ing the  laws  of  international  justice  ;  and  that,  even  if  we 
did,  we  should  not  dare  to  defend,  perhaps  not  even  to  assert 
them,  being  on  this  first  of  January,  1871,  in  much  bodily 
fear  ;  that  is  to  say,  afraid  of  the  Russiaifs  ;  afraid  of  the 
Prussians  ;  afraid  of  the  Americans  ;  afraid  of  the  Hindoos  ; 
afraid  of  the  Chinese  ;  afraid  of  the  Japanese  ;  afraid  of  the 
New  Zealanders  ;  and  afraid  of  the  Caffres  :  and  very  justly 
so,  being  conscious  that  our  only  real  desire  respecting  any 
of  these  nations  has  been  to  get  as  much  out  of  them  as  we 
could. 

They  have  no  right  to  complain  of  us,  notwithstanding 


4 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


since  we  have  all,  lately,  lived  ourselves  in  the  daily  endeavour 
to  get  as  much  out  of  our  neighbours  and  friends  as  we  could  ; 
and  having  by  this  means,  indeed,  got  a  good  deal  out  of  each 
other,  and  put  nothing  into  each  other,  the  actually  obtained 
result,  this  day,  is  a  state  of  emptiness  in  purse  and  stomach, 
for  the  solace  of  which  our  boasted  "  insular  position  "  is  in- 
effectual. 

I  have  listened  to  many  ingenious  persons,  who  say  we  are 
better  off  now  than  ever  we  were  before.  I  do  not  know  how 
well  off  we  were  before  ;  but  I  know  positively  that  many 
very  deserving  persons  of  my  acquaintance  have  great  diffi- 
culty in  living  under  these  improved  circumstances  :  also, 
that  my  desk  is  full  of  begging  letters,  eloquently  written 
either  by  distressed  or  dishonest  people  ;  and  that  we  cannot 
be  called,  as  a  nation,  well  off,  while  so  many  of  us  are  living 
either  in  honest  or  in  villanous  beggary. 

For  my  own  part,  I  will  put  up  with  this  state  of  things, 
passively,  not  an  hour  longer.  I  am  not  an  unselfish  person, 
nor  an  Evangelical  one  ;  I  have  no  particular  pleasure  in  do- 
ing good  ;  neither  do  I  dislike  doing  it  so  much  as  to  expect 
to  be  rewarded  for  it  in  another  world.  But  I  simply  cannot 
paint,  nor  read,  nor  look  at  minerals,  nor  do  anything  else 
that  I  like,  and  the  very  light  of  the  morning  sky,  when  there 
is  any — which  is  seldom,  now-a-days,  near  London — has  be- 
come hateful  to  me,  because  of  the  misery  that  I  know  of, 
and  see  signs  of,  where  I  know  it  not,  which  no  imagination 
can  interpret  too  bitterly. 

Therefore,  as  I  have  said,  I  will  endure  it  no  longer  quietly  ; 
but  henceforward,  with  any  few  or  many  who  will  help,  do 
my  poor  best  to  abate  this  misery.  But  that  I  may  do  my 
best,  I  must  not  be  miserable  myself  any  longer  ;  for  no  man 
who  is  wretched  in  his  own  heart,  and  feeble  in  his  own  work, 
can  rightly  help  others. 

Now  my  own  special  pleasure  has  lately  been  connected  with 
a  given  duty.  I  have  been  ordered  to  endeavour  to  make  our 
English  youth  care  somewhat  for  the  arts  ;  and  must  put  my 
uttermost  strength  into  that  business.  To  which  end  I  must 
clear  myself  from  all  sense  of  responsibility  for  the  material 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


distress  around  me,  by  explaining  to  you,  once  for  all,  in  the 
shortest  English  I  can,  what  I  know  of  its  causes  ;  by  point- 
ing out  to  you  some  of  the  methods  by  which  it  might  bo 
relieved  ;  and  by  setting  aside  regularly  some  small  percent- 
age of  my  income,  to  assist,  as  one  of  yourselves,  in  what  one 
and  all  we  shall  have  to  do  ;  each  of  us  laying  by  something, 
according  to  our  means,  for  the  common  service  ;•  and  having 
amongst  us,  at  last,  be  it  ever  so  small,  a  national  Store  in- 
stead of  a  National  Debt.  Store  which,  once  securely  found- 
ed, will  fast  increase,  provided  only  you  take  the  pains  to 
understand,  and  have  perseverance  to  maintain,  the  ele- 
mentary principles  of  Human  Economy,  which  have,  of  late, 
not  only  been  lost  sight  of,  but  wilfully  and  formally  entombed 
under  pyramids  of  falsehood. 

And  first  I  beg  you  most  solemnly  to  convince  yourselves 
of  the  partly  comfortable,  partly  formidable  fact,  that  your 
prosperity  is  in  your  own  hands.  That  only  in  a  remote  de- 
gree does  it  depend  on  external  matters,  and  least  of  all,  on 
forms  of  Government.  In  all  times  of  trouble  the  first  thinff 
to  be  done  is  to  make  the  most  of  whatever  forms  of  gov- 
ernment you  have  got,  by  setting  honest  men  to  work  them  ; 
(the  trouble,  in  all  probability,  having  arisen  only  from  the 
want  of  such)  ;  and  for  the  rest,  you  must  in  no  wise  concern 
yourselves  about  them  :  more  particularly  it  would  be  lost 
time  to  do  so  at  this  moment,  when  whatever  is  popularly 
said  about  governments  cannot  but  be  absurd,  for  want  of 
definition  of  terms.  Consider,  for  instance,  the  ridiculuous- 
ness  of  the  division  of  parties  into  Liberal  "  and  Con- 
servative." There  is  no  opposition  whatever  between  those 
two  kinds  of  men.  There  is  opposition  between  Liberals  and 
Illiberals  ;  that  is  to  say,  between  people  who  desire  liberty, 
and  who  dislike  it.  I  am  a  violent  Illiberal  ;  but  it  does  not 
follow  that  I  must  be  a  Conservative.  A  Conservative  is  a 
person  who  wishes  to  keep  things  as  they  are  ;  and  he  is  op- 
posed to  a  Destructive,  who  wishes  to  destroy  them,  or  to  an 
Innovator,  who  wishes  to  alter  them.  Now,  though  I  am  an 
Illiberal,  there  are  many  tilings  I  should  like  to  destroy.  I 
should  like  to  destroy  most  of  the  railroads  in  England,  and 


6 


FOES  GLAVIGERA. 


all  the  railroads  in  Wales.  I  should  like  to  destroy  and  re- 
build the  Houses  of  Parliament,  the  National  Gallery,  and 
the  East  end  of  London  ;  and  to  destroy,  without  rebuilding, 
the  new  town  of  Edinburgh,  the  north  suburb  of  Geneva, 
and  the  city  of  New  STork.  Thus  in  many  things  I  am  the 
reverse  of  Conservative  ;  nay,  there  are  some  long-established 
things  which  I  hope  to  see  changed  before  I  die  ;  but  I  want 
still  to  keep  the  fields  of  England  green,  and  her  cheeks  red  ; 
and  that  girls  should  be  taught  to  curtsey,  and  boys  to  take 
their  hats  off,  when  a  professor  or  otherwise  dignified  person 
passes  by  :  and  that  kings  should  keep  their  crowns  on  their 
heads,  and  bishops  their  crosiers  in  their  hands  ;  and  should 
duly  recognize  the  significance  of  the  crown,  and  the  use  of 
the  crook. 

As  you  will  find  it  thus  impossible  to  class  me  justly  in 
either  party,  so  you  will  find  it  impossible  to  class  any  per- 
son whatever,  who  had  clear  and  developed  political  opinions, 
and  who  could  define  tliem  accurately.  Men  only  associate 
in  parties  by  sacrificing  their  opinions,  or  by  having  none 
worth  sacrificing  ;  and  the  effect  of  party  government  is 
always  to  develop  hostilities  and  hypocrisies,  and  to  ex- 
tinguish ideas. 

Thus  the  so-called  Monarchic  and  Republican  parties  have 
thrown  Europe  into  conflagration  and  shame,  merely  for 
want  of  clear  conception  of  the  things  they  imagine  them- 
selves to  fight  for.  The  moment  a  Republic  was  proclaimed  in 
France,  Garibaldi  came  to  fight  for  it  as  a  Holy  Republic." 
But  Garibaldi  could  not  know, — no  mortal  creature  could 
know, — whether  it  was  going  to  be  a  Holy  or  Profane  Re- 
public. You  cannot  evoke  any  form  of  government  by  beat 
of  drum.  The  proclamation  of  a  Government  implies  the 
considerate  acceptance  of  a  code  of  laws,  and  the  appoint- 
ment of  means  for  their  execution,  neither  of  which  things 
can  be  done  in  an  instant.  You  may  overthrow  a  govern- 
ment, and  announce  yourselves  lawless,  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  as  you  can  blow  up  a  ship,  or  upset  and  sink  one. 
But  you  can  no  more  create  a  government  with  a  word,  than 
an  iron-clad. 


FORS  OLA  no  ERA. 


7 


No  ;  nor  can  you  even  define  its  character  in  few  words  ; 
the  measure  of  sanctity  in  it  depending  on  degrees  of  justice 
in  the  administration  of  law,  which  are  often  independent  of 
form  altogether.  Generally  speaking,  the  community  of 
thieves  in  London  or  Paris  have  adopted  Republican  Institu- 
tions, and  live  at  this  day  without  any  acknowledged  Cap- 
tain or  Head  ;  but  under  Robin  Hood  brigandage  in  Eng- 
land, and  under  Sir  John  Hawkwood,  brigandage  in  Italy, 
became  strictly  Monarchical.  Theft  could  not,  merely  by  that 
dignified  form  of  government,  be  made  a  holy  manner  of 
life  ;  but  it  was  made  both  dexterous  and  decorous.  The 
pages  of  tlie  English  kniglits  under  Sir  John  Hawkwood 
spent  nearly  all  their  spare  time  in  burnishing  the  knights' 
armour,  and  made  it  always  so  bright,  that  they  were  called 
the  "White  Company."  And  the  Notary  of  Tortona,  Azario, 
tells  us  of  them,  that  those  foragers  {furatores,)  were  more 
expert  than  any  plunderers  in  Lombardy.  They  for  the 
most  part  sleep  by  day,  and  watch  by  night,  and  have  such 
plans  and  artifices  for  taking  towns,  that  never  were  the  like 
or  equal  of  them  witnessed."* 

The  actual  Prussian  expedition  into  France  merely  differs 
from  Sir  John's  in  Italy  by  being  more  generally  savage, 
much  less  enjoyable,  and  by  its  clumsier  devices  for  taking 
towns  ;  for  Sir  John  had  no  occasion  to  burn  their  libraries. 
In  neither  case  does  the  monarchical  form  of  government  be- 
stow any  Divine  right  of  theft  ;  but  it  puts  the  available 
forces  into  a  convenient  form.  Even  with  respect  to  con- 
venience only,  it  is  not  yet  determinable  by  the  evidence  of 
history,  what  is  absolutely  the  best  form  of  government  to 
live  under.  There  are,  indeed,  said  to  be  republican  villages, 
(towns  ?)  in  America,  where  everybody  is  civil,  honest,  and 
substantially  comfortable  ;  but  these  villages  have  several 
unfair  advantages — there  are  no  lawyers  in  them,  no  town 
councils,  and  no  parliaments.  Such  republicanism,  if  possible 
on  a  large  scale,  would  be  worth  fighting  for ;  though,  in  my 

*  Communicated  to  me  by  my  friend  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown,  of  Venice, 
from  hia  yet  unpublished  work  *  Tfie  English  in  Italy  ifi  the  \Uh  Cm^ 
tury.* 


8 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


own  private  mind,  I  confess  I  should  like  to  keep  a  few  law- 
yers, for  the  sake  of  their  wigs — and  the  faces  under  them— 
generally  very  grand  when  they  are  really  good  lawyers — 
and  for  their  (unprofessional)  talk.  Also,  I  should  like  to 
have  a  Parliament,  into  which  people  might  be  elected  on  con« 
dition  of  their  never  saying  anything  about  politics,  that  one 
might  still  feel  sometimes  that  one  was  acquainted  with  an 
M.  P.  In  the  meantime  Parliament  is  a  luxury  to  the  British 
squire,  and  an  honour  to  the  British  manufacturer,  which  you 
may  leave  them  to  enjoy  in  their  own  way  ;  provided  only 
you  may  make  them  always  clearly  explain,  when  they  tax 
yoU;,  what  they  want  with  your  money  ;  and  that  you  under- 
stand yourselves,  what  money  is,  and  how  it  is  got,  and  what 
it  is  good  for,  and  bad  for. 

These  matters  I  hope  to  explain  to  you  in  this  and  some 
following  letters  ;  which,  among  various  other  reasons,  it  is 
necessary  that  I  should  write  in  order  that  you  may  make  no 
mistake  as  to  the  real  economical  results  of  Art  teaching, 
whether  in  the  Universities  or  elsewhere.  I  will  begin  by 
directing  your  attention  particularly  to  that  point. 

The  first  object  of  all  work — not  the  principal  one,  but  the 
first  and  necessary  one — is  to  get  food,  clothes,  lodging,  and 
fuel. 

It  is  quite  possible  to  have  too  much  of  all  these  things.  I 
know  a  great  many  gentlemen,  who  eat  too  large  dinners  ;  a 
great  many  ladies,  who  have  too  many  clothes.  I  know  there 
is  lodging  to  spare  in  London,  for  I  have  several  houses  there 
myself,  which  I  can't  let.  And  I  know  there  is  fuel  to  spare 
everywhere,  since  we  get  up  steam  to  pound  the  roads  with, 
while  our  men  stand  idle  ;  or  drink  till  they  can't  stand,  idle, 
or  any  otherwise. 

Notwithstanding,  there  is  agonizing  distress  even  in  this 
highly-favoured  England,  in  some  classes,  for  want  of  food, 
clothes,  lodging,  and  fuel.  And  it  has  become  a  popular  idea 
among  the  benevolent  and  ingenious,  that  you  may  in  great 
part  remedy  these  deficiencies  by  teaching,  to  these  starving 
and  shivering  persons,  Science  and  Art.  In  their  way — as  I 
do  not  doubt  you  will  believe — I  am  very  fond  of  both  ;  and 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA, 


9 


I  am  sure  it  will  be  beneficial  for  the  British  nation  to  be  leclr 
ured  upon  the  merits  of  Michael  Angelo,  and  the  nodes  of 
the  Moon.  But  I  should  strongly  object  myself  to  being  lect- 
ured on  eitlier,  while  I  was  hungry  and  cold  ;  and  I  suppose 
the  same  view  of  the  matter  would  be  taken  by  the  greater 
number  of  British  citizens  in  those  predicaments.  So  that,  1 
am  convinced,  their  present  eagerness  for  instruction  in  paint- 
ing and  astronomy  proceeds  from  an  impression  in  their  minds 
that,  somehow,  they  may  paint  or  star-gaze  themselves  into 
clothes  and  victuals.  Now  it  is  perfectly  true  that  you  may 
sometimes  sell  a  picture  for  a  thousand  pounds  ;  but  the 
chances  are  greatly  against  your  doing  so — much  more  than 
the  chances  of  a  lottery.  In  the  first  place,  you  must  paint  a 
very  clever  picture  ;  and  the  chances  are  greatly  against  your 
doing  that.  In  the  second  place,  you  must  meet  with  an 
amiable  picture-dealer  ;  and  the  chances  are  somewhat  against 
your  doing  that.  In  the  third  place,  the  amiable  picture- 
dealer  must  meet  with  a  fool  ;  and  the  chances  are  not 
always  in  favour  even  of  his  doing  that — though,  as  I  gave 
exactly  the  sum  in  question  for  a  picture,  myself,  only  the 
other  day,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say  so.  Assume,  however,  to 
put  the  case  most  favourably,  that  what  with  the  practical 
results  of  the  energies  of  Mr.  Cole  at  Kensington,  and  the 
aesthetic  impressions  produced  by  various  lectures  at  Cam- 
bridge and  Oxford,  the  profits  of  art  employment  might  be 
counted  on  as  a  rateable  income.  Suppose  even  that  the 
ladies  of  the  richer  classes  should  come  to  delight  no  less  in 
new  pictures  than  in  new  dresses  ;  and  that  picture-making 
should  thus  become  as  constant  and  lucrative  an  occupation 
as  dress-making.  Still,  you  know,  they  can't  buy  pictures 
and  dresses  too.  If  they  buy  two  pictures  a  day,  they  can't 
buy  two  dresses  a  day  ;  or  if  they  do,  they  must  save  in  some- 
thing else.  They  have  but  a  certain  income,  be  it  never  so 
large.  They  spend  that,  now  ;  and  you  can't  get  more  out 
of  them.  Even  if  they  lay  by  money,  the  time  comes  when 
somebody  must  spend  it.  You  will  find  that  they  do  verily 
spend  now  all  they  have,  neither  more  nor  less.  If  ever  they 
seem  to  spend  more,  it  is  only  by  running  in  debt  and  not 


10 


FOES  GLAVIGERA. 


uaying  ;  if  tliey  for  a  time  spend  less,  some  day  the  overplus 
must  come  into  circulation.  All  they  have,  they  spend  ;  more 
than  that,  they  cannot  at  any  time  :  less  than  that,  they  can 
only  for  a  short  time. 

Whenever,  therefore,  any  new  industry,  such  as  this  of 
picture-making,  is  invented,  of  v/hich  the  profits  depend  on 
patronage,  it  merely  means  that  you  have  effected  a  diversion 
of  the  current  of  money  in  your  own  favour,  and  to  somebody 
else's  loss.  Nothing  really  has  been  gained  by  the  nation, 
though  probably  much  time  and  wit,  as  well  as  sundry  peo- 
ple's senses,  have  been  lost.  Before  such  a  diversion  can  be 
effected,  a  great  many  kind  things  must  have  been  done  ;  a 
great  deal  of  excellent  advice  given  ;  and  an  immense  quan- 
tity of  ingenious  trouble  taken  :  the  arithmetical  course  of 
the  business  throughout,  being,  that  for  every  penny  you  are 
yourself  better,  somebody  else  is  a  penny  the  worse  ;  and 
the  net  result  of  the  whole  precisely  zero. 

Zero,  of  course,  I  mean,  so  far  as  money  is  concerned.  It 
may  be  more  dignified  for  working  women  to  paint  than  to 
embroider  ;  and  it  may  be  a  very  charming  piece  of  self-de- 
nial, in  a  young  lady,  to  order  a  liigh  art  fresco  instead  of  a 
ball-dress  ;  but  as  far  as  cakes  and  ale  are  concerned,  it  is 
all  the  same, — there  is  but  so  much  money  to  be  got  by  you, 
or  spent  by  her,  and  not  one  fartiiing  more,  usually  a  great 
deal  less,  by  high  art,  than  by  low.  Zero,  also,  observe,  I 
mean  partly  in  a  complimentary  sense  to  the  work  executed. 
If  you  have  done  no  good  by  painting,  at  least  you  have  done 
no  serious  mischief.  A  bad  picture  is  indeed  a  dull  thing  to 
have  in  a  house,  and  in  a  certain  sense  a  mischievous  thing  ; 
but  it  won't  blow  the  roof  off.  Whereas,  of  most  things 
which  the  English,  French,  and  Germans  are  paid  for  mak- 
ing now-a-days, — cartridges,  cannon,  and  the  like, — you  know 
the  best  thing  we  can  possibly  hope  is  that  they  may  be  us©* 
less,  and  the  net  result  of  them,  zero. 

The  thing,  therefore,  that  you  have  to  ascertain,  approxi- 
mately, in  order  tp  determine  on  some  consistent  organiza- 
tion, is  the  maximum  of  wages-fund  you  have  to  depend  on 
to  start  with,  that  is  to  say,  virtually,  the  sum  of  the  income. 


FOBS  GLAVWERA. 


11 


of  the  gentlemen  of  England.  Do  not  trouble  yourselves  at 
first  about  France  or  Germany,  or  any  other  foreign  coun- 
try. The  principle  of  Free-trade  is,  that  French  gentlemen 
should  employ  English  workmen,  for  whatever  the  English 
can  do  better  than  the  French  ;  and  that  English  gentlemen 
should  employ  French  workmen,  for  whatever  the  French 
can  do  better  than  the  English.  It  is  a  very  right  principle, 
but  merely  extends  the  question  to  a  wider  field.  Suppose, 
for  the  present,  that  France,  and  every  other  country  but 
your  own,  were — what  I  suppose  you  would,  if  you  had  your 
way,  like  them  to  be — sunk  under  water,  and  that  England 
were  the  only  country  in  the  world.  Then,  how  would  you 
live  in  it  most  comfortably  ?  Find  out  that,  and  you  will 
then  easilv  find  out  liow  two  countries  can  exist  toirether  : 
or  more,  not  only  without  need  for  fighting,  but  to  each 
other's  advantage. 

For,  indeed,  the  laws  by  which  two  next-door  neigbours 
might  live  most  happily — the  one  not  being  the  better  for 
his  neighbor's  poverty,  but  the  worse,  and  the  better  for  his 
neighbor's  prosperity — are  those  also  by  which  it  is  conven- 
ient and  wise  for  two  parishes,  two  provinces  or  two  king- 
doms to  live  side  by  side.  And  the  nature  of  every  commer- 
cial and  military  operation  which  takes  place  in  Europe,  or 
in  the  world,  may  always  be  best  investigated  by  supposing 
it  limited  to  the  districts  of  a  single  country.  Kent  and 
Northumberland  exchange  hops  and  coals  on  precisely  the 
same  economical  principles  as  Italy  and  England  exchange 
oil  for  iron  ;  and  the  essential  character  of  the  war  between 
Germany  and  France  may  be  best  understood  by  supposing 
it  a  dispute  between  Lancashire  and  Yorkshire  for  the  line 
of  the  Kibble.  Suppose  that  Lancashire,  having  absorbed 
Cumberland  and  Cho&hire,  and  been  much  insulted  and 
troubled  by  Yorkshire  in  consequence,  and  at  last  attacked  ; 
and  having  victoriously  repulsed  the  attack,  and  retaining 
old  grudges  against  Yorkshire,  about  the  color  of  roses,  from 
the  15th  century,  declares  that  it  cannot  possibly  be  safe 
ngainst  the  attacks  of  Yorkshire  any  longer,  unless  it  gets 
the  townships  of  Giggleswick  and  AVigglesworth,  and  a  for- 


12 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


tress  on  Pen-y-gent.  Yorkshire  replying  that  this  is  totally 
inadmissible,  and  that  it  will  eat  its  last  horse,  and  perish  to 
its  last  Yorkshirernan,  rather  than  part  with  a  stone  of  Gig- 
gleswick;  a  crag  of  Pen-y-gent,  or  a  ripple  of  Ribbie, — Lan- 
cashire with  its  Cumbrian  and  Cheshire  contingents  invades 
Yorkshire,  and  meeting  with  much  Divine  assistance,  rav- 
ages the  West  Riding,  and  besieges  York  on  Christmas  Day. 
That  is  the  actual  gist  of  the  whole  business  ;  and  in  the 
same  manner  you  may  see  the  downright  common-sense — i£ 
any  is  to  be  seen — of  other  human  proceedings,  by  taking 
them  first  under  narrow  and  homely  conditions.  So  for  the 
present,  we  will  fancy  ourselves,  what  you  tell  me  you  all 
want  to  be,  independent  :  we  will  take  no  account  of  any 
other  country  but  Britain  ;  and  on  that  condition  I  will  be- 
gin to  show  you  in  my  next  paper  how  we  ought  to  live, 
after  ascertaining  the  utmost  limits  of  the  wages-fund,  which 
means  the  income  of  our  gentlemen  ;  that  is  to  say,  essen- 
tially, the  income  of  those  who  have  command  of  the  land, 
and  therefore  of  all  food. 

What  you  call  "  wages,"  practically,  is  the  quantity  of 
food  which  the  possessor  of  the  land  gives  you,  to  work  for 
him.  There  is  finally,  no  "capital"  but  that.  If  all  the 
money  of  all  the  capitalists  in  tlie  whole  world  were  de- 
stroyed ;  the  notes  and  bills  burnt,  the  gold  irrecoverably 
buried,  and  all  the  machines  and  apparatus  of  manufactures 
crushed,  by  a  mistake  in  signals,  in  one  catastrophe  ;  and 
nothing  remained  bwt  the  land,  with  its  animals  and  vege- 
tables, and  buildii.gs  for  shelter, — the  poorer  population 
would  be  very  little  worse  off  than  they  are  at  this  instant  ; 
and  their  labour,  instead  of  being  "  limited  "  by  the  destruc- 
tion, would  be  greatly  stimulated.  They  would  feed  them- 
selves from  the  animals  and  growing  crops  ;  heap  here  and 
there  a  few  tons  of  ironstone  together,  build  rough  w^alls 
round  them  to  get  a  blast,  and  in  a  fortnight  tiiey  would 
have  iron  tools  again,  and  be  ploughing  and  fighting,  just  as 
usual.  It  is  only  we  who  had  the  capital  who  would  siiiTer  ; 
we  should  not  be  able  to  live  idle,  as  we  do  now,  and  many 
of  us — I,  for  instance — should  starve  at  once  :  but  you,  though 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA, 


13 


little  the  worse,  would  none  of  you  be  the  better,  eventually, 
for  our  loss — or  starvation.  The  removal  of  superfluous 
mouths  would  indeed  benefit  you  somewhat,  for  a  time  ;  but 
you  would  soon  replace  them  with  hungrier  ones  ;  and  there 
are  many  of  us  who  are  quite  worth  our  meat  to  you  in  ditf- 
ferent  ways,  which  I  will  explain  in  due  place  :  also  I  will 
show  you  that  our  money  is  really  likely  to  be  useful  to  you 
in  its  accumulated  form,  (besides  that,  in  the  instances  when 
it  has  been  won  by  work,  it  justly  belongs  to  us),  so  only 
that  you  are  careful  never  to  let  us  persuade  you  into  bor- 
rowing it,  and  paying  us  interest  for  it.  You  will  find  a  very 
amusing  story,  explaining  your  position  in  that  case,  at  the 
117th  page  of  the  Manual  of  Political  Economy^  published 
this  year  at  Cambridge,  for  your  early  instruction,  in  an  al- 
most devotionally  catechetical  form,  by  Messrs.  Macmillan. 

Perhaps  I  had  better  quote  it  to  you  entire  :  it  is  taken  by 
the  author  "  from  the  French.'' 

There  was  once  in  a  village  a  poor  carpenter,  who  worked 
hard  from  morning  to  night.  One  day  James  thought  to  him- 
self. With  my  hatchet,  saw,  and  hammer,  I  can  only  make 
coarse  furniture,  and  can  only  r^at  the  pay  for  such.  If  I  had 
a  plane,  I  should  ])lease  my  customers  more,  and  they  would 
pay  mo  more.  Yes,  I  am  resolved,  I  will  make  myself  a 
plane."  At  the  end  of  ten  days,  James  had  in  his  possession 
an  admirable  plane,  which  he  valued  all  the  more  for  having 
made  it  himself.  Whilst  he  v/as  reckoning  all  the  ])rofits 
which  he  expected  to  derive  from  the  use  of  it,  he  was  inter- 
rupted by  William,  a  carpenter  in  the  neighbouring  village. 
William,  having  admired  the  plane,  was  struck  with  the  ad- 
vantages which  might  bo  gained  from  it.   lie  said  to  James  : — 

"  You  must  do  me  a  service  ;  lend  me  the  plane  for  a  year." 
As  might  be  expected,  James  cried  out,  "  llow  can  you  think 
of  such  a  thing,  William  ?  Well,  if  I  do  you  this  service, 
what  will  you  do  for  mo  in  return  ?" 

IK  Nothing.  Don't  you  know  that  a  loan  ought  to  be 
gratuitous  ? 

J,  I  know  nothing  of  the  sort  ;  but  I  do  know  that  if  I 
were  to  lend  you  my  plane  for  a  year,  it  would  be  giving  it  to 
you.    To  tell  you  the  truth,  that  was  not  what  I  made  it  for. 

TK  Very  well,  then  ;  J  ask  you  to  do  me  a  service  ;  what 
service  do  you  ask  mc  in  return  ? 


14 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


J,  First,  then,  in  a  year  the  plane  will  be  done  for.  You 
must  therefore  give  me  another  exactly  like  it. 

W,  That  is  perfectly  just.  I  submit  to  these  conditions.  1 
think  you  must  be  satisfied  with  this,  and  can  require  nothing 
further. 

J,  I  think  otherwise.  I  made  the  plane  for  myself,  and  not 
for  you.  I  expected  to  gain  some  advantage  from  it.  I  have 
made  the  plane  for  the  purpose  of  improving  my  work  and  my 
condition  ;  if  you  merely  return  it  to  me  in  a  year,  it  is  you 
who  will  gain  the  profit  of  it  during  the  whole  of  that  time. 
I  am  not  bound  to  do  you  such  a  service  without  receiving 
anything  in  return.  Therefore,  if  you  wnsh  for  my  plane, 
besides  the  restoration  already  bargained  for,  you  must  give 
me  a  new  plank  as  a  compensation  for  the  advantages  of 
which  I  shall  be  deprived. 

These  terms  vv^ere  agreed  to,  but  the  singular  part  oMt  is 
that  at  the  end  of  the  year,  when  the  plane  came  into  James's 
possession,  he  lent  it  again  ;  recovered  it,  and  lent  it  a  third 
and  fourth  time.  It  has  passed  into  the  hands  of  his  son, 
who  still  lends  it.  Let  us  examine  this  little  story.  The 
plane  is  the  symbol  of  all  capital,  and  the  plank  is  the  symbol 
of  all  interest. 

If  this  be  an  abridgement,  what  a  graceful  piece  of  highly 
wrought  literature  the  original  story  must  be  !  I  take  the 
liberty  of  abridging  it  a  little  more. 

James  makes  a  plane,  lends  it  to  William  on  1st  January 
for  a  year.  William  gives  him  a  plank  for  the  loan  of  it, 
wears  it  out,  and  makes  another  for  James,  which  he  gives  him 
on  31st  December.  On  1st  January  he  again  borrows  the  new 
one  ;  and  the  arrangement  is  repeated  continuously.  The 
position  of  William  therefore  is,  that  he  makes  a  plane  every 
31st  of  December  ;  lends  it  to  James  till  the  next  day,  and 
pays  James  a  plank  annually  for  the  privilege  of  lending  it  to 
him  on  that  evening.  This,  in  future  investigations  of  capi- 
tal and  interest,  we  will  call,  if  vou  please,  the  position  of 
William.'' 

You  may  not  at  the  first  glance  see)  wliere  the  fallacy  lies 
(the  writer  of  this  story  evidently  counts  on  your  not  seeing 
it  at  all). 

If  James  did  not  lend  the  plane  to  William,  he  could  only 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


IS 


get  his  gain  of  a  plank  by  working  with  it  himself,  and  wear- 
ing it  out  himself.  When  he  had  worn  it  out  at  the  end  of  the 
year,  he  would,  therefore,  have  to  make  another  for  himself. 
William,  working  with  it  instead,  gets  the  advantage  instead, 
which  he  must,  therefore,  pay  James  his  plank  for  ;  and  re- 
turn to  James,  what  James  would,  if  he  had  not  lent  his  plane, 
then  have  had  ; — not  a  new  plane — but  the  worn-out  oneo 
James  must  make  a  new  one  for  himself,  as  he  would  have 
had  to  do  if  no  William  had  e^cisted  ;  and  if  William  likes  to 
borrow  it  again  for  another  plank — all  is  fair. 

That  is  to  say,  clearing  the  story  of  its  nonsense,  that 
James  makes  a  plane  annually,  and  sells  it  to  William  for  its 
proper  price,  which,  in  kind,  is  a  new  plank.  But  this 
arrangement  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  ]>rincipal,  or 
with  interest.  There  are,  indeed,  many  very  subtle  condi- 
tions involved  in  any  sale  ;  one  among  which  is  the  value  of 
ideas  ;  I  will  explain  that  value  to  you  in  the  course  of  time  ; 
(the  article  is  not  one  which  modern  political  economists 
have  any  familiarity  with  dealings  in);  and  I  will  tell  you 
somewhat  also  of  tlie  real  nature  of  interest  ;  but  if  you  will 
only  get,  for  the  present,  a  quite  clear  idea  of  "  the  Position 
of  William,"  it  is  all  1  want  of  you. 

1  remain,  your  faithful  friend, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 

My  next  letter,  I  hope,  on  1st  February. 


LETTER  11. 

Denmark  Hill, 

Friends,  ,      Ut  Febrvury,  1871. 

Before  going  farther,  you  may  like  to  know,  and  ought 
to  know,  what  I  mean  by  the  title  of  these  Letters  ;  and  why 
it  is  in  Latin.  I  can  only  tell  you  in  part,  for  the  letters  will 
be  on  many  things,  if  I  am  able  to  carry  out  my  plan  in 
them  :  and  that  title  means  many  things,  and  is  in  Latin, 
because  I  could  not  have  given  an  English  one  that  meant  so 


16 


FOBS  CLAVIQEEA. 


many.  We,  indeed,  were  not  till  lately  a  loquacious  people, 
nor  a  useless  one  ;  but  the  Romans  did  more,  and  said  less, 
than  any  other  nation  tliat  ever  lived  ;  and  their  language  ia 
the  most  heroic  ever  spoken  by  men. 

Therefore  I  wish  you  to  know,  at  least,  some  words  of  it, 
and  to  recognize  what  thougiits  they  stand  for. 

Some  day,  I  hope,  you  may  know — and  that  European 
workmen  may  know — many  words  of  it ;  but  even  a  few  will 
be  useful. 

Do  not  smile  at  my  saying  so.  Of  Arithmetic,  Geometry, 
and  Chemistry,  you  can  know  but  little,  at  the  utmost  ;  but 
that  little,  well  learnt,  serves  you  well.  And  a  little  Latiii, 
well  learnt,  will  serve  you  also,  and  in  a  higher  way  than  any 
of  these. 

Fors "  is  the  best  part  of  three  good  English  words, 
Force,  Fortitude,  and  Fortune.  I  wish  you  to  know  the 
meaning  of  those  three  words  accurately. 

"Force,"  (in  humanity),  means  power  of  doing  good  work. 
A  fool,  or  a  corpse,  can  do  any  quantity  of  mischief  ;  but 
only  a  wise  and  strong  man,  or,  with  what  true  vital  force 
there  is  in  liim,  a  weak  one,  can  do  good. 

"Fortitude"  means  the  power  of  bearing  necessary  pain, 
or  trial  of  patience,  whether  by  time,  or  temptation. 

"  Fortune  "  means  the  necessary  fate  of  a  man  :  the  ordi- 
nance of  his  life  which  cannot  be  changed.  To  "  make  your 
Fortune  "  is  to  rule  that  appointed  fate  to  the  best  ends  of 
which  it  is  ca'pable. 

Fors  is  a  feminine  word  ;  and  Clavigera  is,  therefore,  the 
feminine  of  "  Claviofer." 

Clava  means  a  club.  Clavis,  a  key.  Clavus,  a  nail,  or  a 
rudder. 

Gero  means  "I  carry."  It  is  the  root  of  our  word  "gest* 
ure"  (the  way  you  carry  yourself);  and,  in  a  curious  bye- 
way,  of  "jest." 

Clavigera  may  mean,  therefore,  either  Club-bearer,  Key- 
bearer,  or  Nail-bearer. 

Each  of  these  three  possible  meanings  of  Clavigera  cor- 
responds to  one  of  the  three  meanings  of  Fors. 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


17 


Fors,  the  Club-bearer,  means  the  strength  of  Hercules  or 
of  Deed. 

Fors,  the  Key-bearer,  means  the  strength  of  Ulysses,  or  of 
Patience. 

Fors,  the  Nail-bearer,  means  the  strength  of  Lycurgus,  or 
of  Law. 

I  will  tell  you  what  you  may  usefully  know  of  those  three 
Greek  persons  in  a  little  time.  At  present,  note  only  of  the 
three  powers  :  1.  That  the  strength  of  Hercules  is  for  deed, 
not  misdeed  ;  and  that  his  club — the  favourite  weapon,  also, 
of  the  Athenian  hero  Theseus,  whose  form  is  the  best  inheri- 
tance left  to  us  by  the  greatest  of  Greek  sculptors,  (it  is  in 
the  Elgin  room  of  the  British  Museum,  and  I  shall  have 
much  to  tell  you  of  him — especially  how  he  helped  Hercules 
in  his  utmost  need,  and  how  he  invented  mixed  vegetable 
soup) — was  for  subduing  monsters  and  cruel  persons,  and 
was  of  olive-wood.  2.  That  the  Second  Fors  Clavigera  is 
portress  at  a  gate  which  she  cannot  open  till  you  have  waited 
long  ;  and  that  her  robe  is  of  the  color  of  ashes,  or  dry  earth.* 
3.  That  the  Third  Fors  Clavigera,  the  power  of  Lycurgus,  is 
Royal  as  well  as  Legal ;  and  that  the  notablest  crown  yet  ex- 
isting in  Europe  of  any  tliat  have  been  worn  by  Christian 
kings,  was — people  say — made  of  a  Nail. 

That  is  enough  about  my  title,  for  this  time  ;  now  to  our 
work.  I  told  you,  and  you  will  find  it  true,  that,  practically, 
all  wages  mean  the  food  and  lodging  given  you  by  the  pos- 
sessors of  the  land. 

It  begins  to  be  asked  on  many  sides  how  the  possessors  of 
the  land  became  possessed  of  it,  and  why  they  should  still 
possess  it,  more  than  you  or  1  :  and  Ricardo's  Theory  "  of 
Rent,  though,  for  an  economist,  a  very  creditably  ingenious 
work  of  fiction,  will  not  much  longer  be  imagined  to  explain 
the  "  Practice  "  of  Rent. 

The  true  answer,  in  this  matter,  as  in  all  others,  is  the  best. 
Some  land  has  been  bought  ;  some,  won  by  cultivation  :  but 
the  greater  part,  in  Europe,  seized  originally  by  force  of  hand 

*  See  Carey's  traaslation  of  the  ninth  book  of  Dante's  Purgatory,  line 
105. 

2 


18 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


You  may  think,  in  that  case,  you  would  be  justified  in  try- 
ing to  seize  some  yourselves,  in  the  same  way. 

If  you  could,  you,  and  your  children,  would  only  hold  it 
by  the  same  title  as  its  present  holders.  If  it  is  a  bad  one, 
you  had  better  not  so  hold  it  ;  if  a  good  one,  you  had  better 
let  the  present  holders  alone. 

And  in  any  case,  it  is  expedient  that  you  should  do  so,  for 
the  present  holders,  whom  we  may  generally  call  *'  Squires,'' 
(a  title  having  three  meanings,  like  Fors,  and  all  good  ; 
namely.  Rider,  Shield-bearer,  and  Carver),  are  quite  the  best 
men  you  can  now  look  to  for  leading  :  it  is  too  true  that  they 
have  much  demoralized  themselves  lately  by  horse-racing,  bird- 
shooting,  and  vermin-hunting  ;  and  most  of  all  by  living  in 
London,  instead  of  on  their  estates  ;  but  they  are  still  without 
exception  brave  ;  nearly  without  exception,  good-natured  ; 
honest,  so  far  as  they  understand  honesty,  and  much  to  be 
depended  on,  if  once  you  and  they  understand  each  other. 

Which  you  are  far  enough  now  from  doing  ;  and  it  is  im- 
minently needful  that  you  should  :  so  we  will  have  an  accu- 
rate talk  of  them  soon.  The  needfuUest  thinof  of  all  first  is 
that  you  should  know  the  functions  of  the  persons  whom  3^ou 
are  being  taught  to  think  of  as  your  protectors  against  the 
Squires  ; — your  Employers,"  namely  ;  or  Capitalist  Sup- 
porters of  Labour. 

Employers."  It  is  a  noble  title.  If,  indeed,  they  have 
found  you  idle,  and  given  you  employment,  wisely, — let  us 
no  more  call  them  mere  "Men"  of  Business,  but  rather  "An- 
gels "  of  Business  :  quite  the  best  sort  of  Guardian  Angel. 

Yet  are  you  sure  it  is  necessary,  absolutely,  to  look  to  su- 
perior natures  for  employment  ?  Is  it  inconceivable  that  you 
should  employ — yourselves  ?  I  ask  the  question,  because 
these  Seraphic  beings,  undertaking  also  to  be  Seraphio 
Teachers  or  Doctors,  have  theories  about  employment  which 
may  perhaps  be  true  in  their  own  celestial  regions,  but  are 
inapplicable  under  worldly  conditions. 

To  one  of  these  principles,  announced  by  themselves  as 
highly  important,  I  must  call  your  attention  closely,  because 
it  has  of  late  been  the  cause  of  much  embarrassment  among 


FORS  CLAVIGERA.  19 

persons  in  a  sub-seraphic  life.  I  take  its  statement  verbatim, 
from  the  25th  page  of  the  Cambridge  catechism  before  quoted*^ 

This  brings  us  to  a  most  important  proposition  respecting  capital, 
one  which  it  is  essential  that  the  student  should  thoroughly  understand. 

^*  The  proposition  is  this — A  demand  for  commodities  is  not  a  demand 
for  labour. 

''The  demand  for  labour  depends  upon  the  amount  of  capital;  the 
demand  for  commodities  simply  determines  in  what  direction  labour 
shall  be  employed. 

"An  example. — The  truth  of  these  assertions  can  best  be  shown  by 
examples.  Let  us  suppose  that  a  manufacturer  of  woollen  cloth  is  in 
the  habit  of  speiiding  50(^.  annually  in  lace.  What  does  it  matter,  say 
some,  whether  ho  spends  this  30/.  in  lace  or  whether  he  uses  it  to  em- 
ploy more  labourers  in  his  own  business  ?  Does  not  the  50/.  spent  in 
lace  maintain  the  labourers  who  make  the  lace,  just  the  same  as  it 
would  maintain  the  labourers  who  make  cloth,  if  the  manufacturer 
used  the  money  in  exteudiug  his  own  business?  If  he  ceased  buying 
the  lace,  for  the  sake  of  employing  more  clothmakers,  would  there  not 
be  simply  a  transfer  of  the  50^.  from  the  lacemakers  to  the  clothmakers  ? 
In  order  to  find  the  right  answer  to  these  questions  let  us  imagine  what 
would  actually  take  place  if  the  maimfacturer  ceased  buying  the  lace, 
and  employed  the  51)/.  in  paying  the  wages  of  an  additional  number  of 
clothmakers.  The  lace  manufacturer,  in  consequence  of  the  diminished 
demand  for  lace,  would  diniiui.sh  the  production,  and  would  withdraw 
from  his  business  an  amount  of  caiiital  corresponding  to  the  diminished 
demand.  As  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  the  lacemaker  would, 
on  losing  some  of  his  custom,  become  more  extravagant,  or  would  cease 
to  derive  income  from  the  capital  which  the  diminished  demand  has 
caused  him  to  withdraw  from  his  own  business,  it  may  be  assumed  that 
he  would  invest  this  capital  in  some  other  industiy.  This  capital  is  not 
the  same  as  that  which  his  former  customer,  the  woollen  cloth  manu 
facturer,  is  now  paying  his  oynx  labourers  with ;  it  is  a  second  capital  ; 
and  in  the  place  of  50^.  employed  in  maintaining  labour,  there  is  now 
100/.  so  employed.  There  is  no  transfer  from  lacemakers  to  clothmakers. 
There  is  fresh  employment  for  the  clothmakers  and  a  transfer  from  the 
lacemakers  to  some  other  labourers.*' — {Principles  of  PoliticaL  Economy ^ 
▼oL  1,  p.  102.) 

This  is  very  fine  ;  and  it  is  clear  that  we  may  carry  for- 
ward the  improvement  in  our  commercial  arrangements  by 
recommending  all  the  other  customers  of  the  lacemaker  to 
treat  him  as  tiie  cloth  maker  has  done.  Whereupon  he  of 
course  leaves  the  lace  business  entirely,  and  uses  all  his  capi- 


20  FOBS  CLAVIGEEA, 

tal  in  '^some  other  industry."  Having  thus  established  the 
lacemaker  with  a  complete  "  second  capital,"  in  the  other  in^ 
dustrj,  we  will  next  proceed  to  develope  a  capital  out  of  tlie 
clothmaker,  bj  recommending  all  his  customers  to  leave  him. 
Whereupon,  he  will  also  invest  his  capital  in '''some  other 
industry,"  and  we  have  a  Third  capital,  employed  in  the  Na- 
tional benefit. 

We  will  now  proceed  in  the  round  of  all  possible  busi- 
nesses, developing  a  correspondent  number  of  new  capitals^ 
till  we  come  back  to  our  friend  the  lacemaker  again,  and  find 
him  employed  in  whatever  his  new  industry  was.  By  now 
taking  away  again  all  his  new  customers,  we  begin  tlie  de- 
velopment of  another  order  of  Capitals  in  a  higher  Seraphio 
circle — and  so  develope  at  last  an  Infinite  Capital ! 

It  would  be  difficult  to  match  this  for  simplicity  ;  it  is 
more  comic  even  than  the  fable  of  James  and  William, 
though  you  may  find  it  less  easy  to  detect  the  fallacy  here ; 
but  the  obscurity  is  not  because  the  error  is  less  gross,  but 
because  it  is  threefold.  Fallacy  1st  is  the  assumption  that 
a  clothmaker  may  employ  any  number  of  men,  whether  he 
has  customers  or  not  ;  while  a  lacemaker  must  dismiss  his 
men  if  he  has  not  customers.  Fallacy  2nd.  That  when  a 
lacemaker  can  no  longer  find  customers  for  lace,  he  can 
always  find  customers  for  something  else.  Fallacy  3rd  (the 
essential  one).  That  the  funds  provided  by  these  new- 
customers,  produced  seraphically  from  the  clouds,  are  a 
"second  capital."  Those  customers,  if  they  exist  now, 
existed  before  the  lacemaker  adopted  his  new"  business  ;  and 
were  the  employers  of  the  people  in  that  business.  If  the 
lacemaker  gets  them,  he  merely  diverts  their  fifty  pounds 
from  the  tradesmen  they  were  before  employing,  to  himself ; 
and  that  is  Mr.  Mill's  "  second  capital." 

Underlying  these  three  fallacies,  however,  there  is  in  the 
mind  of  *'the  greatest  thinker  of  England,"  some  conscious- 
ness of  a  partial  truth,  which  he  has  never  yet  been  able  to 
define  for  himself — still  less  to  explain  to  others.  The  reaJ 
root  of  them  is  his  conviction  that  it  is  beneficial  and  profit- 
able to  make  broadcloth  ;  and  unbeneficial  and  unprofitable  to 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA.  21 


make  lace  ;*  so  that  the  trade  of  clothmaking  should  be  in* 
finitely  extended,  and  that  of  lacemaking  infinitely  repressed. 
Which  is,  indeed  partially  true.  Making  cloth,  if  it  be  well 
made,  is  a  good  industry  ;  and  if  you  had  sense  enough 
to  read  your  Walter  Scott  thoroughly,  I  should  invite  you  to 
join  me  in  sincere  hope  that  Glasgow  might  in  that  industry 
long  flourish  ;  and  the  chief  hostelry  at  Aberfoil  be  at  the 
sign  of  the  "Nicol  Jarvie."  Also,  of  lacemakers,  it  is  often 
true  that  they  had  better  be  doing  something  else.  I  admit 
it,  with  no  good  will,  for  I  know  a  most  kind  lady,  a  clergy- 
man's wife,  who  devotes  her  life  to  the  benefit  of  her  country 
by  employing  lacemakers  ;  and  all  her  friends  make  presents 
of  collars  and  cuffs  to  each  other  for  the  sake  of  charity;  and 
as,  if  they  did  not,  the  poor  girl  lacemakers  would  probably 
indeed  be  "  diverted  "  into  some  other  less  divertins"  industrv, 
in  due  assertion  of  the  rights  of  women,  (cartridge-filling,  or 
percussion-cap  making,  most  likely)  I  even  go  to  the  length, 
sometimes,  of  furnishing  my  friend  with  a  pattern,  and  never 
say  a  word  to  disturb  her  young  customers  in  their  convic- 
tion that  it  is  an  act  of  Christian  charity  to  be  married  in 
more  than  ordinarily  expensive  veils. 

But  there  is  one  kind  of  lace  for  which  I  should  be  glad 
that  the  demand  ceased.  Iron  lace.  If  we  must  even  doubt 
whether  ornamental  thread-work  may  be,  wisely,  made  on 
cushions  in  the  sunshine,  by  dexterous  fingers  for  fair  shoul- 
ders,— how  are  we  to  think  of  Ornamental  Iron-worlc,  made 
with  deadly  sweat  of  men,  and  steady  waste,  all  summer 
through,  of  the  coals  that  Earth  gave  us  for  winter  fuel  ^ 
What  shall  we  say  of  labour  spent  on  lace  such  as  that? 

Nay,  says  the  Cambridge  Catechism,  "the  demand  for 
commodities  is  not  a  demand  for  labour." 

Doubtless,  in  the  economist's  new  earth,  cast  iron  will  be 
had  for  asking  ;  the  hapless  and  brave  Parisians  find  it  even 
rain  occasionally  out  of  the  new  economical  Heavens,  withoid 

*  1  assume  the  Cambridge  quotation  to  be  correct:  in  ray  old  edition, 
(1848),  the  distinction  is  between  "  weavers  and  lacemakers'*  and  '•jour- 
neymen bricklayers;'*  and  making  velvet  is  considered  to  be  the  pro- 
duction of  a    commodity but  building  a  house  only  doing  a  '*  service." 


22 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


asking.  Gold  will  also  one  day,  perhaps,  be  begotten  of  gold^ 
until  the  supply  of  that,  as  well  as  of  iron,  may  be,  at  least, 
equal  to  the  demand.  But,  in  this  world,  it  is  not  so  yet. 
Neither  thread-lace,  gold-lace,  iron-lace,  nor  stone-lace, 
whether  they  be  commodities  or  incommodities,  can  be  had 
for  nothing.  How  much,  think  you,  did  the  gilded  flourishes 
cost  round  the  gas-lamps  on  Westminster  Bridge  ?  or  the 
stone-lace  of  the  pinnacles  of  the  temple  of  Parliament  at  the 
end  of  it,  (incommodious  enough,  as  I  hear  ;)  or  the  point- 
lace  of  the  park-railings  which  you  so  improperly  pulled 
down,  when  you  wanted  to  be  parliamentary  yourselves  ; 
(much  good  you  would  have  got  of  that  !)  or  the  "  openwork  " 
of  iron  railings  generally — the  special  glories  of  English  de- 
sign ?  Will  you  count  the  cost,  in  labour  and  coals,  of  the 
blank  bars  ranged  along  all  the  melancholy  miles  of  our  sub- 
urban streets,  saying  with  their  rusty  tongues,  as  plainly  as 
iron  tongues  can  speak,  "  Thieves  outside,  and  nothing  to 
steal  wit?iin."  A  beautiful  wealth  they  are  !  and  a  productive 
capital  J  "  Well  but,"  you  answer,  "the  making  them  was 
work  for  us."  Of  course  it  was  ;  ii?  not  that  the  very  thing 
I  am  telling  you  !  Work  it  was; 
and  too  much.  But  will  you  be 
good  enough  to  make  up  your 
minds,  once  for  all,  whether  it  is 
really  work  that  you  want,  or 
rest  ?  r  thought  you  rather  ob- 
jected to  your  quantity  of  work  ; 
— that  you  were  all  for  having 
eight  hours  of  it  instead  of  ten  ? 
You  may  have  twelve  instead  of 
ten  easily.  Sixteen,  if  you  like  ! 
if  it  is  only  occupation  you  want^ 
why  do  you  cast  the  iron  ?  Forge 
it  in  the  fresh  air,  on  a  work- 
man's anvil  ;  make  iron-lace  like 
this  of  Verona, — 
every  link  of  it  swinging  loose  like  a  knight's  chain  mail  : 
then  you  may  have  some  joy  of  it  afterwards,  and  pride  ;  and 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


23 


sa}'"  you  knew  the  cunning*  of  a  man's  right  hand.  But  1 
think  it  is  pay  that  you  want,  not  work  ;  and  it  is  very  true 
that  pretty  ironwork  like  that  does  not  pay  ;  but  it  is  pretty, 
and  it  might  even  be  entertaining,  if  you  made  those  leaves 
at  the  top  of  it  (which  are,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  only  artichoke, 
and  not  very  well  done)  in  the  likeness  of  all  the  beautiful 
leaves  you  could  find,  till  you  knew  them  all  by  heart. 
"  Wasted  time  and  hammer-strokes,"  say  you  ?  "A  wise 
people  like  the  English  will  have  nothing  but  spikes  ;  and 
besides,  the  spikes  are  highly  needful,  so  many  of  the  wise 
people  being  thieves."  Yes,  that  is  so  ;  and,  therefore, 
in  calculating  the  annual  cost  of  keeping  your  thieves,  you 
must  always  reckon,  not  only  the  cost  of  the  spikes  that  keep 
them  in,  but  of  the  spikes  that  keep  them  out.  But  how  if, 
instead  of  flat  rough  spikes,  you  put  triangular  polished  ones, 
commonly  called  bayonets  ;  and  instead  of  the  perpendicular 
bars  put  perpendicular  men  ?  What  is  the  cost  to  you  then, 
of  your  railing,  of  which  you  must  feed  the  idle  bars  daily  ? 
Costly  enough,  if  it  stays  quiet.  But  how,  if  it  begin  to 
march  and  countermarch  ?  and  apply  its  spikes  horizontally? 

And  now  note  this  that  follows  ;  it  is  of  vital  importance 
to  you. 

There  are,  practically,  two  absolutely  opposite  kinds  of 
labour  going  on  among  men,  for  ever.* 

The  first,  labour  su})ported  by  Capital,  producing  nothing. 

The  second,  labour  unsupported  by  Capital,  producing  all 
things. 

Take  two  simple  and  precise  instances  on  a  small  scale. 

A  little  while  since  I  was  paying  a  visit  in  Ireland,  and 
chanced  to  hear  an  account  of  the  pleasures  of  a  picnic  party, 
who  had  gone  to  see  a  waterfall.  There  was  of  course  ample 
lunch,  feasting  on  the  grass,  and  basketsfuU  of  fragments 
taken  up  afterwards. 

*  I  do  not  mean  that  there  are  no  other  kinds,  nor  that  well-paid  la- 
bour must  necessarily  be  unproductive.  I  hope  to  see  much  done,  some 
day,  for  just  pay,  and  wholly  productive.  But  these,  named  in  the 
text,  are  the  two  opposite  extremes ;  and,  in  actual  life  hitherto,  the 
largest  means  have  been  usually  spent  in  mischief,  and  the  most  useful 
work  done  for  the  worst  pay. 


24 


F0R8  CLAYIGERA, 


Then  the  company,  feeling  themselves  dull,  gave  the  frag«. 
ments  that  remained  to  the  attendant  ragged  boys,  on  con- 
dition that  they  should     pull  each  other's  hair." 

Here,  you  see,  is,  in  the  most  accurate  sense,  employment 
of  food,  or  capital,  in  the  support  of  entirely  unproductive 
labour. 

Next,  for  the  second  kind.  I  live  at  the  top  of  a  short 
but  rather  steep  hill  ;  at  the  bottom  of  v^hich,  every  day,  all 
the  year  round,  but  especially  in  frost,  coal-waggons  get 
stranded,  being  economically  provided  with  the  smallest  num- 
ber of  horses  that  can  get  them  along  on  level  ground. 

The  other  day,  when  the  road,  frozen  after  thaw,  was  at 
the  worst,  my  assistant,  the  engraver  of  that  bit  of  iron-work 
on  the  22nd  page,  was  coming  up  here,  and  found  three  coal- 
waggons  at  a  lock,  helpless  ;  the  drivers,  as  usual,  explaining 
Political  Economy  to  the  horses,  by  beating  them  over  the 
heads. 

There  were  half-a-dozen  fellows  besides,  out  of  work,  or  not 
caring  to  be  in  it — standing  by,  looking  on.  My  engraver 
put  his  shoulder  to  a  wheel  (at  least  his  hand  to  a  spoke),  and 
called  on  the  idlers  to  do  as  much.  They  didn't  seem  to  have 
thought  of  such  a  thing,  but  were  ready  enough  when  called 
on.    "  And  we  went  up  screaming,"  said  Mr.  Burgess. 

Do  you  suppose  that  was  one  whit  less  proper  human  work 
than  going  up  a  hill  against  a  battery,  merely  because,  in 
that  case,  half  of  the  men  would  have  gone  down,  screaming, 
instead  of  up  ;  and  those  who  got  up  would  have  done  no 
good  at  the  top  ? 

But  observe  the  two  opposite  kinds  of  labour.  The  first, 
lavishly  supported  by  Capital,  and  producing  Nothing.  The 
second,  unsupported  by  any  Capital  whatsoever, — not  having 
so  much  as  a  stick  for  a  tool — but,  called  by  mere  goodwill, 
out  of  the  vast  void  of  the  world's  Idleness,  and  producing 
the  definitely  profitable  result  of  moving  a  weight  of  fuel 
some  distance  towards  the  place  where  it  was  wanted,  and 
sparing  the  strength  of  overloaded  creatures. 

Observe  further.  The  labour  producing  no  useful  result 
was  demoralizing.    All  such  labour  is. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


26 


The  labour  producing  useful  result  was  educational  in  its 
influence  on  the  temper.    All  such  labour  is. 

And  the  first  condition  of  education,  the  thing  you  are  all 
crying  out  for,  is  being  put  to  wholesome  and  useful  work. 
And  it  is  nearly  the  last  condition  of  it,  too  ;  you  need  very 
little  more ;  but,  as  things  go,  there  will  yet  be  difficulty  in 
getting  that.  As  things  have  hitherto  gone,  the  difficulty 
has  been  to  avoid  getting  the  reverse  of  that. 

For,  during  the  last  eight  hundred  years,  the  upper  classes 
of  Europe  have  been  one  large  Picnic  Party.  Most  of  them 
have  been  religious  also  ;  and  in  sitting  down,  by  companies,, 
upon  the  green  grass,  in  parks,  gardens,  and  the  like,  have 
considered  themselves  commanded  into  that  position  by 
Divine  authority,  and  fed  with  bread  from  Heaven  :  of  which 
they  duly  considered  it  proper  to  bestow  the  fragments  in 
support,  and  the  tithes  in  tuition,  of  the  poor. 

But,  without  even  such  small  cost,  they  migJit  have  taught 
the  poor  many  beneficial  things.  In  some  places,  they  have 
taught  them  manners,  which  is  already  mucii.  They  might 
have  cheaply  taught  them  merriment  also  : — dancing  and 
singing,  for  instance.  The  young  English  ladies  who  sit 
nightly  to  be  instructed,  themselves,  at  some  cost,  in  melo- 
dies illustrative  of  the  consumption  of  La  Traviata,  and  the 
damnation  of  Don  Juan,  might  have  taught  every  girl  peas- 
ant in  England  to  join  in  costless  choirs  of  innocent  song. 
Here  and  there,  perhaps,  a  gentleman  might  have  been  found 
able  to  teach  his  peasantry  some  science  and  art.  Science 
and  fine  art  don't  pay  ;  but  they  cost  little.  Tithes — not  of 
the  income  of  the  country,  but  of  the  income,  say,  of  its 
brewers — nay,  probably  the  sum  devoted  annually  by  Eng- 
land to  provide  drugs  for  the  adulteration  of  its  own  beer, — 
would  have  founded  lovely  little  museums,  and  perfect  libra- 
ries, in  ev^ery  village.  And  if  here  and  there  an  English 
churchman  had  been  found  (such  as  Dean  Stanley)  willing 
to  explain  to  peasants  the  sculpture  of  his  and  their  own  ca* 
thedral,  and  to  read  its  black  letter  inscriptions  for  them  ; 
and,  on  warm  Sundays,  when  they  were  too  sleepy  to  attend 
to  anything  more  proper — to  tell  them  a  story  about  some  of 


26 


FOnS  CLAVIGERA, 


the  people  who  had  built  it,  or  lay  buried  in  it — we  perhaps 
might  have  been  quite  as  religious  as  we  are,  and  yet  need 
not  now  have  been  offering  prizes  for  competition  in  art 
schools,  nor  lecturing  with  tender  sentiment  on  the  inimi- 
tableness  of  the  works  of  Fra  Angelico. 

These  things  the  great  Picnic  Party  might  have  taught 
without  cost,  and  with  amusement  to  themselves.  One  thing, 
at  least,  they  were  bound  to  teach,  whether  it  amused  them 
or  not  ; — how,  day  by  day,  the  daily  bread  they  expected 
their  village  children  to  pray  to  God  for,  might  be  earned  in 
accordance  with  the  laws  of  God.  This  they  might  have 
taught,  not  only  without  cost,  but  with  great  gain.  One 
thing  only  they  Have  taught,  and  at  considerable  cost. 

They  have  spent  four  hundred  millions  of  pounds  *  here  in 
England  within  the  last  tw^enty  years  ! — how  much  in  France 
and  Germany,  I  will  take  some  pains  to  ascertain  for  you, — ■ 
and  with  this  initial  outlay  of  capital,  have  taught  the  peas- 
ants of  Europe — to  pull  each  other's  hair. 

With  this  result,  17th  January,  1871,  at  and  around  the 
chief  palace  of  their  own  pleasures,  and  the  chief  city  of  their 
delights  : 

"  Each  demolished  house  has  its  own  legend  of  sorrow,  of  pain,  and 
horror  ;  each  vacant  doorway  speaks  to  the  eye,  and  almost  to  the  ear, 
of  hasty  flight,  as  armies  or  fire  came — of  weeping  women  and  trem- 
bling children  running  away  in  awful  fear,  abandoning  the  home  that 
saw  their  birth,  the  old  house  they  loved — of  startled  men  seizing 
quickly  under  each  arm  their  most  valued  goods,  and  rushing,  heavily 
laden,  after  their  wives  and  babes,  leaving  to  hostile  hands  the  task  of 
burning  all  the  rest.  When  evening  falls,  the  wretched  outcasts,  worn 
with  fatigue  and  tears,  reach  Versailles,  St.  Germain,  or  some  other 
place  outside  the  range  of  fire,  and  there  they  beg  for  bread  and  shelter, 
homeless,  f oodless,  broken  with  despair.  And  this,  remember,  has  been 
the  fate  of  something  like  a  hundred  thousand  people  during  the  last 
four  months.    Versailles  alone  has  about  fifteen  thousand  such  fugitives 

*  £992,740,328,  in  seventeen  years,  say  the  working  men  of  Burnley, 
in  their  address  just  issued — an  excellent  address  in  its  way,  and  full  of 
very  fair  arithmetic— if  its  facts  are  all  right ;  only  I  don't  see,  myselt 
how  from  fifteen  to  twenty-five  millions  per  annum,"  make  nine  hun? 
dred  and  ninety-two  millions  in  seventeen  yearg. 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


27 


io  keep  alive,  all  ruined,  all  hopeless,  all  vaguely  asking  the  grim  future 
what  still  worse  fate  it  may  have  in  stor«  for  them." — Daily  Telegrap\ 
Jan.  17th,  1871. 

That  is  the  result  round  their  pleasant  city,  and  this  within 
their  industrious  and  practical  one  :  let  us  keep  for  the  refer- 
ence of  future  ages,  a  picture  of  domestic  life,  out  of  the 
streets  of  London  in  her  commercial  prosperity,  founded  on 
the  eternal  laws  of  Supply  and  Demand,  as  applied  by  the 
modern  Capitalist  : 

A  father  in  the  last  stage  of  consumption — two  daughters  nearly 
marriageable  with  hardly  sufficient  rotting  clothing  to  *  cover  their 
Bhame.*  The  rags  that  hang  around  their  attenuated  frames  flutter  in 
strips  against  their  naked  legs.  They  have  no  stool  or  chair  upon  which 
they  can  sit.  Their  father  occupies  the  only  stool  in  the  room.  They 
have  no  employment  by  which  they  can  earn  even  a  pittance.  They  ara 
at  home  starving  on  a  half -chance  meal  a  day,  and  hiding  their  ragged- 
ness  from  the  world.  The  walls  are  bare,  there  is  one  bed  in  the  room, 
and  a  bundle  of  dirty  rags  are  upon  it.  The  dying  father  will  shortly 
follow  the  dead  mother,  and  when  the  parish  coffin  encloses  his  wasted 
form,  and  a  pauper's  grave  closes  above  him,  what  shall  be  his  daughters' 
lot  ?  This  is  but  a  type  of  many  other  homes  in  the  district :  dirt,  mis- 
ery, and  disease  alone  flourish  in  that  wretched  neighborhood.  *  Fever 
and  small-pox  rage,'  as  the  inhabitants  say,  '  next  door,  and  next  door, 
and  over  the  way,  and  next  door  to  that,  and  further  down.*  The  liv- 
ing, dying,  and  dead  are  all  huddled  together.  The  houses  have  no 
ventilation,  the  back  yards  are  receptacles  for  all  sorts  of  filth  and  rub- 
bish, the  old  barrels  or  vessels  that  contain  the  supply  of  water  are 
thickly  coated  on  the  sides  with  slime,  and  there  is  an  undisturbed  de- 
posit of  mud  at  the  bottom.  There  is  no  mortuary  house — the  dead  lie 
in  the  dog-holes  where  they  breathed  their  last,  and  add  to  the  contagion 
which  spreads  through  the  neighborhood." — Vail  JfaU  Gazette^  January 
7th,  1871,  quoting  the  Builder, 

As  I  was  revising  this  sheet, — on  tlie  evening  of  the  20th 
<3f  last  month, — two  slips  of  paper  were  brought  to  nie.  One 
contained,  in  consecutive  paragraphs,  an  extract  from  the 
speech  of  one  of  the  best  and  kindest  of  our  public  men,  to 
the  "  Liberal  Association  "  at  Portsmouth  ;  and  an  account 
of  the  performances  of  the  35-ton  gun  called  the  "  WooJwich 
infant,"  which  is  fed  with  700  pound  shot,  and  130  pounds  of 
gunpowder  at  one  mouthful  ;  not  at  all  like  the  Wapping 


28 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


infants,  starving  on  a  half-chance  meal  a  day.  "  The  gun 
was  fired  with  the  most  satisfactory  result,"  nobody  being 
hurt,  and  nothing  damaged  but  the  platform,  while  the  shot 
passed  through  the  screens  in  front  at  the  rate  of  1,303  feet 
per  second  :  and  it  seems,  also,  that  the  Woolwich  infant  has 
not  seen  the  light  too  soon.  For  Mr.  Cowper-Temple,  in  the 
preceding  paragraph,  informs  the  Liberals  of  Portsmouth, 
that  in  consequence  of  our  amiable  neutrality,  "  we  must 
contemplate  the  contingency  of  a  combined  fleet  coming  from 
the  ports  of  Prussia,  Russia,  and  America,  and  making  an 
attack  on  England." 

Contemplating  myself  these  relations  of  Russia,  Prussia, 
Woolwich,  and  Wapping,  it  seems  to  my  uncommercial  mind 
merely  like  another  case  of  iron  railings — thieves  outside, 
and  nothing  to  steal  within.  But  the  second  slip  of  paper 
announced  approaching  help  in  a  peaceful  direction.  It  was 
the  prospectus  of  the  Boardmen's  and  General  Advertising 
Co-operative  Society,  which  invites,  from  the  "  generosity 
of  the  public,  a  necessary  small  preliminary  sum,"  and,  "in 
addition  to  the  above,  a  small  sum  of  money  by  way  of 
capital,"  to  set  the  members  of  the  society  up  in  the  profit- 
able business  of  walking  about  London  between  two  boards. 
Here  is  at  last  found  for  us,  then,  it  appears,  a  line  of  life  ! 
At  the  West  End,  lounging  about  the  streets,  with  a  well- 
made  back  to  one's  coat,  and  front  to  one's  shirt,  is  usually 
thought  of  as  not  much  in  the  way  of  business  ;  but,  doubt- 
less, to  lounge  at  the  East  End  about  the  streets,  with  one 
Lie  pinned  to  the  front  of  you,  and  another  to  the  back  of 
you,  will  pay,  in  time,  only  with  proper  preliminary  ex- 
penditure of  capital.  My  friends,  I  repeat  my  question  :  Do 
you  not  think  you  could  contrive  some  little  method  of  em- 
ploying— yourselves  ?  for  truly  I  think  the  Seraphic  Doctors 
are  nearly  at  their  wits'  end  (if  ever  their  wits  had  a  begin- 
ning). Tradesmen  are  beginning  to  find  it  difficult  to  live 
by  lies  of  their  own  ;  and  workmen  will  not  find  it  much 
easier  to  live,  by  walking  about,  flattened  between  other 
people's. 

Think  over  it.    On  the  first  of  Miirch,  I  hope  to  ask  you  to 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


29 


read  a  little  history  with  me  ;  perhaps,  also,  because  the 
world's  time,  seen  truly,  is  but  one  long  and  fitful  April,  in 
which  every  day  is  All  Fool's  day, — we  may  continue  our 
studies  in  that  month  ;  but  on  the  first  of  May,  you  shall 
consider  with  me  what  you  can  do,  or  let  me,  if  still  living, 
tell  you  what  I  know  you  can  do — those  of  you,  at  least,  who 
will  promise — (with  the  help  of  the  three  strong  Fates),  these 
three  things  : 

1.  To  do  your  own  work  well,  whether  it  be  for  life  or 
death. 

2.  To  help  other  people  at  theirs,  when  you  can,  and  seek 
to  avenge  no  injury.  * 

3.  To  be  sure  you  can  obey  good  laws  before  you  seek  to 
alter  bad  ones. 

Believe  me. 

Your  faithful  friend, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


LETTER  ITT. 

Denmark  Hill, 

My  Friends,  Ut  March,  1871. 

We  are  to  read — with  your  leave — some  history  to-day  ; 
the  leave,  however,  will  ]'>erhaps  not  willingly  be  given,  for 
you  may  think  that  of  late  you  have  read  enough  history,  or 
too  much,  in  Gazettes  of  morning  and  evening.  No  ;  you 
have  read,  and  can  read,  no  history  in  these.  Reports  of 
daily  events,  yes  ; — and  if  any  journal  would  limit  itself  to 
statements  of  well-sifted  fact,  making  itself  not  a  *'news" 
paper,  but  an  "  olds "  pa})cr,  and  giving  its  statements 
tested  and  true,  like  old  wine,  as  soon  as  things  could  be 
known  accurately  ;  choosing  also,  of  the  many  tilings  that 
might  be  known,  those  which  it  was  most  vital  to  know,  and 
summing  them  in  few  words  of  pure  English, — I  cannot  say 
whether  it  would  ev3r  pay  well  to  sell  it ;  but  I  am  sure  it 
would  pay  well  to  read  it,  and  to  read  no  other. 

But  even  so,  to  know  only  what  was  happening  day  bj 


80 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


day,  would  not  be  to  read  history.  What  happens  now 
but  the  momentary  scene  of  a  great  play,  of  which  you  can 
understand  nothing  without  some  knowledge  of  the  former 
action.  And  of  that,  so  great  a  play  is  it,  you  can  at  best 
understand  little  ;  yet  of  history,  as  of  science,  a  little,  well 
known,  will  serve  you  much,  and  a  little,  ill  known,  will  do 
you  fatally  the  contrary  of  service. 

For  instance,  all  your  journals  will  be  full  of  talk,  for 
months  to  come,  about  whose  fault  the  war  was  ;  and  you 
yourselves,  as  you  begin  to  feel  its  deadly  recoil  on  your  own 
interests,  or  as  you  comprehend  better  the  misery  it  has 
brought  on  others,  will  be  looking  about  more  and  more  rest- 
lessly for  some  one  to  accuse  of  it.  That  is  because  you 
don't  know  the  law  of  Fate,  nor  the  course  of  history.  It  is 
the  law  or  Fate  that  we  shall  live,  in  part,  by  our  own  efforts, 
but  in  the  greater  part,  by  the  help  of  others  ;  and  that  we 
shall  also  die,  in  part,  for  our  own  faults  ;  but  in  the  greater 
part,  for  the  faults  of  others.  Do  you  suppose  (to  take  the 
thing  on  the  small  scale  in  which  you  can  test  it)  that  those 
seven  children  torn  into  pieces  out  of  their  sleep,  in  the  last 
night  of  the  siege  of  Paris,*  had  sinned  above  all  the  children 
in  Paris,  or  above  yours  ?  or  that  their  parents  had  sinned 
more  than  you  ?  Do  you  think  the  thousands  of  soldiers, 
German  and  French,  who  have  died  in  agony,  and  of  women 
who  have  died  of  grief,  had  sinned  above  all  other  soldiers, 
or  mothers,  or  girls,  there  and  here  ? 

It  was  not  their  fault,  but  their  Fate.  The  thing  ap- 
pointed to  them  by  the  Third  Fors.  But  you  think  it  was 
at  least  the  Emperor  Napoleon's  fault,  if  not  theirs  ?  Or 
Count  Bismarck's?  No;  not  at  all.  The  Emperor  Napo- 
leon had  no  more  to  do  with  it  than  a  cork  on  the  top  of  a 
wave  has  with  the  toss  of  the  sea.  Count  Bismarck  had  very 
little  to  do  with  it.  When  the  Count  sent  for  my  waiter, 
last  July,  in  the  village  ot*  Lauterbrunnen,  among  the  Alps, 
— that  the  waiter  then  and  there  packed  his  knapsack  and 
departed,  to  be  shot,  if  need  were,  leaving  my  dinner  un- 
served (as  has  been  the  case  with  many  other  people's  dinners 
*  Daily  Telegraph,  30th  January,  1871. 


FOHS  CLAVIGERA. 


31 


since) — depending  on  things  much  anterior  to  Count  Bis- 
marck. The  two  men  who  had  most  to  answer  for  in  the 
mischief  of  the  matter  were  St.  Louis  and  his  brother,  w^ho 
lived  in  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century.  One,  among 
the  very  best  of  men  ;  and  the  other,  of  all  that  I  ever  read 
of,  the  worst.  The  good  man,  living  in  mistaken  effort,  and 
dying  miserably,  to  the  ruin  of  his  country  ;  the  bad  man 
living  in  triumphant  good  fortune,  and  dying  peaceably,  to 
the  ruin  of  many  countries.  Such  were  their  Fates,  and 
ours.  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  of  them,  nor  anything 
about  the  French  war  to-day  ;  and  you  have  been  told,  long 
ago  (only  you  would  not  listen,  nor  believe,)  the  root  of  the 
modern  German  power — in  that  rough  father  of  Frederick, 
who  "yearly  made  his  country  richer,  and  this  not  in  money 
alone  (which  is  of  very  uncertain  value,  and  sometimes  has 
no  value  at  all,  and  even  less),  but  in  frugality,  diligence, 
punctuality,  veracity, — the  grand  fountains  from  which 
money,  and  all  real  values  and  valours,  spring  for  men. 
As  a  Nation's  IfrisbanrJ,  he  seeks  his  fellow  among  Kings, 
ancient  and  modern.  Happy  the  nation  which  gets  such  a 
Husband,  once  in  the  half  thousand  years.  The  Nation,  as 
foolish  wives  and  Nations  do,  repines  and  grudges  a  good 
deal,  its  weak  whims  and  will  being  thwarted  very  often  ; 
but  it  advances  steadily,  with  consciousness  or  not,  in  the 
way  of  well-doing  ;  and,  after  long  times,  the  harvest  of  this 
diligent  sowing  becomes  manifest  to  the  Nation,  and  to  all 
Nations."* 

No  such  harvest  is  sowing  for  you, — Freemen  and  in- 
dependent Electors  of  Parliamentar}'  representatives,  as  you 
think  vourselves. 

Freemen,  indeed  !  You  are  slaves,  not  to  masters  of  any 
strength  or  honor  ;  but  to  the  idlest  talkers  at  that  floral  end 
of  Westminster  bridge.  Nay,  to  countless  meaner  masters 
than  they.  For  though,  indeed,  as  early  as  the  year  1102,  it 
was  decreed  in  a  council  at  St.  Peter's,  Westminster,  "  that  no 
man  for  the  future  should  presume  to  carry  on  the  wicked 
trade  of  selling  men  in  the  markets,  like  brute  beasts,  which 
*  Carlyle's  Frederick^  Book  IV.,  chap.  iii. 


32 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


hitherto  had  been  the  common  custom  of  England/'  the  na 
less  wicked  trade  of  iinderseWmcr  men  in  markets  has  lasted 
to  this  day  ;  producing  conditions  of  slavery  differing  from 
the  ancient  ones  onlv  in  beino-  starved  instead  of  full-fed  : 
and  besides  this,  a  state  of  slavery  unheard  of  among  the 
nations  till  now,  has  arisen  with  us.  In  all  former  slaveries, 
Egyptian,  Algerine,  Saxon,  and  American,  the  slave's  com- 
plaint has  been  of  compulsory  loorh.  But  the  modern  Po- 
litico-Economic slave  is  a  new  and  far  more  injured  species, 
condemned  to  Compulsory  Idleness^  for  fear  he  should  spoil 
other  people's  trade  ;  the  beautifully  logical  condition  of  the 
national  Theory  of  Economy  in  this  matter  being  that,  if  you 
are  a  shoemaker,  it  is  a  law  of  Heaven  that  you  must  sell 
your  goods  under  their  price,  in  order  to  destroy  the  trade  of 
other  shoemakers  ;  but  if  you  are  not  a  shoemaker,  and  are 
going  shoeless  and  lame,  it  is  a  law  of  Heaven  that  you  must 
not  cut  yourself  a  bit  of  cowhide,  to  put  between  your  foot 
and  the  stones,  because  that  would  interfere  with  the  total 
trade  of  shoemaking. 

Which  theory,  of  all  the  wonderful — ! 

He  *  Ht  *  * 

We  will  wait  till  April  to  consider  of  it  ;  meantime,  here 
is  a  note  I  have  received  from  Mr.  Alsager  A.  Hill,  who  hav- 
ing been  unfortunately  active  in  organizing  that  new  effort 
in  the  advertising  business,  designed,  as  it  seems,  on  this 
loveliest  principle  of  doing  nothing  that  will  be  perilously 
productive — was  hurt  by  my  manner  of  mention  of  it  in  tlie 
last  number  of  Fors,  I  offered  accordingly  to  print  any 
form  of  remonstrance  he  would  furnish  me  with,  if  laconic 
enough  ;  and  he  writes  to  me,  The  intention  of  the  Board- 
men's  Society  is  not,  as  the  writer  of  Fors  Clavigera  sug- 
gests,  to  ^find  a  line  of  life'  for  able-bodied  laborers,  but 
simply,  by  means  of  co-operation,  to  give  them  the  fullest 
benefit  of  their  labor  whilst  they  continue  a  very  humble  but 
still  remunerative  calling.  See  Rule  12.  The  capital  asked 
for  to  start  the  organization  is  essential  in  all  industrial  part- 
nerships, and  in  so  poor  a  class  of  labour  as  that  of  street 
board-carrying  could  not  be  supplied  by  the  men  themselves. 


FOBS  CLAVIGEUA. 


33 


Wit  respect  to  the  'lies'  alleged  to  be  carried  in  front  and 
behind,  it  is  rather  hard  measure  to  say  that  mere  announce- 
ments of  public  meetings  or  places  of  entertainments  (of  which 
street  notices  chiefly  consist)  are  necessarily  falsehoods." 

To  which,  I  have  only  to  reply  that  I  never  said  the  newly* 
found  line  of  life  was  meant  for  able-bodied  persons.  Tlie 
distinction  between  able-  and  unable-bodied  men  is  entirely 
indefinite.  There  are  all  degrees  of  ability  for  all  things  ; 
and  a  man  who  can  do  anything,  however  little,  should  be 
made  to  do  that  little  usefully.  If  you  can  carry  about  a 
board  with  a  bill  on  it,  you  can  carry,  not  about,  but  where 
it  is  wanted,  a  board  without  a  bill  on  it  ;  which  is  a  much 
more  useful  exercise  of  your  inability.  Respecting  the  gen- 
eral probity,  and  historical  or  descriptive  accuracy,  of  adver- 
tisements, and  their  function  in  modern  economy,  I  will  in- 
quire in  another  place.  You  see  I  use  none  for  this  book, 
and  shall  in  future  use  none  for  any  of  my  books  ;  having 
grave  objection  even  to  the  very  small  minority  of  advertise- 
ments which  are  approximately  true.  I  am  correcting  this 
sheet  in  the  ''Crown  and  Thistle"  inn  at  Abingdon,  and 
under  my  window  is  a  siirill-voiced  person,  slowdy  progres- 
sive, crying  "Soles,  three  pair  for  a  shillin'.*"  In  a  market 
regulated  by  reason  and  order,  instead  of  demand  and  sup- 
ply, the  soles  would  neither  have  been  kept  long  enough  to 
render  such  advertisement  of  them  necessary,  nor  permitted, 
after  their  inexpedient  preservation,  to  be  advertised. 

Of  all  attainable  liberties,  then,  be  sure  first  to  strive 
for  leave  to  be  useful.  Independence  you  liad  better  cease  to 
talk  of,  for  you  are  dependent  not  only  on  every  act  of  people 
whom  you  never  heard  of,  who  are  living  around  you,  but  on 
every  past  act  of  what  has  been  dust  for  a  tliousand  years. 
So  also,  does  the  course  of  a  thousand  years  to  come,  depend 
upon  the  little  perishing  strength  that  is  in  you. 

Little  enough,  and  perishing,  often  witliout  reward,  how- 
ever w^ell  spent.  Understand  that.  Virtue  does  not  consist 
in  doing  what  will  be  presently  paid,  or  even  paid  at  all,  to 
you,  the  virtuous  person.  It  may  so  chance  ;  or  may  not. 
It  ^vill  be  paid,  some  day  ;  but  the  vital  condition  of  it,  aa 
3 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


virtue,  is  that  it  shall  be  content  in  its  own  deed,  and  desir* 
ous  rather  that  the  pay  of  it,  if  any,  should  be  for  others; 
just  as  it  is  also  the  vital  condition  of  vice  to  be  content  in  its 
own  deed,  and  desirous  that  the  pay  thereof,  if  any,  should 
be  to  others. 

You  have  probably  heard  of  St.  Louis  before  now  :  and 
perhaps  also  that  he  built  the  Sainte  Chapelle  of  Paris,  of 
Avhich  you  may  have  seen  that  I  wrote  the  other  day  to  tha 
Telegraphy  as  being  the  most  precious  piece  of  Gothic  in 
Northern  Europe  ;  but  you  are  not  likely  to  have  known 
that  the  spire  of  it  was  Tenterden  steeple  over  again,  and 
the  cause  of  fatal  sands  many,  quick,  and  slow,  and  above 
all,  of  the  running  of  these  in  the  last  hour-glass  of  France  ; 
for  that  spire,  ?-nd  others  like  it,  subordinate,  have  acted 
ever  since  as  lightning  rods,  in  a  reverse  manner  ;  carry- 
ing, not  the  fire  of  heaven  innocently  to  earth.,  but  electric 
fire  of  earth  innocently  to  heaven,  leaving  us  all,  down  here, 
cold.  The  best  virtue  and  heart-fire  of  France  (not  to  say  of 
England,  who  building  her  towers  for  the  most  part  with  four 
pinnacles  instead  of  one,  in  a  somewhat  quadrumanous  type, 
finds  them  less  apt  as  conductors),  have  spent  themselves  for 
these  past  six  centuries  in  running  up  those  steeples  and  off 
them,  nobody  knows  where,  leaving  a  holy  Republic  "  as 
residue  at  the  bottom  ;  helpless,  clay-cold,  and  croaking,  a 
habitation  of  frogs,  which  poor  Garibaldi  fights  for,  vainly 
raging  against  the  ghost  of  St.  Louis. 

It  is  of  English  ghosts,  however,  that  I  would  fain  tell  you 
somewhat  to-day  ;  of  them,  and  of  the  land  they  haunt,  and 
know  still  for  theirs.    For  hear  this  to  begin  with  : — 

"While  the  map  of  France  or  Germany  in  the  eleventh 
century  is  useless  for  modern  purposes,  and  looks  like  the 
picture  of  another  region,  a  map  of  England  proper  in  the 
reign  of  Victoria  hardly  differs  at  all  from  a  map  of  England 
proper  in  the  reign  of  William  "  (the  Conqueror).  So  says, 
very  truly,  Mr.  Freeman  in  his  History  of  the  Conquest.  Are 
there  any  of  you  who  care  for  this  old  England,  of  which  the 
map  has  remained  unchanged  for  so  long?  I  believe  you 
would  care  more  for  her,  and  less  for  yourselves,  except  aa 


FOnS  CLAVIGERA. 


35 


her  faithful  children,  if  you  knew  a  little  more  about  her  ; 
and  especially  more  of  what  she  has  been.  The  difficulty,  in- 
deed, at  any  time,  is  in  finding  out  what  she  has  been  ;  for  that 
which  people  usually  call  her  history  is  not  hers  at  all  ;  but 
that  of  her  Kings,  or  the  tax-gatherers  employed  by  them, 
which  is  as  if  people  were  to  call  Mr.  Gladstone's  history,  or 
Mr.  Lowe's,  yours  and  mine. 

But  the  history  even  of  her  Kings  is  worth  reading.  You 
remember,  I  said,  that  sometimes  in  church  it  might  keep 
you  awake  to  be  told  a  little  of  it.  For  a  simple  instance, 
you  have  heard  probably  of  Absalom's  rebellion  against  his 
father,  and  of  David's  agony  at  his  death,  until  from  very 
weariness  you  have  ceased  to  feel  the  power  of  the  story. 
You  would  not  feel  it  less  vividly  if  you  knew  that  a  far 
more  fearful  sorrow,  of  the  like  kind,  had  happened  to  one 
of  your  own  Kings,  perhaps  the  best  we  have  had,  take  him 
for  all  in  all.  Not  one  only,  but  three  of  his  sons,  rebelled  ^ 
against  /mn,  and  were  urged  into  rebellion  by  their  mother. 
The  Prince,  who  should  have  been  King  after  him,  was  par- 
doned, not  once,  but  many  times — pardoned  wholly,  with  re- 
joicing over  him  as  over  the  dead  alive,  and  set  at  his  fath- 
er's right  hand  in  the  kingdom  ;  but  all  in  vain.  Hard  and 
treacherous  to  the  heart's  core,  nothing  wins  him,  nothing 
warns,  nothing  binds.  He  flies  to  France,  and  wars  at  last 
alike  against  father  and  brother,  till,  falling  sick  through 
mingled  guilt,  and  shame,  and  rage,  he  repents  idly  as  the 
fever-fire  withers  him.  His  father  sends  him  the  signet  ring 
from  his  finger  in  token  of  one  more  forgiveness.  The  Prince 
lies  down  on  a  heap  of  ashes  with  a  halter  round  his  neck, 
and  so  dies.  When  his  father  heard  it  he  fainted  away  three 
times,  and  then  broke  out  into  bitterest  crying  and  tears. 
This,  you  would  have  thought  enough  for  the  Third  dark 
Fate  to  have  appointed  for  a  man's  sorrows.  It  was  little 
to  that  which  was  to  come.  His  second  son,  who  was  now 
his  Prince  of  England,  conspired  against  him,  and  pursued 
his  father  from  city  to  city,  in  Norman  France.  At  last, 
even  his  youngest  son,  best  beloved  of  all^  abandoned  him^ 
and  went  over  to  his  enemies. 


36 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA, 


This  was  enough.  Between  him  and  his  children  Heaven 
eommanded  its  own  peace.  He  sickened  and  died  of  grief 
on  the  6th  of  July,  1189. 

The  son  who  had  killed  him,  "  repented  "  now  ;  but  there 
could  be  no  signet  ring  sent  to  him.  Perhaps  the  dead  do 
not  forgive.  Men  say,  as  he  stood  by  his  father's  corpse, 
that  the  blood  burst  from  its  nostrils.  One  child  only  had 
been  faithful  to  him,  but  he  was  the  son  of  a  girl  whom  he 
had  loved  much,  and  as  he  should  not  ;  his  Queen,  therefore, 
being  a  much  older  person,  and  strict  upon  proprieties,  poi- 
soned her  ;  nevertheless  poor  Rosamond's  son  never  failed 
him  ;  won  a  battle  for  him  in  England,  which,  in  all  human 
probability,  saved  his  kingdom  ;  and  was  made  a  bishop,  and 
turned  out  a  bishop  of  the  best. 

You  know  already  a  little  about  the  Prince  who  stood  un- 
forgiven  (as  it  seemed)  by  his  father's  body.  He,  also,  had 
to  forgive,  in  his  time  ;  but  only  a  stranger's  arrow  shot — 
not  those  reversed  "  arrows  in  the  hand  of  the  giant,"  by 
which  his  father  died.  Men  called  him  Lion-heart,"  not 
untruly  ;  and  the  English,  as  a  people,  have  prided  them- 
selves somewhat  ever  since  on  having,  every  man  of  them, 
the  heart  of  a  lion  ;  without  inquiring  particularly  either 
what  sort  of  lieart  a  lion  has,  or  whether  to  have  the  heart  of 
a  lamb  might  not  sometimes  be  more  to  the  purpose.  But 
it  so  happens  that  the  name  was  very  justly  given  to  this 
prince  ;  and  I  want  you  to  study  his  character  somewhat, 
with  me,  because  in  all  our  history  there  is  no  truer  repre- 
sentative of  one  great  species  of  the  British  squire,  under  all 
the  three  significances  of  the  name  ;  for  this  Richard  of  ours 
was  beyond  most  of  his  fellows,  a  Rider  and  a  Shieldbearer  ; 
and  beyond  all  men  of  his  day,  a  Carver  ;  and  in  disposition 
and  tenreasonable  exercise  of  intellectual  power,  typically  a 
Squire  altogether. 

Note  of  him  first,  then,  that  lie  verily  desired  the  good  of 
his  people  (provided  it  could  be  contrived  without  any  check 
of  his  own  humor),  and  that  he  saw  his  way  to  it  a  great  deal 
clearer  than  any  of  your  squires  do  now.  Here  are  some  of 
his  laws  for  you  : — 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


37 


"  Having  set  forth  the  great  inconveniences  arising  from 
the  diversity  of  weights  and  measures  in  different  parts  of 
the  kingdom,  he,  by  a  law,  commanded  all  measures  of  corn, 
and  other  dry  goods,  as  also  of  liquors,  to  be  exactly  the 
same  in  all  his  dominions  ;  and  that  the  rim  of  each  of  these 
measures  should  be  a  circle  of  iron.  Bv  another  law,  he 
commanded  all  clotli  to  be  woven  two  yards  in  breadth  within 
the  lists,  and  of  equal  goodness  in  all  parts  ;  and  that  all 
cloth  which  did  not  answer  this  description  should  be  seized 
and  burnt.  He  enacted,  further,  that  all  the  coin  of  the 
kingdom  should  be  exactly  of  the  same  weight  and  fineness; 
— that  no  Christian  should  take  any  interest  for  money  lent; 
and,  to  prevent  the  extortions  of  the  Jews,  he  commanded 
that  all  compacts  'between  Christians  and  Jews  should  be 
made  in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  and  the  conditions  of  them 
put  in  writing."  So,  you  see,  in  Coeur-de-Lion's  day,  it  was 
not  esteemed  of  absolute  necessity  to  put  agreements  be- 
tween Christia7is  in  writinor  !  Which  if  it  were  not  now, 
you  know  we  might  save  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  dis- 
charge some  of  our  workmen  round  Temple  Bar,  as  well  as 
from  Woolwich  Dockyards.  Note  also  tliat  bit  about  in- 
terest of  money  also  for  future  reference.  In  the  next  place 
observe  that  this  King  had  great  objection  to  thieves — at 
least  to  any  person  whom  he  clearly  comprehended  to  be  a 
thief.  He  was  the  inventor  of  a  mode  of  treatment  wliich  I 
believe  the  Americans — among  whom  it  has  not  fallen  alto- 
gether into  disuse — do  not  gratefully  enough  recognize  as  a 
Monarchical  institution.  By  the  last  of  the  laws  for  the 
government  of  his  fleet  in  his  expedition  to  Palestine,  it  is 
decreed, — ^'That  whoever  is  convicted  of  theft  shall  have  his 
head  shaved,  melted  pitch  poured  upon  it,  and  the  featliers 
from  a  pillow  shaken  over  it,  that  he  may  be  known  ;  and 
shall  be  put  on  shore  on  the  first  land  whicii  the  ship  touches. 
And  not  only  so  ;  he  even  objected  to  any  theft  by  misre- 
presentation or  deception, — for  being  evidently  particularly 
interested,  like  Mr.  Mill,  in  that  cloth  manufacture,  and  hav- 
ing made  the  above  law  about  the  breadth  of  the  web,  which 
has  caused  it  to  be  spoken  of  ever  since  as  "Broad  Cloth.'' 


88 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


and  besides,  for  better  preservation  of  its  breadth,  enacted 
that  the  Ell  shall  be  of  the  same  length  all  over  the  kingdom, 
and  that  it  shall  be  made  of  iron — (so  that  Mr.  Tennvson's 
provision  for  National  defences — that  every  shop-boy  should 
strike  with  his  cheating  yard-wand  home,  would  be  mended 
much  by  the  substitution  of  King  Richard's  holiest  ell-wand, 
and  for  once  with  advisable  encouragement  to  the  iron  trade) 
— King  Richard  finally  declares — "That  it  shall  be  of  the 
same  D^oodness  in  the  middle  as  at  the  sides,  and  that  no 
merchant  in  any  part  of  the  kingdom  of  England  shall  stretch 
before  his  shop  or  booth  a  red  or  black  cloth,  or  any  other 
thing  by  which  the  sight  of  buyers  is  frequently  deceived  in 
the  choice  of  o^ood  cloth." 

These  being  Richard's  rough  and  unreasonable,  chancing 
nevertheless,  being  wliolly  honest,  to  be  wholly  right,  notions 
of  business,  the  next  point  you  are  to  note  in  him  is  his  un- 
reasonable good  humour  ;  an  eminent  character  of  English 
Squires  ;  a  very  loveable  one  ;  and  available  to  himself  and 
others  in  many  ways,  but  not  altogether  so  exemplary  as 
many  think  it.  If  you  are  unscrupulously  resolved,  whenever 
you  can  get  your  own  way,  to  take  it  ;  if  you  are  in  a  posi- 
tion of  life  wherein  you  can  get  a  good  deal  of  it,  and  if  you 
have  pugnacity  enough  to  enjoy  fighting  with  anybody  who 
will  not  give  it  you,  there  is  little  reason  why  you  should 
ever  be  out  of  humour,  unless  indeed  your  w^ay  is  a  broad 
one,  wherein  you  are  like  to  be  opposed  in  force.  Richard's 
way  was  a  very  narrow  one.  To  be  first  in  battle,  (generally 
obtaining  that  main  piece  of  his  will  v/ithout  question  ;  once 
only  worsted,  by  a  French  knight,  and  then,  not  at  all  good- 
humouredly),  to  be  first  in  recognized  command — therefore 
contending  with  his  father,  who  was  both  in  wisdom  and  ac- 
knowledged place  superior;  but  scarcely  contending  at  all  with 
hisbrother  John, who  was  as  definitely  and  deeply  beneath  him; 
good-humoured  unreasonably,  while  he  was  killing  his  father, 
the  best  of  kings,  and  letting  his  brother  rule  unresisted,  who 
was  among  the  worst  ;  and  only  proposing  for  his  object  in 
life  to  enjoy  himself  everywhere  in  a  chivalrous,  poetical,  and 
pleasantly  animal  manner,  as  a  strong  man  always  may. 


FOES  CLAVIGERA, 


^59 


What  should  he  liave  been  out  of  humour  for  ?  That  he 
brightly  and  bravely  lived  through  his  captivity  is  much  in- 
deed to  his  honour  ;  but  it  was  his  point  of  honour  to  be 
bright  and  brave  ;  not  at  all  to  take  care  of  his  kingdom. 
A  king  w\\o  cared  for  that,  would  have  got  thinner  and  sad- 
der in  prison. 

And  it  remains  true  of  the  English  squire  to  this  day,  that, 
for  the  most  part,  he  thinks  that  his  kingdom  is  given  him 
that  he  may  be  bright  and  brave  ;  and  not  at  all  that  the 
sunshine  or  valour  in  him  is  meant  to  be  of  use  toliis  kingdom. 

But  the  next  point  you  have  to  note  in  Richard  is  indeed 
a  very  noble  quality,  and  true  English  ;  he  always  does  as 
much  of  his  work  as  he  can  with  his  own  hands.  He  was  not 
in  any  wise  a  king  who  would  sit  by  a  wind-mill  to  watch  his 
son  and  his  men  at  work,  though  brave  kings  have  done  so. 
As  much  as  might  be,  of  whatever  had  to  be  done,  he  would 
stedfastly  do  from  his  own  shoulder  ;  his  main  tool  being  an 
old  Greek  one,  and  tlie  working  God  Vulcan's — the  clearing 
axe.  When  that  was  no  longer  needful,  and  nothing  would 
serve  but  spade  and  trowel,  still  the  king  was  foremost  ;  and 
after  the  weary  retreat  to  Ascalon,  when  he  found  the  place 
"so  completely  ruined  and  deserted,  that  it  afforded  neither 
food,  lodging,  nor  protection,"  nor  any  otlier  sort  of  capital, 
— forthwith,  20th  January,  1192 — his  army  and  he  set  to 
work  to  repair  it  ;  a  three  months'  business,  of  incessant  toil, 
"from  which  the  king  himself  was  not  exempted,  but  wrought 
with  greater  ardour  than  any  common  labourer." 

The  next  point  of  his  character  is  very  English  also,  but 
.  less  honourably  so.  I  said  but  now  that  lie  had  a  great  ob- 
jection to  anybody  whom  ho  clearly  comprehended  to  be  a 
thief.  But  he  had  great  dilliculty  in  reaching  anything  like 
an  abstract  definition  of  thieving,  such  as  would  include  every 
method  of  it,  and  every  culprit,  which  is  an  incapacity  very 
common  to  many  of  us  to  this  day.  For  instance,  he  carried 
off  a  great  deal  of  treasure  whicli  belonged  to  his  father,  from 
Chinon  (the  royal  treasury-town  in  France),  and  fortified  his 
own  castles  in  Poitou  witn  it  ;  and  wlien  he  wanted  mone}^  to 
go  crusading  with,  sold  tne  royal  castles,  manors^  woods,  and 


40 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


forests,  and  even  the  superiority  of  the  Crown  of  England 
over  the  kingdom  of  Scotland,  which  his  father  had  wrought 
hard  for,  for  about  a  hundred  thousand  pounds.  Nay,  the 
highest  honours  and  most  important  offices  became  venal 
under  him  ;  and  from  a  Princess's  dowry  to  a  Saracen  cara- 
van, nothing  comes  much  amiss  :  not  but  that  he  gives  gener- 
ously also  ;  whole  ships  at  a  time  when  he  is  in  the  humour; 
but  his  main  practice  is  getting  and  spending,  never  saving  ; 
which  covetousness  is  at  last  the  death  of  him.  For  hearing 
that  a  considerable  treasure  of  ancient  coins  and  medals  has 
been  found  in  the  lands  of  Vidomar,  Viscount  of  Limoges, 
Kinof  Richard  sends  forthwith  to  claim  this  waif  for  himself. 
The  Viscount  offers  liim  part  only,  presumably  having  an  an- 
tiquarian turn  of  mind.  Whereupon  Richard  loses  his  temper, 
and  marches  forthwith  with  some  Brabant  men,  mercenaries, 
to  besiege  the  Viscount  in  his  castle  of  Chains  ;  proposing, 
first,  to  possess  himself  of  the  antique  and  otherwise  inter- 
esting coin  in  the  castle,  and  then,  on  his  general  principle 
of  objection  to  thieves,  to  hang  the  garrison.  The  garrison, 
on  this,  offer  to  give  up  the  antiquities  if  they  may  march  off 
tiiemselves  ;  but  Richard  declares  that  nothing  will  serve  but 
tljey  must  all  be  hanged.  Whereon  the  siege  proceeding  by 
rule,  and  Richard  looking,  as  usual,  into  matters  with  his 
own  eyes,  and  going  too  near  the  walls,  an  arrow  well  meant, 
though  half  spent,  pierces  the  strong  white  shoulder  ;  the 
shield-bearing  one,  carelessly  forward  above  instead  of  under 
shield  ;  or  perhaps,  rather,  w^hen  he  was  afoot,  shieldless, 
engineering.  He  finishes  his  w^ork,  however,  though  the 
scratch  teases  him  ;  plans  his  assault,  carries  his  castle,  and 
duly  hangs  his  garrison,  all  but  the  archer,  whom  in  his  royal 
unreasoning  way  he  thinks  better  of  for  the  well-spent  ar< 
row.  But  he  pulls  it  out  impatiently,  and  the  head  of  it 
stays  m  the  fair  flesh  ;  a  little  surgery  follows  ;  not  so  skiU 
ful  as  the  archery  of  those  days,  and  the  lion  heart  is  ap- 
peased— 

Sixth  April,  1199. 

We  will  pursue  our  historical  studies,  if  you  please,  in  that 
month  of  the  present  year.    But  I  wish,  in  tiie  meantime, 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


41 


jrou  would  observe,  and  meditate  on,  the  quite  Anglican 
character  of  Ricliard,  to  his  death. 

It  miglit  have  been  remarked  to  him,  on  his  pi'ojecting  tlie 
expedition  to  Chains,*  that  there  were  not  a  few  Roman  coins, 
and  other  antiquities,  to  be  found  in  his  own  kingdom  of 
England,  witiiout  fighting  for  them,  by  mere  spade-labour 
and  other  innocuous  means  ;  that  even  the  brightest  new 
money  was  obtainable  from  his  royal  people  in  almost  any 
quantity  for  civil  asking,  and  that  the  same  loyal  people,  en- 
couraged and  protected,  and  above  all,  kept  clean-handed,  in 
tlie  arts,  by  their  king,  might  produce  treasures  more  covet- 
able  than  any  antiquities. 

No  ;"  Richard  would  have  answered, — "  that  is  all  hypo- 
thetical and  visionary  ;  here  is  a  pot  of  coin  presently  to  be 
had — no  doubt  about  it — inside  the  walls  here: — let  me  once 
get  hold  of  that,  and  then," — 

^  jfC  J}4  Sjl  Sj» 

That  is  what  we  English  call  being  Practical." 

Believe  me, 

Faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 

LETTER  IV. 

Denmark  Hill, 
My  Friends,  l^"^- 

It  cannot  but  be  pleasing  to  us  to  reflect,  this  day,  that  if 
we  are  often  foolish  enough  to  talk  English  without  under- 
standing it,  we  are  often  wise  enough  to  talk  Latin  without 
knowing  it.  For  this  month  retains  its  pretty  Roman  name, 
and  means  the  month  of  Opening  ;  of  the  light  in  the  days, 
and  the  life  in  the  leaves,  and  of  the  voices  of  birds,  and  of 
the  hearts  of  men. 

And  being  the  month  of  Manifestation,  it  is  pre-eminently 
the  month  of  Fools  ; — for  under  the  beatific  influences  of 
moral  sunshine,  or  Education,  the  Fools  always  come  out 
first. 


42 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


But  what  is  less  pleasing  to  reflect  upon,  this  spring  morn- 
ing,  is,  that  there  are  some  kinds  of  education  which  may  be 
described,  not  as  moral  sunshine,  but  as  moral  moonshine  : 
and  that,  under  these,  Fools  come  cut  both  First— and  Last. 

We  have,  it  seems,  now  set  our  opening  hearts  much  on 
this  one  point,  that  we  will  have  education  for  ail  men  and 
women  now,  and  for  all  boys  and  girls  that  are  to  be.  Noth- 
ing, indeed,  can  be  more  desirable,  if  only  we  determine  also 
what  kind  of  education  we  are  to  have.  It  is  taken  for 
granted  that  any  education  must  be  good  ; — that  the  m.ore 
of  it  we  get,  the  better  ;  that  bad  education  only  means  little 
education  ;  and  that  the  worst  thing  we  have  to  fear  is  get- 
ting none.  AlaSj  that  is  not  at  all  so.  Getting  no  education 
is  by  no  means  the  worst  thing  that  can  happen  to  us.  One 
of  the  pleasantest  friends  I  ever  had  in  my  life  was  a  Savoy- 
ard guide,  who  could  only  read  with  difficulty,  and  write, 
scarcely  intelligibly,  and  by  great  effort.  He  knev/  no  lan- 
guage but  his  own — no  science,  except  as  much  practical  ag- 
riculture as  served  him  to  till  liis  fields.  But  he  was,  without 
exception,  one  of  the  happiest  persons,  and,  on  the  whole, 
one  of  the  best,  I  have  ever  known  ;  and  after  lunch,  when 
he  had  had  his  half  bottle  of  Savoy  wine,  he  would  generally, 
as  we  walked  up  some  quiet  valley  in  the  afternoon  light, 
give  me  a  little  lecture  on  philosophy  ;  and  after  I  had  fa- 
tigued and  provoked  him  with  less  cheerful  views  of  the 
world  than  his  own,  he  would  fall  back  to  my  servant  behind 
me,  and  console  himself  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and  a 
whispered  "Le  pauvre  enfant,  ii  ne  sait  pas  vivre  !" — ("The 
poor  child,  he  doesn't  know  how  to  live.") 

No,  my  friends,  believe  me,  it  is  not  the  going  without 
education  at  all  that  we  have  most  to  dread.  The  real  thing 
to  be  feared  is  getting  a  bad  one.  There  are  all  sorts — good, 
and  very  good  ;  bad,  and  very  bad.  The  children  of  rich 
people  often  get  the  worst  education  that  is  to  be  had  for 
money  ;  the  children  of  the  poor  often  get  the  best  for 
nothing.  And  you  have  really  these  two  things  now  to  de- 
cide for  yourselves  in  England  before  you  can  take  one 
quit©  safe  practical  step  in  the  matter,  namely,  first,  what 


F0R3  CLAVIGERA. 


43 


a  good  education  is  ;  and,  secondly,  who  is  likely  to  give  it 
you. 

What  it  is  ?  "  Everybody  knows  that,"  I  suppose  you 
would  most  of  you  answer.  Of  course — to  be  taught  to 
read,  and  write,  and  cast  accounts  ;  and  to  learn  geography, 
and  geology,  and  astronomy,  and  chemistry,  and  German, 
and  French,  and  Italian,  and  Latin,  and  Greek,  and  the 
aboriginal  Aryan  language." 

Well,  when  you  have  learned  all  that,  what  would  you  do 
next.  "  Next  ?  Why  then  we  should  be  perfectly  happy, 
and  make  as  much  money  as  ever  we  liked,  and  we  would 
turn  out  our  toes  before  any  company."  I  am  not  sure  m}^- 
self,  and  I  don't  think  you  can  be,  of  any  one  of  these  three 
things.  At  least,  as  to  making  you  very  happy,  I  know 
something,  myself,  of  nearly  all  these  matters — not  much, 
but  still  quite  as  much  as  most  men  under  the  ordinary 
chances  of  life,  with  a  fair  education,  are  likely  to  get  to- 
gether— and  I  assure  you  the  knowledge  does  not  make  me 
happy  at  all.  When  1  was  a  boy  I  used  to  like  seeing  the 
sunrise.  I  didn't  know,  then,  there  were  any  spots  on  the 
sun  ;  now  I  do,  and  am  always  frightened  lest  any  more 
should  come.  When  1  was  a  boy,  I  used  to  care  about 
pretty  stones.  I  got  some  Bristol  (iiamonds  at  Bristol,  and 
some  dog-tooth  spar  in  Derbyshire  ;  my  whole  collection  had 
cost,  perhaps  three  half-crowns,  and  was  worth  considerably 
less  ;  and  I  knew  nothing  whatever,  rightly,  about  any  sin- 
gle stone  in  it  ; — could  not  even  spell  their  names  :  but  words 
cannot  tell  the  joy  they  used  to  give  me.  Now,  I  have  a 
collection  of  minerals  worth,  ))eriiaps,  from  two  to  three 
thousand  pounds  ;  and  I  know  more  about  some  of  them 
than  most  other  people.  But  I  am  not  a  whit  happier,  either 
for  my  knowledge,  or  possessions,  for  other  geologists  dis- 
pute my  theories,  to  my  grievous  indignation  and  discon- 
tentment ;  and  I  am  miserable  about  all  my  best  specimens, 
because  there  are  better  in  the  British  Museum. 

No,  I  assure  you,  knowledge  by  itself  will  not  make  you 
happy  ;  still  less  will  it  make  you  rich.  Perhaps  you  thought 
I  was  writing  carelessly  when  I  told  you,  last  month,  "  sci- 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


ence  did  not  pay."  But  you  don't  know  what  science  is. 
You  fancy  it  means  mechanical  art  ;  and  so  you  have  put  a 
statue  of  Science  on  the  Holborn  Viaduct,  with  a  steam- 
engine  regulator  in  its  hands.  My  ingenious  friends,  science 
has  no  more  to  do  with  makino-  steam-eno-ines  than  with 
making  breeches  ;  though  she  condescends  to  help  you  s 
little  in  such  necessary  (or  it  may  be,  conceivably,  in  both 
cases,  sometimes  unnecessary)  businesses.  Science  lives  only 
in  quiet  places,  and  with  odd  people,  mostly  poor.  Mr.  Jolm 
Kepler,  for  instance,  who  is  found  by  Sir  Henry  Wotton  ''in 
the  picturesque  green  country  by  the  shores  of  the  Doriau, 
in  a  little  black  tent  in  a  field,  convertible,  like  a  windmill, 
to  all  quarters,  a  camera-obscura,  in  fact.  Mr.  John  invents 
rude  toys,  writes  almanacks,  practises  medicine,  for  good 
reasons,  his  encouragement  from  the  Holy  Rotnan  Empire 
and  mankind  being  a  pension  of  18/.  a  year,  and  that  hardly 
ever  paid."  *  That  is  what  one  gets  by  star-gazing,  my 
friends.  And  you  cannot  be  simple  enough,  even  in  April, 
to  think  I  got  my  three  thousand  pounds'-worth  of  minerals 
by  studying  mineralogy  ?  Not  so  ;  they  were  earned  for  me 
by  hard  labour  ;  my  father's  in  England,  and  many  a  sun- 
burnt vineyard-dresser's  in  Spain. 

"  What  business  had  you,  in  your  idleness,  with  their 
earnings  then  ?"  you  will  perhaps  ask.  None,  it  may  be  ; 
I  will  tell  you  in  a  little  while  how  you  may  find  that  out  ; 
it  is  not  to  the  point  now.  But  it  is  to  the  point  that  you 
should  observe  I  have  not  kept  their  earnings,  the  portion  of 
them,  at  least,  with  which  I  bought  minerals.  That  part  of 
their  earnings  is  all  gone  to  feed  the  miners  in  Cornwall,  or 
on  the  Hartz  Mountains,  and  I  have  only  got  for  myself  a 
few  pieces  of  glittering  (not  always  that,  but  often  unseemly) 
stone,  which  neither  vinedressers  nor  miners  cared  for  ;  which 
you  yourselves  w^ould  have  to  learn  many  hard  words,  much 
cramp  mathematics,  and  useless  chemistry,  in  order  to  care 
for :  which,  if  ever  you  did  care  for,  as  I  do,  would  most 
likely  only  make  you  envious  of  the  British  Museum,  and 
occasionally  uncomfortable  if  any  harm  happened  to  your 
♦  Carljie,  Frederick^  vol.  1,  p.  o31  (iirr?t  editioa). 


FORa  CLAVIGEliA, 


45 


dear  stones.  I  have  a  piece  of  red  oxide  of  copper,  for  in- 
stance, which  grieves  me  poignantly  by  losing  its  colour  ; 
and  a  crystal  of  sulphide  of  lead,  with  a  chip  in  it,  which 
causes  me  a  great  deal  of  concern — in  April  ;  because  I  see 
it  then  by  the  fresh  sunshine. 

My  oxide  of  copper  and  sulphide  of  lead  you  will  not  then 
wisely  envy  me.  Neither,  probably,  would  you  covet  a  hand- 
ful of  hard  brown  gravel,  with  a  rough  pebble  in  it,  whitish, 
and  about  the  size  of  a  pea  ;  nor  a  few  grains  of  apparently 
brass  fihni2.*s  with  which  the  jrravel  is  mixed.  I  was  but  a 
Fool  to  give  good  money  for  such  things,  you  think  ?  It  may 
well  be.  I  gave  thirty  pounds  for  that  handful  of  gravel, 
and  the  miners  who  found  it  were  ill-paid  then  ;  and  it  is 
not  clear  to  me  that  this  produce  of  their  labour  was  the  best 
possible.  Shall  we  consider  of  it,  with  the  help  of  the  Cam- 
bridge Catechism  ?  at  the  tenth  page  of  which  you  will  find 
that  Mr.  Mill's  definition  of  productive  labour  is — "  That  which 
produces  utilities  fixed  and  embodied  in  material  objects." 

This  is  very  fine — indeed,  superfine — English  ;  but  I  can, 
perhaps,  make  the  meaning  of  the  Greatest  Thinker  in  Eng- 
land a  little  more  lucid  for  you  by  vulgarizing  his  terms. 

"Object,"  you  nmst  always  remember,  is  fine  English  for 
"  Thing."  It  is  a  semi-Latin  word,  and  properly  means  a 
thing  "  thrown  in  your  way  ; "  so  that  if  you  put  "  ion  "  to 
the  end  of  it,  it  becomes  Objection.    We  will  rather  say 

Thing,"  if  you  have  no  objection — you  and  I.  A  "  Ma- 
terial" thing,  then,  of  course,  signifies  something  solid  and 
tani2:ible.  It  is  verv  necessarv  for  Political  Economists  al- 
ways  to  insert  this  word  "  material,"  lest  people  should  sup- 
pose that  there  was  any  use  or  value  in  Thought  or  Knowl- 
edge, and  other  sucii  immaterial  objects. 

"  Embodied  is  a  particularly  elegant  word  ;  but  superflu- 
ous, because  you  know  it  would  not  be  possible  that  a  utility 
should  be  Disembodied,  as  long  as  it  was  in  a  material  ob- 
ject. But  v/hen  you  wish  to  express  yourself  as  thinking  in 
a  great  manner,  you  may  say — as,  for  instance,  when  you  are 
Bupping  vegetable  soup — tliat  your  power  of  doing  so  con- 
veniently and  gracefully  is    Embodied  "  in  a  spoon. 


46 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


Fixed  "  is,  I  am  afraid,  rashly,  as  well  as  superfluously 
introduced  into  his  definition  by  Mr.  Mill.    It  is  conceivable 
that  some  Utilities  may  be  also  volatile,  or  planetary,  even 
when  embodied.    But  at  last  we  come  to  the  great  word  m 
the  great  definition — "  Utility." 

And  this  word,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  puzzles  me  most  of  all  ; 
for  I  never  myself  saw  a  Utility,  either  out  of  the  body,  oi 
in  it,  and  should  be  much  embarrassed  if  ordered  to  .produce 
one  in  either  state. 

But  it  is  fortunate  for  us  that  all  this  seraphic  language, 
reduced  to  the  vulgar  tongue,  will  become,  though  fallen 
in  dignity  and  reduced  in  dimension,  perfectly  intelligible. 
The  Greatest  Thinker  in  England  means  by  these  beautiful 
words  to  tell  you  that  Productive  labour  is  labour  that  pro- 
duces a  Useful  Thing.  Which,  indeed,  perhaps,  you  knew 
— or,  without  the  assistance  of  great  thinkers,  might  have 
known,  before  now.  But  if  Mr.  Mill  had  said  so  much,  sim- 
ply, you  might  have  been  tempted  to  ask  farther — "What 
things  are  useful,  and  what  are  not  ?  "  And  as  Mr.  Mill  does 
not  know,  nor  any  other  Political  Economist  going, — and  as 
they  therefore  particularly  wish  nobody  to  ask  them, — it  is 
convenient  to  say,  instead  of  "  useful  things,"  "  utilities  fixed 
and  embodied  in  material  objects,"  because  that  sounds  so 
very  like  complete  and  satisfactory  information,  that  one  is 
ashamed,  after  getting  it,  to  ask  for  any  more. 

But  it  is  not,  therefore,  less  discouraging  that  for  the  pres- 
ent I  have  got  no  help  towards  discovering  whether  my  hand- 
ful of  gravel  with  the  white  pebble  in  it  was  worth  my  thirty 
pounds  or  not.  I  am  afraid  it  is  not  a  useful  thing  to  me. 
It  lies  at  the  back  of  a  drawer,  locked  up  all  the  year  round. 
I  never  look  at  it  now,  for  I  know  all  about  it  :  the  only  sat- 
isfaction I  have  for  my  m.oney  is  knowing  that  nobody  else 
can  look  at  it  ;  and  if  nobody  else  wanted  to,  I  shouldn't 
even  have  that. 

"  What  did  you  buy  it  for  then  ?"  you  will  ask.  Well  if 
you  must  have  the  truth,  because  I  was  a  Fool,  and  wanted 
it.  Other  people  have  bought  such  things  before  me.  The 
white  stone  is  a  diamond,  and  the  apparent  brass  filings  are 


FOnn  CLA  VKJKRA. 


47 


gold  dust  ;  but,  I  admit,  nobody  ever  yet  wanted  such  things 
who  was  in  their  right  senses.  Only  now,  as  I  have  candidly 
ansv^ered  all  your  questions,  will  you  answer  one  of  mine  ? 
If  I  hadn't  bought  it,  what  would  you  have  had  me  do  with 
my  money  ?  Keep  that  in  the  drawer  instead  ? — or  at  my 
banker's,  till  it  grew  out  of  thirty  pounds  into  sixty  and  a 
hundred,  in  fulfilment  of  the  law  respecting  seed  sown  in 
good  ground  ? 

Doubtless,  that  would  have  been  more  meritorious  for  the 
time.  But  when  I  had  got  the  sixty  or  the  liundred  pounds 
— what  should  I  have  done  with  them?  The  question  only 
becomes  doubly  and  trebly  serious  ;  and  all  the  more,  to  me, 
because,  when  I  told  you  last  January  that  I  had  bought  a 
picture  for  a  thousand  pounds,  permitting  myself  in  that  folly 
for  your  advantage,  as  I  thought,  hearing  that  many  of  you 
"wanted  art  Patronage,  and  wished  to  live  by  painting, — one 
of  your  own  popular  organs,  the  Liverpool  Daily  Courier^ 
of  February  9th,  said,  "  it  showed  want  of  taste, — of  tact," 
and  was  something  like  a  mockery,"  to  tell  you  so  !  I  am 
not  to  buy  pictures,  therefore,  it  seems  ; — you  like  to  be 
kept  in  mines  and  tunnels,  and  occasionally  blown  hither 
and  thither,  or  crushed  flat,  rather  than  live  by  painting,  in 
good  light,  and  with  the  chance  of  remaining  all  day  in  a 
whole  and  unextended  skin  ?  But  what  sh<dl  J  buy,  then, 
with  the  next  thirty  pieces  of  gold  I  can  scrape  together  ? 
Precious  things  have  been  bought,  indeed,  and  sold,  before 
now  for  thirty  pieces,  even  of  silver,  but  with  doubtful  issue. 
The  over-charitable  person  wlio  was  bought  to  be  killed  at 
that  price,  indeed,  advised  the  giving  of  alms  ;  but  you  won't 
have  alms,  I  suppose — you  are  so  independent,  nor  go  into 
'alms-houses — (and,  truly,  1  did  not  much  wonder,  as  I  walked 
by  the  old  church  of  Abingdon,  a  Sunday  or  two  since,  where 
the  alms-houses  are  set  round  the  churchyard,  and  under  the 
level  of  it,  and  w^th  a  cheerful  view  of  it,  except  that  the 
tombstones  slio-htlv  block  the  liffht  of  the  lattice-windows  ; 
with  beautiful  texts  from  Scripture  over  the  doors,  to  remind 
the  paupers  still  more  emphatically  that,  highly  blest  as  they 
■were,  they  were  yet  mortal) — you  won't  go  into  alms-houses  \ 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


and  all  the  clergy  in  London  have  been  shrieking  against 
alms-giving  to  the  lower  poor  this  whole  winter  long,  till  I 
am  obliged,  whenever  T  want  to  give  anybody  a  penny,  to 
look  up  and  down  the  street  first,  to  see  if  a  clergyman's  com- 
ing. Of  course,  I  know  I  might  buy  as  many  iron  railings  as 
I  please,  and  be  praised  ;  but  I've  no  room  for  them.  I  can't 
well  burn  more  coals  than  I  do,  because  of  the  blacks,  which 
spoil  my  books  ;  and  tlie  Americans  won't  let  me  buy  ar>y 
blacks  alive,  or  else  I  would  have  some  black  dwarfs  Vvilh 
parrots,  such  as  one  sees  in  the  pictures  of  Paul  Veronese. 
I  sliould  of  course  like,  myself,  above  all  things,  to  buy  a 
pretty  white  girl,  with  a  title — and  I  should  get  great  praise 
for  doing  that — only  I  haven't  money  enough.  White  girls 
come  dear,  even  when  one  buys  them  only  like  coals,  for  fuel. 
The  Duke  of  Bedford,  indeed,  bought  Joan  of  Arc,  from  the 
French,  to  burn,  for  only  ten  thousand  pounds,  and  a  pension 
of  three  hundred  a  vear  to  the  Bastard  of  Vendome — and  1 
could  and  would  have  given  that  for  her,  and  not  burnt  her;  but 
one  hasn't  such  a  chance  every  day.  Will  you,  any  of  you, 
have  the  goodness — beggars,  clergymen,  workmen,  seraphic 
doctors,  Mr.  Mill,  Mr.  Fawcett  or  the  Political-Economic  Pro- 
fessor of  my  own  University — I  challenge  you,  I  beseech  you, 
all  and  singly,  to  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do  with  my  money  ? 

T  mean,  indeed,  to  give  you  my  own  poor  opinion  on  the 
subject  in  May  ;  though  I  feel  the  more  embarrassed  in  the 
thought  of  doing  so,  because,  in  this  present  April,  I  am  so 
much  a  fool  as  not  even  to  know  clearly  whether  I  have  got 
any  money  or  not.  I  know,  indeed,  that  things  go  on  at 
present  as  if  I  had  ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  there  must  be  a 
mistake  somewhere,  and  that  some  day  it  will  be  found  out. 
For  instance,  I  have  seven  thousand  pounds  in  what  we  call' 
the  Funds  or  Founded  things;  but  I  am  not  comfortable 
about  the  Founding  of  them.  All  that  I  can  see  of  them  is 
a  square  bit  of  paper,  with  some  ugly  printing  on  it,  and  all 
that  T  know  of  them  is  that  this  bit  of  paper  gives  me  a  right 
to  tax  you  every  year,  and  make  you  pay  me  two  hundred 
pounds  out  of  3'our  wages  ;  which  is  very  pleasant  for  me  ; 
but  lunv  long  will  you  be  pleased  to  do  so  ?    Suppose  it  should 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


49 


occur  to  you,  any  summer's  day,  that  3^ou  had  better  not  ? 
Where  would  my  seven  thousand  pounds  be  ?  In  fact,  where 
are  they  now?  We  call  ourselves  a  rich  people  ;  but  you  see 
this  seven  thousand  pounds  of  mine  has  no  real  existence — 
it  only  means  that  you,  the  workers,  are  poorer  by  two  hun- 
dred pounds  a  year  than  you  would  be  if  I  hadn't  got  it. 
And  this  is  surely  a  very  odd  kind  of  money  for  a  country  to 
boast  of.  Well,  then,  besides  this,  T  have  a  bit  of  low  land 
at  Greenwich,  which,  as  far  as  I  see  anything  of  it,  is  not 
money  at  all,  but  only  mud  ;  and  would  be  of  as  little  use  to 
me  as  my  handful  of  gravel  in  the  drawer,  if  it  were  not  that 
an  ingenious  person  has  found  out  that  he  can  make  chimney- 
pots of  it  ;  and,  every  quarter,  he  brings  me  fifteen  pounds 
off  the  price  of  his  chimney-pots  ;  so  that  I  am  always  sym- 
pathetically glad  when  there's  a  high  wind,  because  then  I 
know  my  ingenious  friend's  business  is  thriving.  But  suppose 
it  should  come  into  his  head,  in  any  less  wnndy  month  than 
this  April,  that  he  had  better  bring  me  none  of  the  price  of 
his  chimneys  ?  And  even  though  he  should  go  on,  as  I  hope 
lie  will,  patiently, — (and  I  alwa3'S  give  him  a  glass  of  wine 
when  he  brings  me  the  fifteen  pounds), — is  this  really  to  be 
called  money  of  mine?  And  is  the  country  any  richer  be- 
cause, when  anybody's  chimney-pot  is  blown  down  in  Green- 
wich, he  must  pay  something  extra,  to  me,  before  he  can  put 
it  on  asrain  ? 

Then,  also,  I  have  some  houses  in  Marylebone,  which, 
though  indeed  very  ugly  and  miserable,  yet,  so  far  as  they 
are  actual  beams  and  brick-bats  put  into  shape,  I  might  have 
imagined  to  be  real  property  ;  only,  you  know,  Mr.  Mill  says 
that  people  who  build  houses  don't  produce  a  commodity, 
but  only  do  us  a  service.  So  I  suppose  my  liouses  are  not 
"utilities  embodied  in  material  objects"  (and  indeed  they 
don't  look  much  like  it)  ;  but  I  know  I  have  the  right  to 
keep  anybody  from  living  in  them  unless  they  pay  me  ;  only 
suppose  some  day  the  Irish  faith,  that  people  ought  to  be 
lodged  for  nothing,  should  become  an  English  one  also — • 
where  would  my  money  be?  Where  is  it  now,  except  as  a 
chronic  abstraction  from  other  people's  earnings? 


FOJiS  CLAVIGERA. 


So  again,  I  have  some  land  in  Yorkshire — some  Bank 
"  Stock  "  (I  don't  in  the  least  know  what  that  is) — and  the 
like  ;  but  whenever  I  examine  into  these  possessions,  I  find 
they  melt  into  one  or  another  form  of  future  taxation,  and 
that  I  am  always  sitting — (if  I  were  working  I  shouldn't 
mind,  but  I  am  only  sitting)  at  the  receipt  of  Custom,  and 
a  Publican  as  well  as  a  Sinner.  And  then,  to  embarrass  the 
business  further  yet,  I  am  quite  at  variance  with  other  people 
about  the  place  where  this  money,  whatever  it  is,  comes  from. 
The  Spectator^  for  instance,  in  its  article  of  25th  June  of 
last  year,  on  Mr.  Goschen's  lucid  and  forcible  speech  of 
Friday  week,"  says  that  "  the  country  is  once  more  getting 
rich,  and  the  money  is  filtering  downwards  to  the  actual 
workers."  But  whence,  then,  did  it  filter  down  to  us,  the 
actual  idlers  ?  This  is  really  a  question  very  appropriate  for 
April.  For  such  golden  rain  raineth  not  every  day,  hut  in 
a  showery  and  capricious  manner,  out  of  heaven,  upon  us  ; 
mostly,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  rather  pouring  down  than  filter- 
ing upon  idle  persons,  and  running  in  thinner  driblets,  but  I 
hope  purer  for  the  filtering  process,  to  the  "  actual  workers." 
But  where  does  it  come  from  ?  and  in  the  times  of  drought 
between  the  showers,  where  does  it  go  to?  "The  country 
is  getting  rich  again,"  says  the  Spectator ;  but  then,  if  the 
April  clouds  fail,  may  it  get  poor  again  ?  And  when  it  again 
becomes  poor, — when,  last  25th  of  June,  it  was  poor, — what 
becomes,  or  had  become,  of  the  money  ?  Was  it  verily  lost, 
or  only  torpid  in  the  winter  of  our  discontent  ?  or  was  it  sown 
and  buried  in  corruption,  to  be  raised  in  a  multifold  power? 
When  we  are  in  a  panic  about  our  money,  what  do  we  think 
is  going  to  happen  to  it  ?  Can  no  economist  teach  us  to 
keep  it  safe  after  we  have  once  got  it?  nor  any  "beloved 
physician," — as  I  read  the  late  Sir  James  Simpson  is  called  in 
Edinburgh — guard  even  our  solid  gold  against  death,  or  at 
least,  fits  of  an  apoplectic  character,  alarming  to  the  family? 

All  these  questions  trouble  me  greatly  ;  but  still  to  me  the 
strangest  point  in  the  whole  matter  is,  that  though  we  idlers 
always  speak  as  if  we  were  enriched  by  Heaven,  and  became 
ministers  of  its  bounty  to  you  ^  if  ever  you  think  the  miii- 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


51 


istry  slack,  and  take  to  definite  pillage  of  us,  no  good  evei 
comes  of  it  to  you  ;  but  the  sources  of  wealth  seem  to  be 
stopped  instantly,  and  you  are  reduced  to  the  small  gain  of 
making  gloves  of  our  skins  ;  while,  on  the  contrary,  as  long 
as  we  continue  pillaging  you,  there  seems  no  end  to  the 
profitableness  of  the  business  ;  but  always,  however  bare  we 
strip  you,  presently,  more,  to  be  had.  For  instance — just 
read  this  little  bit  out  of  Froissart — about  the  English  arm^ 
in  France  before  the  battle  of  Cre9y  : — 

"  We  will  now  return  to  the  expedition  of  the  King  of 
England.  Sir  Godfrey  de  Harcourt,  as  marshal,  advanced 
before  the  King,  with  the  vanguard  of  five  hundred  armed 
men  and  two  thousand  archers,  and  rode  on  for  six  or  seven 
leagues'  distance  from  the  main  army,  burning  and  destroy- 
ing the  country.  They  found  it  rich  and  plentiful,  abounding 
in  all  things  ;  the  barns  full  of  every  sort  of  corn,  and  the 
houses  with  riches  :  the  inhabitants  at  their  ease,  having  cars, 
carts,  horses,  sv/ine,  sheep,  and  everything  in  abundance 
which  the  country  afforded.  They  seized  whatever  they 
chose  of  all  these  good  tilings,  and  brought  them  to  the 
King's  army  ;  but  the  soldiers  did  not  give  any  account  to 
their  officers,  or  to  those  appointed  by  the  King,  of  the  gold 
and  silver  they  took,  which  they  kept  to  themselves.  When 
they  were  come  back,  with  all  their  booty  safely  packed  in 
waggons,  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  the  Earl  of  Suffolk,  the  Lord 
Thomas  Holland,  and  the  Lord  Reginald  Cobham,  took  their 
march,  with  their  battalion  on  the  right,  burning  and  de- 
stroying the  country  in  the  same  way  that  Sir  Godfrey  de 
Harcourt  was  doing.  The  King  marched,  with  the  main 
body,  between  these  two  battalions  ;  and  every  night  they 
all  encam})ed  together.  The  King  of  England  and  Prince  of 
'Wales  had,  in  their  battalion,  about  three  thousand  men-at- 
arms,  six  thousand  archers,  ten  thousand  infantry,  without 
counting  those  that  were  under  the  marshals  ;  and  they 
marched  on  in  the  manner  I  have  before  mentioned,  burning 
and  destroying  the  country,  but  without  breaking  flieir  line 
of  battle.  They  did  not  turn  towards  Coutances,  but  ad- 
vanced to  St.  Lo,  in  Coutantin,  which  in  those  days  was  a 
very  rich  and  commercial  town,  and  worth  three  such  towns 
as  (Coutances.  In  the  town  of  St.  Lo  was  much  drapery,  and 
many  wealthy  inhabitants  ;  among  them  you  might  count 


52 


F0R8  GLAVIGEBA. 


eight  or  nine  score  that  were  engaged  in  commerce.  When 
the  King  of  England  was  come  near  to  the  town,  he  en* 
camped  ;  he  would  not  lodge  in  it  for  fear  of  fire.  He  sent, 
therefore,  his  advanced  guard  forward,  who  soon  conquered 
it,  at*  a  trifling  loss,  and  completely  plundered  it.  No  one 
can  imagine  the  quantity  of  riches  they  found  in  it,  nor  the 
number  of  bales  of  cloth.  If  there  had  been  any  purchasers, 
they  might  have  bought  enough  at  a  very  cheap  rate. 

"  The  English  then  advanced  towards  Caen,  which  is  a 
much  larger  town,  stronger,  and  fuller  of  draperies  and  all 
other  sorts  of  merchandize,  rich  citizens,  noble  dames  and 
damsels,  and  fine  churches. 

On  this  day  (Froissart  does  not  say  what  day)  the  Eng- 
lish rose  very  early,  and  made  themselves  ready  to  march  to 
Caen  ;  the  King  heard  mass  before  sunrise,  and  afterwards 
mounting  his  horse,  with  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  Sir  God- 
frey de  Harcourt  (who  was  marshal  and  director  of  the  army), 
marched  forward  in  order  of  battle.  The  battalion  of  the 
marshals  led  the  van,  and  came  near  to  the  handsome  town 
of  Caen. 

When  the  townsmen,  who  had  taken  the  field,  perceived 
the  English  advancing,  with  banners  and  pennons  flying  in 
abundance,  and  saw  those  archers  whom  they  had  not  been 
accustomed  to,  they  were  so  frightened  that  they  betook 
themselves  to  flight,  and  ran  for  the  town  in  great  disorder. 

"  The  English,  who  were  after  the  runaways,  made  great 
havoc  ;  for  they  spared  none. 

"Those  inhabitants  who  had  taken  refuge  in  the  garrets 
flung  down  from  them,  in  these  narrow  streets,  stones, 
benches,  and  whatever  they  could  lay  hands  on  ;  so  that  they 
killed  and  wounded  upwards  of  five  hundred  of  the  English, 
which  so  enraged  the  King  of  England,  when  he  received  the 
reports  in  the  evening,  that  he  ordered  the  remainder  of  the 
inhabitants  to  be  put  to  the  sword,  and  the  town  burnt.  But 
Sir  Godfrey  de  Harcourt  said  to  him  :  '  Dear  sir,  assuage 
somewhat  of  your  anger,  and  be  satisfied  with  what  has  al- 
ready been  done.  You  have  a  long  journey  yet  to  make  be- 
fore you  arrive  at  Calais,  whither  it  is  your  intention  to  go  : 
and  there  are  in  this  town  a  great  number  of  inhabitants,  who 
will  defend  themselves  obstinately  in  their  houses,  if  you 
force  them  to  it  :  besides,  it  will  cost  you  many  lives  before 
the  town  can  be  destroyed,  which  may  put  a  stop  to  your  ex- 
pedition to  Calais,  and  it  will  not  redound  to  your  honour 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


therefore  be  sparing  of  your  men,  for  in  a  month's  time  you 
will  have  call  for  them.'  The  King  replied  :  'Sir  Godfrey, 
you  are  our  marshal  ;  therefore  order  as  you  please  ;  for  this 
time  we  wish  not  to  interfere.' 

*'Sir  Godfrey  then  rode  through  the  streets,  his  banner 
displayed  before  him,  and  ordered,  in  the  King's  name,  that 
no  one  should  dare,  under  pain  of  immediate  deatli,  to  insult 
or  hurt  man  or  woman  of  tlie  town,  or  attempt  to  set  lire  to 
any  part  of  it.  Several  of  the  inhabitants,  on  hearing  thi^ 
proclamation,  received  the  English  into  their  houses  ;  and 
others  opened  tlieir  coffers  to  them,  giving  up  their  all,  since 
they  were  assured  of  their  lives.  However,  there  were,  in 
spite  of  these  orders,  many  atrocious  thefts  and  murders 
committed.  The  English  continued  masters  of  the  town  for 
three  days  ;  in  this  time,  they  amassed  great  wealth,  wiiich 
tliey  sent  in  barges  down  the  river  of  Estreham,  to  St.  Saveur, 
two  leagues  off,  where  their  fleet  was.  The  Earl  of  Hunt- 
ingdon made  prej^arations,  therefore,  with  the  two  hundred 
men-at-arms  and  his  four  hundred  archers,  to  carry  over  to 
England  their  ri(*hes  and  prisoners.  Tlie  King  purchased, 
from  Sir  Thomas  Holland  and  his  companions,  tlie  constable 
of  France  and  the  Earl  of  Tancarville,  and  paid  down  twenty 
thousand  nobles  for  them. 

"When  the  Kino^  had  finished  his  business  in  Caen,  and 
sent  his  fleet  to  England,  loaded  with  cloths,  jewels,  gold 
and  silver  plate,  and  a  quantity  of  other  riches,  and  upwards 
of  sixty  knights,  with  three  hundred  able  citizens,  prisoners  ; 
he  then  left  his  quarters  and  continued  his  march  as  before, 
liis  two  marshals  on  his  right  and  left,  burning  and  destroy- 
ing all  the  flat  country.  He  took  the  road  to  Evreux,  but 
found  he  could  not  gain  anything  there,  as  it  was  well  forti- 
fied. He  went  on  towards  another  town  called  Louviers, 
which  was  in  Normandy,  and  where  there  were  many  manu- 
factories of  cloth  ;  it  was  rich  and  commercial.  The  English 
won  it  easily,  as  it  was  not  inclosed  ;  and  having  entered  the 
town,  it  was  plundered  without  opposition.  They  collected 
much  wealth  there  ;  and,  after  they  had  done  what  they 
pleased,  they  marched  on  into  the  county  of  Evreux,  where 
they  burnt  everything  except  the  fortified  towns  and  castles, 
which  the  King  left  unattacked,  as  he  was  desirous  of  sparing 
his  men  and  artillery.  He  therefore  made  for  the  banks  of  the 
Seine,  in  his  approach  to  Rouen,  where  there  were  plenty  of 
men-at-arms  from  Normandy,  under  the  command  of  the  Earl 
of  Harcourt,  brother  to  Sir  Godfrey,  and  the  Earl  of  Dreux. 


64 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


"  The  English  did  not  march  direct  towards  Rouen,  but 
went  to  Gisors,  which  has  a  strong  castle,  and  burnt  tho 
town.  After  this,  they  destroyed  Vernon,  and  all  the  coun- 
try between  Rouen  and  Pont-de-PArche  :  they  then  came  to 
Mantes  and  Meulan,  which  they  treated  in  the  same  manner, 
and  ravaged  all  the  country  round  about. 

They  passed  by  the  strong  castle  of  Roulleboise,  and 
everywhere  found  the  bridges  on  the  Seine  broken  down. 
The}'  pushed  forward  until  they  came  to  Poissy,  where  the 
bridge  was  also  destroyed  ;  but  the  beams  and  other  parts  oi 
it  were  lying  in  the  river. 

"  The  King  of  England  remained  at  the  nunnery  of  Poissy 
to  the  middle  in  August,  and  celebrated  there  the  Feast  of 
the  Virgin  Mary." 

It  all  reads  at  first,  you  see,  just  like  a  piece  out  of  the 
newspapers  of  last  month  ;  but  there  are  material  differences, 
notwithstanding.  We  fight  inelegantly  as  well  as  expen- 
sively, with  machines  instead  of  bow  and  spear ;  we  kill 
about  a  thousand  now  to  the  score  then,  in  settling  any 
quarrel — (Agincourt  was  won  with  the  loss  of  less  than  a 
hundred  men  ;  only  25,000  English  altogether  were  engaged 
at  Cre^y  ;  and  12,000,  some  say  only  8,000,  at  Poictiers);  we 
kill  with  far  ghastlier  wounds,  crashing  bones  and  flesh  to- 
gether ;  we  leave  our  wounded  necessarily  for  days  and 
nights  in  heaps  on  the  fields  of  battle  ;  we  pillage  districts 
twenty  times  as  large,  and  with  completer  destruction  of 
more  valuable  property  ;  and  with  a  destruction  as  irrepara- 
ble as  it  is  complete  ;  for  if  the  French  or  English  burnt  a 
church  one  day,  they  could  build  a  prettier  one  the  next  ; 
but  the  modern  Prussians  couldn't  even  build  so  much  as  an 
imitation  of  one  ;  we  rob  on  credit,  by  requisition,  with  in* 
genious  mercantile  prolongations  of  claim  ;  and  we  improve 
contention  of  arms  with  contention  of  tongues,  and  are  able 
to  multiply  the  rancour  of  cowardice,  and  mischief  of  lying, 
in  universal  and  permanent  print  ;  and  so  we  lose  our  tem* 
pers  as  well  as  our  money,  and  become  indecent  in  behaviour 
as  in  raggedness  ;  for  whereas,  in  old  times,  two  nations  sep- 
arated by  a  little  pebbly  stream  like  the  Tweed,  or  even  the 
two  halves  of  one  nation,  separated  by  thirty  fathoms'  depths 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


55 


of  salt  water  (for  most  of  the  English  knights  and  all  the 
English  kings  were  French  by  race,  and  the  best  of  them  by 
birth  also) — would  go  on  pillaging  and  killing  each  other 
century  after  century,  without  the  slightest  ill-feeling  to- 
wards, or  disrespect  for  one  another, — we  can  neither  give 
anybody  a  beating  courteously,  nor  take  one  in  good  part,  or 
without  screaming  and  lying  about  it  :  and  finally,  we  add 
to  these  perfected  Follies  of  Action  more  finely  perfected 
Follies  of  Inaction  ;  and  contrive  hitherto  unheard-of  ways 
of  being  wretched  through  the  very  abundance  of  peace  ;  our 
workmen,  here,  vowing  themselves  to  idleness,  lest  they 
should  lower  Wages,  and  there,  being  condemned  by  their 
parishes  to  idleness  lest  they  should  lower  Prices  ;  while  out- 
side the  workhouse  all  the  parishioners  are  buying  anything 
nasty,  so  that  it  be  cheap  ;  and,  in  a  word,  under  the 
seraphic  teaching  of  Mr.  Mill,  we  have  determined  at  last 
that  it  is  not  Destruction,  but  Production,  that  is  the  (^ause 
of  human  distress  ;  and  the  Mutual  and  Co-operative  Col- 
onization Company"  declares,  ungrammatically,  but  dis- 
tinctly, in  its  circular  sent  to  me  on  the  13th  of  last  month, 
as  a  matter  universally  admitted,  even  among  Cabinet  Min- 
isters— "  that  it  is  in  the  greater  increasing  power  of  produc- 
tion and  distribution,  as  compared  with  demand,  enabling 
the  few  to  do  the  work  of  many,  that  the  active  cause  of  the 
w^ide-spread  poverty  among  the  producing  and  lower-middle 
classes  lay,  which  entails  such  enormous  burdens  on  the  Na- 
tion, and  exhibits  our  boasted  progress  in  the  light  of  a 
monstrous  Sham." 

Nevertheless,  however  much  we  have  magnified  and  mul- 
tiplisd  the  follies  of  the  past,  the  primal  and  essential  prin- 
ciples of  pillage  have  always  been  accepted  ;  and  from  the 
days  when  England  lay  so  waste  under  that  worth}'  and 
economical  King  who  "  called  his  tailor  lown,"  that  "  whole 
families,  after  sustaining  life  as  long  as  they  could  by  eating 
roots,  and  the  flesh  of  dogs  and  horses,  at  last  died  of  hunger, 
and  you  might  see  many  pleasant  villages  without  a  single 
inhabitant  of  either  sex,"  while  little  Harry  Switch-of-Broom 
Bate  learning  to-  spell  in  Bristol  Castle,  (taught,  I  think, 


66 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


properly  by  his  good  uncle  the  preceptorial  use  of  his  name- 
plant,  though  they  say  the  first  Harry  was  the  finer  clerk,) 
and  his  mother,  dressed  all  in  white,  escaped  from  Oxford 
over  the  snow  in  the  moonlight,  through  Bagley  Wood  here 
to  Abingdon  ;  and  under  the  snows,  by  Woodstock,  the  buds 
were  growing  for  the  bower  of  his  Rose, — from  that  day  to 
this,  when  the  villages  round  Paris,  and  food-supply,  are,  by 
the  blessinof  of  God,  as  thev  then  were  round  London — ^ 
Kings  have  for  the  most  part  desired  to  win  that  pretty  name 
of  "  Switch-of-Broom  "  rather  by  habit  of  growing  in  waste 
places  ;  or  even  emulating  the  Vision  of  Dion  in  sweeping 
— diligently  sweeping,"  than  by  attaining  the  other  virtue  of 
the  Planta  Genista,  set  forth  by  Virgil  and  Pliny,  that  it  is 
pliant,  and  rich  in  honey  ;  the  Lion-hearts  of  them  seldom 
proving  profitable  to  you,  even  so  much  as  the  stomach  of 
Samson's  Lion,  or  rendering  it  a  soluble  enigma  in  our  Israel, 
that  "  out  of  the  eater  came  forth  meat  nor  has  it  been 
only  your  Kings  who  have  thus  made  you  pay  for  their 
guidance  through  the  world,  but  your  ecclesiastics  have  also 
made  you  pay  for  guidance  out  of  it — particularly  when  it 
grew  dark,  and  the  signpost  was  illegible  where  the  upper 
and  lower  roads  divided; — so  that,  as  far  as  I  can  read  or  cal- 
culate, dying  has  been  even  more  expensive  to  you  than  liv- 
ing ;  and  then,  to  finish  the  business,  as  your  virtues  have 
been  made  costly  to  you  by  the  clergyman,  so  your  vices  have 
been  made  costly  to  you  by  the  lawyers  ;  and  you  have  one 
entire  learned  profession  living  on  your  siqs,  and  the  other 
on  your  repentance.  So  that  it  is  no  wonder  that,  things 
having  gone  on  thus  for  a  long  time,  you  begin  to  think  that 
you  would  rather  live  as  sheep  without  any  shepherd,  and 
that  having  paid  so  dearly  for  your  instriiction  in  religion 
and  law,  you  should  now  set  your  hope  on  a  state  of  instruc- 
tion in  Irreligion  and  Liberty,  which  is,  indeed,  a  form  of 
education  to  be  had  for  nothing,  alike  by  the  children  of  the 
Rich  and  Poor;  the  saplings  of  the  tree  that  was  to  be  de* 
sired  to  make  us  wise,  growing  now  in  copsewood  on  the 
hills,  or  even  b}^  the  roadsides,  in  a  Republican-Plantagenet 
manner,  blossoming  into  cheapest  gold,  either  for  coins, 


pons  CLAVIOERA. 


57 


which  of  course  you  Republicans  will  call,  not  Nobles,  but 
Ignobles  ;  or  crowns,  second  and  third  hand — (head,  I  should 
say)  — supplied'punctually  on  demand,  with  liberal  reduction 
on  quantity  ;  the  roads  themselves  beautifully  public — trani- 
wayed,  perhaps — and  with  gates  set  open  enough  for  all  men 
to  the  free,  outer,  better  world,  your  chosen  guide  preceding 
you  merrily,  thus, — 


with  music  and  dancing. 

You  have  always  danced  too  willingly,  poor  friends,  to  that 
player  on  the  viol.  We  will  try  to  hear,  far  away,  a  faint 
note  or  two  from  a  more  chief  musician  on  stringed  in- 
struments, in  May,  when  the  time  of  the  Singing  of  Bin  s 
is  come. 

Faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


LETTER  V. 

**  For  lo,  the  winter  is  past, 
The  rain  is  over  and  gone. 
The  flowers  appear  on  the  earth, 
The  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come, 
Arise,  oh  my  fair  one,  my  dove, 
And  come.** 

Denmark  Hill, 

My  Friends,  1««  May,  1871. 

It  has  been  asked  of  me,  very  justly,  why  I  have  hitherto 
written  to  you  of  things  you  were  little  likely  to  care  for,  in 
words  which  it  was  difficult  for  you  to  understand. 

I  have  no  fear  but  that  you  will  one  day  understand  all  my 
poor  words, — the  saddest  of  them  perhaps  too  well.  But  I 
have  great  fear  that  you  may  never  come  to  understand  these 
written  above,  which  are  part  of  a  king's  love-song,  in  one 
sweet  May,  of  many  long  since  gone. 

I  fear  that  for  you  the  wild  winter's  rain  may  never  pass, 
— the  flowers  never  appear  on  the  earth  ; — that  for  you  no 
bird  may  ever  sing  ; — for  you  no  perfect  Love  arise,  and 
fulfil  3^our  life  in  peace. 

"  And  why  not  for  us,  as  for  others  ?  "  will  you  answer  me 
so,  and  take  my  fear  for  you  as  an  insult  ? 

Nay,  it  is  no  insult  ; — nor  am  I  happier  than  you.  For 
mCj  the  birds  do  not  sing,  nor  ever  will.  But  they  would,  for 
y^u,  if  you  cared  to  have  it  so.  When  I  told  you  that  you 
would  never  understand  that  love-song,  I  meant  only  that 
you  would  not  desire  to  understand  it. 

Are  you  again  indignant  with  me  ?  Do  you  think,  though 
you  should  labor,  and  grieve,  and  be  trodden  down  in  dishonor 
all  your  days,  at  least  you  can  keep  that  one  joy  of  Love, 
and  that  one  honor  of  Home  ?  Had  you,  indeed,  kept  that, 
you  had  kept  all.  But  no  men  yet,  in  the  history  of  the  race, 
have  lost  it  so  piteously.    In  many  a  country,  and  many  an 


FOES  CLAVIOERA. 


59 


age,  women  have  been  compelled  to  labor  for  their  liusbands' 
wealth,  or  bread  ;  but  never  until  now  were  they  so  homeless 
as  to  say,  like  the  poor  Samaritan,  "  I  have  no  husband." 
Women  of  every  country  and  people  have  sustained  without 
complaint  the  labor  of  fellowship  :  for  the  women  of  the  lat- 
ter days  in  England  it  has  been  reserved  to  claim  the  privi- 
lege of  isolation. 

This,  then,  is  the  end  of  your  universal  education  and  civ- 
ilization, and  contempt  of  the  ignorance  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
and  of  their  chivalry.  Not  only  do  you  declare  yourselves 
too  indolent  to  labor  for  daughters  and  wives,  and  too  poor 
to  support  them  ;  but  you  have  made  the  neglected  and  dis- 
tracted creatures  hold  it  for  an  honour  to  be  independent  of 
you,  and  shriek  for  some  hold  of  the  mattock  for  themselves. 
Believe  it  or  not,  as  you  may,  there  has  not  been  so  low  a 
level  of  thought  reached  by  any  race,  since  they  grew  to  l)o 
male  and  female  out  of  starfish,  or  chickweed,  or  whatever 
else  they  have  been  made  from,  by  natural  selection, — accord- 
ing to  modern  science. 

That  modern  science  also,  Economic  and  of  other  kinds, 
has  reached  its  climax  at  last.  For  it  seems  to  be  the  ap- 
pointed function  of  the  nineteenth  century  to  exhibit  in  all 
things  the  elect  pattern  of  perfect  Folly,  for  a  warning  to  the 
farthest  future.  Thus  the  statement  of  principle  which  I 
quoted  to  you  in  my  last  letter,  from  the  circular  of  the 
Emigration  Society,  that  it  is  over-production  which  is  the 
cause  of  distress,  is  accurately  the  most  Foolish  thing,  not 
only  hitherto  ever  said  by  men,  but  which  it  is  possible  for 
men  ever  to  say,  respecting  their  own  business.  It  is  a  kind 
of  opposite  pole  (or  negative  acme  of  mortal  stupidity)  to 
JN^ewton's  discovery  of  gravitation  as  an  acme  of  mortal  wis- 
dom : — as  no  wise  being  on  earth  will  ever  be  able  to  make 
such  another  wise  discovery,  so  no  foolish  being  on  earth 
will  ever  be  capable  of  saying  such  another  foolish  thing, 
through  all  the  ages. 

x\nd  the  same  crisis  has  been  exactly  reached  by  our  nat- 
ural science,  and  by  our  art.  It  has  several  times  chanced 
to  me,  since  T  began  these  papers,  to  have  the  exact  thing 


60 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA, 


shown  or  brouglit  to  me  that  I  wanted  for  illustration,  just 
in  time* — and  it  happened  that  on  the  very  day  on  which  I 
published  my  last  letter,  I  had  to  go  to  the  Kensington  Mu- 
seum ;  and  there  I  saw  the  most  perfectly  and  roundly  ill- 
done  thing  which,  as  yet,  in  my  whole  life,  I  ever  saw  pro- 
duced by  art.  It  had  a  tablet  in  front  of  it,  bearing  this 
inscription, — 

**  Statue  in  black  and  white  marble,  a  Newfoundland  Dog  standing 
on  a  Serpent,  which  rests  on  a  marble  cushion,  the  pedestal  ornamented 
with  pietra  dura  fruits  in  relief. — Eiiglish.    Present  Century,    No.  1." 

It  was  so  very  right  for  me,  the  Kensington  people  having 
been  good  enough  to  number  it  I.,"  the  thing  itself  being 
almost  incredible  in  its  one-ness  ;  and,  indeed,  such  a  punct- 
ual accent  over  the  iota  of  Miscreation, — so  absolutely  and 
exquisitely  miscreant,  that  I  am  not  myself  capable  of  con- 
ceiving a  Number  two,  or  three,  or  any  rivalship  or  associa- 
tion w^ith  it  whatsoever.  The  extremity  of  its  unvirtue  con- 
sisted, observe,  mainly  in  the  quantity  of  instruction  which 
was  abused  in  it.  It  showed  that  the  persons  who  produced 
it  had  seen  everything,  and  practised  everything  ;  and  mis- 
understood everything  they  saw,  and  misapplied  everything 
they  did.  They  had  seen  Roman  work,  and  Florentine  work, 
and  Byzantine  work,  and  Gothic  w^ork  ;  and  misunderstand- 
ino'  of  evervthinof  had  passed  throufrh  them  as  the  mud  does 
through  earthworms,  and  here  at  last  was  their  worm-cast  of 
a  Production. 

But  the  second  chance  that  came  to  me  that  day,  was  more 
siofnifjcant  still.  From  the  Kensinofton  Museum  I  went  to  an 
afternoon  tea,  at  a  house  where  I  was  sure  to  meet  some  nice 
people.  And  among  the  first  I  met  was  an  old  friend  who 
had  been  hearing  some  lectures  on  botany  at  the  Kensington 

*  Here  is  another  curious  instance  :  1  have  but  a  minute  ago  finished 
correcting  these  sheets,  and  take  up  the  Times  of  this  morning,  April 
21st,  and  find  in  it  the  suggestion  by  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer 
for  the  removal  of  exemption  from  taxation,  of  Agricultural  horses  and 
carts,  in  the  very  nick  of  time  to  connect  it,  as  a  proposal  for  economio 
practice,  with  the  statement  of  economic  principle  respecting  Produc- 
tion, quoted  on  this  page. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


61 


Museum,  and  been  delighted  by  them.  She  is  the  kind  of 
person  who  gets  good  out  of  everything,  and  she  was  quite 
right  in  being  delighted  ;  besides  that,  as  I  found  by  her 
account  of  them,  the  lectures  were  really  interesting,  and 
pleasantly  given.  She  had  expected  botany  to  be  dull,  and 
had  not  found  it  so,  and  "  had  learned  so  much."  On  hear« 
ing  this  I  proceeded  naturally  to  inquire  what  ;  for  my  idea 
oi  her  was  that  before  she  went  to  the  lectures  at  all,  she  had 
known  more  botany  than  she  was  likely  to  learn  by  them. 
So  she  told  me  that  she  had  learned  first  of  all  that  there 
were  seven  sorts  of  leaves."  Now  I  have  always  a  great 
suspicion  of  the  number  Seven  ;  because  when  I  wrote  the 
Seven  Lamps  of  Architectiire^  it  required  all  the  ingenuity  I 
was  master  of  to  prevent  them  from  becoming  Eight,  or  even 
Nine,  on  my  hands.  So  I  thought  to  myself  that  it  would 
be  very  charming  \i  there  were  only  seven  sorts  of  leaves  ; 
but  that,  perhaps,  if  one  looked  the  woods  and  forests  of  the 
world  carefully  through,  it  was  just  possible  that  one  might 
discover  as  many  as  eiglit  sorts  ;  and  then  where  would  my 
friend's  new  knowledge  of  Botany  be  ?  So  I  said,  "Tliat 
was  very  pretty;  but  wliat  more?"  Then  my  friend  told 
me  that  slie  had  no  idea,  before,  that  petals  were  leaves.  On 
Avhich,  I  thought  to  myself  that  it  would  not  have  been  any 
great  harm  to  her  if  she  had  remained  under  her  old  impres- 
sion that  petals  were  petals.  But  I  said,  That  was  very 
pretty,  too  ;  and  what  more  ?  "  So  then  my  friend  told  me 
that  the  lecturer  said,  tlie  object  of  his  lectures  would  be 
entirely  accomplished  if  he  could  convince  his  hearers  that 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  a  flower."  Now,  in  that  sentence 
you  have  the  most  perfect  and  admirable  summary  given  you 
of  the  general  temper  and  purposes  of  modern  science.  It 
j^ives  lectures  on  Botany,  of  w^hich  the  object  is  to  show  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  Flower;  on  Humanity,  to  show 
that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  Man  ;  and  on  Theology,  to 
show  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  God.  No  such  thing  as  a 
Man,  but  only  a  Mechanism  ;  no  such  thing  as  a  God,  but 
only  a  series  of  Forces.  The  two  faiths  are  essentially  one  : 
if  you  feel  yourself  to  be  only  a  machine,  constructed  to  be 


^2 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA. 


I 


a  Regulator  of  minor  machinery,  you  will  put  your  statue  of 
such  science  on  your  Holborn  Viaduct,  and  necessarily  rec- 
ognize  only  major  machinery  as  regulating  you, 

I  must  explain  the  real  meaning  to  you,  however,  of  that 
saying  of  the  Botanical  lecturer,  for  it  has  a  wide  bearings 
Some  fifty  years  ago  the  poet  Goethe  discovered  that  all  the 
parts  of  plants  had  a  kind  of  common  nature,  and  would 
change  into  each  other.  Now  this  was  a  true  discovery,  and 
a  notable  one  ;  and  you  will  find  that,  in  fact,  all  plants  are 
composed  of  essentially  two  parts — the  leaf  and  root — one 
loving  the  light,  the  other  darkness  ;  one  liking  to  be  clean, 
the  other  to  be  dirty  ;  one  liking  to  grow  for  the  most  part 
up,  the  other  for  the  most  part  down  ;  and  each  having 
faculties  and  purposes  of  its  own.  But  the  pure  one,  which 
loves  the  light,  has,  above  all  things,  the  purpose  of  being 
married  to  another  leaf,  and  having  child-leaves,  and  chil- 
dren's children  of  leaves,  to  make  the  earth  fair  for  ever. 
And  when  the  leaves  marry,  they  put  on  wedding-robes,  and 
are  more  glorious  than  Solomon  in  all  his  glory,  and  they 
have  feasts  of  honey,  and  v/e  call  them  "  Flowers." 

In  a  certain  sense,  therefore,  you  see  the  Botanical  lect- 
urer was  quite  right.  There  are  no  such  things  as  Flowers 
— there  are  only  Leaves.  Nay,  farther  than  this,  there  may 
be  a  dignity  in  the  less  happy,  but  unwithering  leaf,  which 
is,  in  some  sort,  better  than  the  brief  lily  of  its  bloom  ; — - 
which  the  great  poets  always  knew, — well  ; — Chaucer,  be- 
fore Goethe  ;  and  the  writer  of  the  First  Psalm,  before 
Chaucer.  The  Botanical  lecturer  was  in  a  deeper  sense  than 
he  knew,  right. 

But  in  the  deepest  sense  of  all,  the  Botanical  lecturer  was, 
to  the  extremity  of  wrongness,  wrong  ;  for  leaf,  and  root, 
and  fruit  exist,  all  of  them,  only — that  there  may  be  flowers. 
He  disregarded  the  life  and  passion  of  the  creature,  which 
were  its  essence.  Had  he  looked  for  these,  he  would  have 
recognized  that  in  the  thought  of  Nature  herself,  there  is,  in 
a  plant,  nothing  else  but  its  flowers. 

Now  in  exactly  the  sense  that  modern  Science  declares 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  Flower,  it  has  declared  there  is 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


63 


no  such  thing  as  a  Man,  but  only  a  transitional  form  of  As- 
cidians  and  apes.  It  may,  or  may  not  be  true — it  is  not  of 
the  smallest  consequence  whether  it  be  or  not.  The  real  fact 
is,  that,  seen  with  human  eyes,  there  is  nothing  else  but  man; 
that  all  animals  and  beings  beside  him  are  only  made  that 
they  may  change  into  him  ;  that  the  world  truly  exists  only 
in  the  presence  of  Man,  acts  only  in  the  passion  of  Man,  The 
essence  of  Light  is  in  his  eyes, — the  centre  of  Force  in  his 
soul, — the  pertinence  of  Action  in  his  deeds. 

And  all  true  science — which  my  Savoyard  guide  rightly 
scorned  me  w^hen  he  thought  I  had  not, — all  true  science  is 
"  savoir  vivre."  But  all  your  modern  science  is  the  contrary 
of  that.    It  is  "savoir  mourir." 

And  of  its  verv  discoveries,  such  as  thev  are,  it  cannot 
make  use. 

That  telegraphic  signalling  was  a  discovery  ;  and  conceiv- 
ably, some  day,  may  be  a  useful  one.  And  there  was  some 
excuse  for  your  being  a  little  proud  when,  about  last  sixth 
of  April  (Coeur  de  Lion's  death-day,  and  Albert  Durer's), 
you  knotted  a  copper  wire  all  the  way  to  Bombay,  and 
flashed  a  message  along  it,  and  back. 

But  what  was  the  message,  and  what  the  answer?  Is 
India  the  better  for  what  you  said  to  her?  Are  you  the 
better  for  what  she  replied? 

If  not,  you  have  only  wasted  an  all-round-tho-world's  length 
of  copper  wire, — which  is,  indeed,  about  the  sum  of  your  doing. 
If  you  had  had,  perchance,  two  words  of  common  senjae  to 
say,  though  you  had  taken  wearisome  time  and  trouble  to 
send  them  ; — though  you  had  written  them  slowly  in  gold, 
and  sealed  them  with  a  hundred  seals,  and  sent  a  squadron 
of  ships  of  the  line  to  carry  the  scroll,  and  the  squadron  had 
fought  its  way  round  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  througii  a 
year  of  storms,  with  loss  of  all  its  ships  but  one, — the  two 
words  of  common  sense  would  have  been  worth  the  carriage, 
and  more.  But  you  have  not  anything  like  so  much  as  that, 
to  say,  either  to  India,  or  to  any  other  place. 

You  think  it  a  great  triumph  to  make  the  sun  draw  brown 
landscapes  for  you.    That  was  also  a  discovery,  and  some  daj^ 


64 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA, 


may  be  useful.  But  the  sun  had  drawn  landscapes  before 
for  you,  not  in  brown,  but  in  green,  and  blue,  and  all  imagi- 
nable colors,  here  in  England.  Not  one  of  you  ever  looked 
at  them  then  ;  not  one  of  you  cares  for  the  loss  of  them  now, 
when  you  have  shut  the  sun  out  with  smoke,  so  that  he  can 
draw  nothing  more,  except  brown  blots  through  a  hole  in  a 
box.  There  was  a  rocky  valley  between  Buxton  and  Bake- 
well,  once  upon  a  time,  divine  as  the  Vale  of  Tempe  ;  you 
might  have  seen  the  Gods  there  morning  and  evening — 
Apollo  and  all  the  sweet  Muses  of  the  Light — walking  in 
fair  procession  on  the  lawns  of  it,  and  to  and  fro  among 
the  pinnacles  of  its  crags.  You  cared  neither  for  Gods  nor 
grass,  but  for  cash  (which  you  did  not  know  the  way  to  get); 
you  thought  you  could  get  it  by  what  the  Times  calls  "Rail- 
road Enterprise."  You  Enterprised  a  Railroad  through  the 
valley — you  blasted  its  rocks  away,  heaped  thousands  of  tons 
of  shale  into  its  lovely  stream.  The  valley  is  gone,  and 
the  Gods  with  it  ;  and  now,  every  fool  in  Buxton  can  be 
at  Bakewell  in  half  an  hour,  and  every  fool  in  Bakewell  at 
Buxton  ;  which  you  think  a  lucrative  process  of  exchange — 
you  Fools  Everywhere. 

To  talk  at  a  distance,  when  you  have  nothing  to  say, 
though  you  were  ever  so  near  ;  to  go  fast  from  this  place  to 
that,  with  nothing  to  do  either  at  one  or  the  other  :  these 
are  powers  certainly.  Much  more,  power  of  increased  Pro- 
duction, if  you,  indeed,  had  got  it,  would  be  something  to 
boast  of.  But  are  you  so  entirely  sure  that  you  have  got  it 
— that  the  mortal  disease  of  plenty,  and  afflictive  affluence 
of  good  things,  are  all  you  have  to  dread  ? 

Observe.  A  man  and  a  woman,  with  their  children,  prop- 
erly trained,  are  able  easily  to  cultivate  as  much  ground  as 
will  feed  them  ;  to  build  as  much  wall  and  roof  as  will  lodge 
them,  and  to  spin  and  weave  as  much  cloth  as  will  clothe 
them.  They  can  all  be  perfectly  happy  and  healthy  in  doing 
this.  Supposing  that  they  invent  machinery  which  will  build, 
plough,  thresh,  cook,  and  weave,  and*  that  they  have  none  of 
these  things  any  more  to  do,  but  may  read,  or  play  croquet, 

cricket,  all  day  long,  I  believe  myself  that  they  will  neither 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


65 


be  so  good  nor  so  happy  as  without  the  machines.  But  I 
waive  my  belief  in  this  matter  for  the  time.  I  will  assume 
-that  they  become  more  refined  and  moral  persons,  and  that 
idleness  is  in  future  to  be  the  mother  of  all  good.  But  ob- 
serve, I  repeat,  the  power  of  your  machine  is  only  in  enabling 
them  to  be  idle.  It  will  not  enable  them  to  live  better  than 
they  did  before,  nor  to  live  in  greater  numbers.  Get  your 
heads  quite  clear  on  this  matter.  Out  of  so  much  ground, 
only  so  much  living  is  to  be  got,  with  or  without  machinery. 
You  may  set  a  million  of  steam-ploughs  to  work  on  an  acre, 
if  you  like — out  of  that  acre  only  a  given  number  of  grains 
of  corn  will  grow,  scratch  or  scorch  it  as  you  will.  So  that 
the  question  is  not  at  all  whether,  by  having  more  machines, 
more  of  you  can  live.  No  machines  will  increase  the  possi- 
bilities of  life.  They  only  increase  the  possibilities  of  idle- 
ness. Suppose,  for  instance,  you  could  get  the  oxen  in  your 
plough  driven  by  a  goblin,  who  would  ask  for  no  pay,  not 
even  a  cream  bowl, — (you  have  nearly  managed  to  get  it 
driven  by  an  iron  goblin,  as  it  is  ;) — Well,  your  furrow  will 
take  no  more  seeds  tlian  if  you  had  held  the  stilts  yourself. 
But,  instead  of  holding  them,  you  sit,  I  presume,  on  a  bank 
beside  the  field,  under  an  eglantine  ; — watch  the  goblin  at 
his  work,  and  read  poetry.  Meantime,  your  wife  in  the  house 
has  also  got  a  goblin  to  weave  and  wash  for  her.  And  she 
is  lying  on  the  sofa,  reading  poetry. 

Now,  as  I  said,  I  don't  believe  you  would  be  happier  so, 
but  I  am  willing  to  believe  it  ;  only,  since  you  are  already 
such  brave  mechanists,  sliow  me  at  least  one  or  two  places 
where  you  are  happier.  Let  me  see  one  small  example  of  ap- 
proach to  this  seraphic  condition.  Zcan  shovf  you  examples, 
millions  of  them,  of  happy  people,  made  happy  by  their  own 
industry.  Farm  after  farm  I  can  show  you  in  Bavaria,  Swit- 
zerland, the  Tyrol,  and  sucii  other  places,  where  men  and 
women  are  perfectly  happy  and  good,  without  any  iron  ser- 
vants. Show  me,  therefore,  some  English  family,  with  its 
fiery  familiar,  happier  than  these.  Or  bring  me — for  I  am 
not  inconvincible  by  any  kind  of  evidence,— bring  me  the 
testimony  of  an  English  family  or  two  to  their  increased 
5 


66 


FORS  CLAVIGEHA. 


felicity.  Or  if  you  cannot  do  so  much  as  that,  can  you  con^ 
vince  even  themselves  of  it  ?  They  are  perhaps  happy,  if 
only  they  knew  hov7  happy  they  were  ;  Virgil  thought  so, 
long  ago,  of  simple  rustics  ;  but  you  hear  at  present  your 
steam-propelled  rustics  are  crying  out  that  they  are  anything 
else  than  happy,  and  that  they  regard  their  boasted  prog- 
ress "  in  the  light  of  a  monstrous  Sham."  I  must  tell  you 
one  little  thing,  however,  which  greatly  perplexes  my  im- 
agination of  the  relieved  ploughman  sitting  under  his  rose 
bower,  reading  poetr3^  I  have  told  it  you  before,  indeed, 
but  I  forget  where.  There  was  really  a  great  festivity,  and 
i^xpression  of  satisfaction  in  the  new  order  of  things,  down 
in  Cumberland,  a  little  while  ago  ;  some  first  of  May,  I  think 
it  was,  a  country  festival,  such  as  the  old  heathens,  who  had 
no  iron  servants,  used  to  keep  with  piping  and  dancing.  So 
I  thought,  from  the  liberated  country  people — their  work  all 
done  for  them  by  goblins — we  should  have  some  extraor- 
dinary piping  and  dancing.  But  there  was  no  dancing  at 
all,  and  they  could  not  even  provide  their  own  piping.  They 
had  their  goblin  to  Pipe  for  them.  They  walked  in  proces- 
sion after  their  steam  plough,  and  their  steam  plough 
whistled  to  them  occasionallv  in  the  most  melodious  manner 
it  could.  Which  seemed  to  me,  indeed,  a  return  to  more 
than  Arcadian  simplicity  ;  for  in  old  Arcadia,  plough-boys 
truly  v^histled  as  they  went,  for  want  of  thought  ;  whereas, 
here  was  verily  a  large  company  walking  without  thought, 
but  not  having  any  more  even  the  capacity  of  doing  their 
own  Whistlinor'. 

But  next,  as  to  the  inside  of  the  house.  Before  you  got 
your  power-looms,  a  woman  could  always  make  herself  a 
chemise  and  petticoat  of  bright  and  pretty  appearance.  I 
have  seen  a  Bavarian  peasant-woman  at  church  in  Munich, 
looking  a  much  grander  creature,  and  more  beautifully 
dressed,  than  any  of  the  crossed  and  embroidered  angels  in 
Hesse's  high-art  frescoes  ;  (which  happened  to  be  just  above 
her,  so  that  I  could  look  from  one  to  the  other).  Well,  here 
you  are,  in  England,  served  by  household  demons,  with  five 
hundred  fingers,  at  least,  weaving,  for  one  that  used  to 


F0R8  CLAVIOEMA. 


67 


weave  in  the  days  of  Minerva.  You  ought  to  be  able  to 
show  nie  five  hundred  dresses  for  one  that  used  to  be  ;  tidi- 
ness ouglit  to  have  become  five  hundred  fold  tidier  ;  tapes- 
try should  be  increased  in  cinque-cento-fold  iridescence  of 
tapestry.  Not  only  your  peasant-girl  ought  to  be  lying  on 
the  sofa  reading  poetry,  but  she  ought  to  have  in  her  ward- 
robe five  hundred  petticoats  instead  of  one.  Is  that,  indeed, 
your  issue  ?  or  are  you  only  on  a  curiously  crooked  way  to  it  ? 

It  is  just  possible,  indeed,  that  you  may  not  have  been 
allowed  to  get  the  use  of  the  goblin's  work — that  other 
people  may  have  got  the  use  of  it,  and  you  none  ;  because, 
perhaps,  you  have  not  been  able  to  evoke  goblins  wholly  for 
your, own  personal  service  ;  but  have  been  borrowing  goblins 
from  the  capitalist,  and  paying  interest,  in  the  "position  of 
William,"  on  ghostly  self-going  planes  ;  but  suppose  you 
had  laid  by  capital  enough,  yourselves,  to  hire  all  the  demons 
in  the  world, — nay, — all  that  are  inside  of  it  ;  are  you  quite 
sure  you  know  what  you  might  best  set  them  to  work  at? 
and  what  "useful  things"  you  should  conmiand  them  to 
make  for  you?  I  told  you,  last  month,  that  no  economist 
going  (whether  by  steam  or  ghost,)  knew  what  are  useful 
things  and  what  are  not.  Very  few  of  you  know,  yourselves, 
except  by  bitter  experience  of  the  want  of  them.  And  no 
demons,  either  of  iron  or  spirit,  can  ever  make  them. 

There  are  three  Material  things,  not  only  useful,  but  essen- 
tial to  Life.  No  one  "  knows  how  to  live  "  till  he  has  got 
them. 

These  are,  Pure  Air,  Water,  and  Earth. 

There  are  three  Immaterial  things,  not  only  useful,  but 
essential  to  Life.  No  one  knows  how  to  live  till  he  has  got 
them  also. 

These  are.  Admiration,  Hope,  and  Love.* 

Admiration — the  power  of  discerning  and  taking  delight 
in  what  is  beautiful  in  visible  Form,  and  lovely  in  human 
Character  ;  and,  necessarily,  striving  to  produce  what  is 
beautiful  in  form,  and  to  become  what  is  lovely  in  character. 

*  Wordsworth,  Excursion^  Book  4th  ;  in  Moxon*s  edition,  1857  (stu' 
pidly  without  numbers  to  lines),  voL  vi.  p.  135. 


68 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


Hope — the  recognition,  by  true  Foresight,  of  better  things 
to  be  reached  hereafter,  M^hether  by  ourselves  or  others  ;  ne- 
cessarily issuing  in  the  straightforward  and  undisappointable 
effort  to  advance,  according  to  our  proper  power,  the  gaining 
of  them. 

Love,  both  of  family  and  neighbour,  faithful,  and  satisfied. 

These  are  the  six  chiefly  useful  things  to  be  got  by  Politi- 
cal Economy,  when  it  has  become  a  science.  I  will  briefly 
tell  you  what  modern  Political  Economy — the  great  "  savoir 
mourir" — is  doing  with  them. 

The  first  three,  I  said,  are  Pure  Air,  Water,  and  Earth. 

Heaven  gives  you  the  main  elements  of  these.  You  can 
destroy  them  at  your  pleasure,  or  increase,  almost  without 
limit,  the  available  quantities  of  them. 

You  can  vitiate  the  air  by  your  manner  of  life,  and  of 
death,  to  any  extent.  You  might  easily  vitiate  it  so  as  to 
bring  such  a  pestilence  on  the  globe  as  would  end  all  of  you. 
You  or  your  fellows,  German  and  French,  are  at  present 
vitiating  it  to  the  best  of  your  power  in  every  direction  ; — 
chiefly  at  this  moment  with  corpses,  and  animal  and  vegetable 
ruin  in  war  :  changing  men,  horses,  and  garden-stuff  into 
noxious  gas.  But  everywhere,  and  all  day  long,  you  are 
vitiating  it  with  foul  chemical  exhalations  ;  and  the  horri- 
ble nests,  which  you  call  towns,  are  little  more  than  labora- 
tories for  the  distillation  into  leaven  of  venomous  smokes  and 
smells,  mixed  with  effluvia  from  decaying  animal  matter,  and 
infectious  miasmata  from  purulent  disease. 

On  the  other  hand,  your  power  of  purifying  the  air,  by 
dealing  properly  and  swiftly  with  all  substances  in  corruption  ; 
by  absolutely  forbidding  noxious  manufactures  ;  and  by  plant- 
ino;  in  all  soils  the  trees  which  cleanse  and  invio^orate  earth 
and  atmosphere, — is  literally  infinite.  You  might  make  every 
breath  of  air  you  draw,  food. 

Secondly,  your  power  over  the  rain  and  river-waters  of  the 
earth  is  infinite.  You  can  bring  rain  where  you  will,  by 
planting  wisely  and  tending  carefully  ; — drought,  where  you 
will,  by  ravage  of  woods  and  neglect  of  the  soil.  You  might 
have  the  rivers  of  England  as  pure  as  the  crystal  of  the  rock  ; 


FORS  GLAVIQERA. 


69 


•^beautiful  in  falls,  in  lakes,  in  living  pools  ; — so  full  of  fish 
that  you  might  take  them  out  with  your  hands  instead  of 
nets.  Or  you  may  do  always  as  you  have  done  now,  turn 
every  river  of  England  into  a  common  sewer,  so  that  you  can- 
not  so  much  as  baptize  an  English  baby  but  with  filth,  unless 
you  hold  its  face  out  in  the  rain  ;  and  even  that  falls  dirty. 

Then  for  the  third,  Earth, — meant  to  be  nourishing  for 
you,  and  blossoming.  You  have  learned,  about  it,  that  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  a  flower  ;  and  as  far  as  your  scientific 
hands  and  scientific  brains,  inventive  of  explosive  and  death- 
ful,  instead  of  blossoming  and  life-giving,  Dust,  can  con- 
trive, you  have  turned  tlie  Mother-Earth,  Demeter,*  into  the 
Avenger-Earth,  Tisiphone — with  the  voice  of  your  brother's 
blood  crying  out  of  it,  in  one  wild  harmony  round  all  its  mur- 
derous sphere. 

*  Read  thi8,  for  instance,  concerning  the  Gardens  of  Paris  : — one  sen- 
tence in  the  letter  is  omitted ;  I  will  give  it  in  full  elsewhere,  with  its 
necessary  comments  : — 

To  the  Editor  of  the  Times, 

m  April,  1871. 

Sir, — As  the  paragrai)h  you  quoted  on  Monday  from  the  Field  gives 
no  idea  of  the  destruction  in  the  gardens  round  Paris,  if  you  can  spare 
me  a  very  little  space  I  will  endeavour  to  supplement  it. 

**  The  public  gardens  in  the  interior  of  Paris,  including  the  planting 
on  the  greater  number  of  the  Boulevardp,  are  in  a  condition  perfectly 
surprising  when  one  considers  the  sufferings  even  well-to-do  persons  had 
to  endure  for  want  of  fuel  during  the  siege.  Some  of  them,  like  the 
little  oases  in  the  centre  of  the  Louvre,  even  look  as  pretty  as  ever. 
After  a  similar  ordeal  it  is  probable  we  should  not  have  a  stick  left  ia 
London,  and  the  presence  of  the  very  handsome  planes  on  the  Boule- 
vards, and  large  trees  in  the  various  squares  and  gardens,  after  the 
winter  of  1870-71,  is  most  creditable  to  the  population.  But  when  one 
goes  beyond  the  Champs  Elyst'^es  and  towards  the  Bois,  down  the  once 
beautiful  Avenue  de  Tlmperatrice,  a  sad  scene  of  desolation  presents 
itself.  A  year  ago  it  was  the  tinest  avenue  garden  in  existence;  now 
a  considerable  part  of  the  surface  where  troops  were  camped  is  about 
as  filthy  and  as  cheerless  as  Leicester  Square  or  a  sparsely  furnished 
rubbish  yard. 

The  view  into  the  once  richly- wooded  Bois  from  the  huge  and  ugly 
banks  of  earth  which  now  cross  the  noble  roads  leading  into  it  is  deso- 
late indeed,  the  stumps  of  the  trees  cut  down  over  a  large  extent  of  its 


70 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


That  is  what  you  have  done  for  the  Three  Material  Usef u 
Things. 

Then  for  the  Three  Immaterial  Useful  Things.  For  Ad- 
miration, you  have  learnt  contempt  and  conceit.  There  is  no 
lovely  thing  ever  yet  done  by  man  that  you  care  for,  or  can 

surface  remiuding  one  of  the  dreary  scenes  observable  in  many  parts  of 
Canada  and  the  United  States,  where  the  stumps  of  the  burnt  or  cut- 
down  pines  are  allowed  to  rot  away  for  3  ears.  The  zone  of  ruins  round 
the  vast  belt  of  fortifications  I  need  not  speak  of,  nor  of  the  other  zone 
of  destruction  round  each  of  the  forts,  as  here  houses  and  gardens  and 
all  have  disappeared.  But  the  destruction  in  the  wide  zone  occupied  by 
French  and  Prussian  outposts  is  beyond  description.  I  got  to  Paris  the 
morning  after  the  shooting  of  Generals  Clemeut  Thomas  and  Lecomte, 
and  in  consequence  did  not  see  so  much  of  it  as  I  otherwise  might  have 
done;  but  round  the  villages  of  Sceaux,  Bourg-la-Reine,  L'Hay,  Vitry, 
and  Villejuif ,  I  saw  an  amount  of  havoc  which  the  subscriptions  to  the 
French  Horticultural  llelief  Fund  will  go  but  a  very  small  way  to  re- 
pair. Notwithstanding  all  his  revolutions  and  wars,  the  Frenchman 
usually  found  time  to  cultivate  a  few  fruit-trees,  and  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  villages  above  mentioned  were  only  a  few  of  many  covered 
by  nurseries  of  young  trees.  When  I  last  visited  Vitry,  in  the  autumn 
of  1868,  the  fields  and  hill-sides  around  were  everywhere  covered  with 
trees ;  now  the  view  across  them  is  only  interrupted  by  stumps  about  a 
foot  high.  When  at  Vitry  on  the  28th  of  March,  I  found  the  once  fine 
nursery  of  M.  Honore  Desf  resne  deserted,  and  many  acres  once  covered 
with  large  stock  and  specimens  cleared  to  the  ground.  And  so  it  was 
in  numerous  other  cases.  It  may  give  some  notion  of  the  effect  of  the 
war  on  the  gardens  and  nurseries  around  Paris,  when  I  state  that,  ac- 
cording to  returns  made  up  just  before  my  visit  to  Vitry  and  Villejuif, 
it  was  found  that  round  these  two  villages  alone  2,400,400  fruit  and 
ether  trees  were  destroyed.  As  to  the  private  gardens,  I  cannot  give  a 
better  idea  of  them  than  by  describing  the  materials  composing  the  pro- 
tecting bank  of  a  battery  near  Sceaux.  It  was  made  up  of  mattresses, 
sofas,  and  almost  every  other  large  article  of  furniture,  with  the  earth 
stowed  between.  There  were,  in  addition,  nearly  forty  orange  and 
oleander  tubs  gathered  from  the  little  gardens  in  the  neighbourhood 
visible  in  various  parts  of  this  ugly  bank.  One  nurseryman  at  Sceaux, 
M.  Keteleer,  lost  1,500  vols,  of  books,  which  were  not  taken  to  Germany, 
but  simply  mutilated  and  thrown  out  of  doors  to  rot.  .  .  .  Multiply 
these  few  instances  by  the  number  of  districts  occupied  by  the  belliger- 
ents during  the  war,  and  some  idea  of  the  effects  of  glory  on  gardening 
in  France  may  be  obtained. 

W.  BOBINSON/' 


FORS  CLAVJGERA. 


71 


understand  ;  but  you  are  persuaded  you  are  able  to  do  much 
finer  things  yourselves.  You  gather,  and  exhibit  together, 
as  if  equally  instructive,  what  is  infinitely  bad,  with  what  is 
infinitely  good.  You  do  not  know  which  is  which  ;  you  in- 
stinctively prefer  the  Bad,  and  do  more  of  it.  You  instinc- 
tively hate  the  Good,  and  destroy  it.* 

Then,  secondly,  for  Hope.  You  have  not  so  much  spirit  of 
it  in  you  as  to  begin  any  plan  which  will  not  pay  for  ten 
years  ;  nor  so  much  intelligence  of  it  in  you,  (either  politi- 
cians or  workmen),  as  to  be  able  to  form  one  clear  idea  of 
what  you  would  like  your  country  to  become. 

Then,  thirdly,  for  Love.  You  were  ordered  by  the  Founder 
of  your  religion  to  love  your  neighbour  as  yourselves. 

You  have  founded  an  entire  Science  of  Political  Economy, 
on  what  you  have  stated  to  be  the  constant  instinct  of  man — • 
the  desire  to  defraud  his  nuisrhbour. 

And  you  have  driven  your  women  mad,  so  that  they  ask 
no  more  for  Love,  nor  for  fellowship  with  you  ;  but  stand 
against  you,  and  ask  for  "  justice." 

Are  there  any  of  3^ou  who  are  tired  of  all  this  ?  Any  of 
you.  Landlords  or  Tenants  ?    Employers  or  Workmen  ? 

Are  there  any  landlords, — any  masters, — who  would  like 
better  to  be  served  by  men  tlian  by  iron  devils  ? 

Any  tenants,  any  workmen,  who  can  be  true  to  their  leaders 
and  to  each  other?  who  can  vow  to  work  and  to  live  faith- 
fully, for  the  sake  of  tlie  joy  of  their  homes  ? 

Will  any  such  give  the  tenth  of  what  they  have,  and  of 
what  they  earn, — not  to  emigrate  with,  but  to  stay  in  Eng* 

*  Last  night  (I  am  writing  this  on  the  ISth  of  April)  I  got  a  letter 
from  Venice,  bringing  me  the,  1  believe,  too  well-grounded,  report  that 
the  Venetians  have  requested  permission  from  the  government  of  Italy 
to  pull  down  their  Ducal  Palace,  and  *^ rebuild  it."  Put  up  a  horrible 
model  of  it,  in  its  place,  that  is  to  say,  fur  which  their  architects  may 
charge  a  commission.  Meantime,  all  their  canals  are  choked  with  hu- 
man dung,  which  they  are  too  poor  to  cart  away,  but  throw  out  at  their 
windows. 

And  all  the  great  thirteenth -century  cathedrals  in  France  have  been 
destroyed,  within  my  own  memory,  only  that  architects  might  charge 
commission  for  putting  up  false  models  of  them  in  their  place. 


72 


FOES  CLAVIGEMA. 


land  with  ;  and  do  what  is  in  their  hands  and  hearts  to  make 
her  a  happy  England  ? 

I  am  not  rich  ;  (as  people  now  estimate  riches),  and  great 
part  of  v/hat  I  have  is  already  engaged  in  maintaining  art- 
workmen,  or  for  other  objects  more  or  less  of  public  utility. 
The  tenth  of  whatever  is  left  to  me,  estimated  as  accurately 
as  I  can,  (you  shall  see  the  accounts,)  I  will  make  over  to  you 
in  perpetuity,  with  the  best  security  that  English  law  can 
give,  on  Christmas  Day  of  this  year,  with  engagement  to  add 
the  tithe  of  whatever  I  earn  afterwards.  Who  else  will  help, 
with  little  or  much  ?  the  object  of  such  fund  being,  to  begin, 
and  gradually — no  matter  how  slowly — to  increase,  the  buy- 
ing and  securing  of  land  in  England,  wdiich  shall  not  be  built 
upon,  but  cultivated  by  Englishmen,  with  their  own  hands, 
and  such  help  of  force  as  they  can  find  in  wind  and  wave. 

I  do  not  care  with  how  many,  or  how  few,  this  thing  is  be- 
gun, nor  on  what  inconsiderable  scale, — if  it  be  but  in  two 
or  three  poor  men's  gardens.  So  much,  at  least,  I  can  buy, 
myself,  and  give  them.  If  no  help  come,  I  have  done  and 
said  what  I  could,  and  there  will  be  an  end.  If  any  help 
come  to  me,  it  is  to  be  on  the  following  conditions  : — We  will 
try  to  make  some  small  piece  of  English  ground,  beautiful, 
peaceful,  and  fruitful.  We  will  have  no  steam-engines  upon 
it,  and  no  railroads  ;  we  will  have  no  untended  or  unthought- 
of  creatures  on  it ;  none  wretched,  but  the  sick  ;  none  idle, 
but  the  dead.  We  will  have  no  liberty  upon  it  ;  but  instant 
obedience  to  known  law,  and  appointed  persons  :  no  equality 
upon  it ;  but  recognition  of  every  betterness  that  we  can  find, 
and  reprobation  of  every  worseness.  When  we  want  to  go 
anywhere,  we  will  go  there  quietly  and  safely,  not  at  forty 
miles  an  hour  in  the  risk  of  our  lives  ;  when  we  want  to  carry 
anything  anywhere,  we  will  carry  it  either  on  tlie  backs  of 
beasts,  or  on  our  own,  or  in  carts,  or  boats  ;  we  w^ill  have 
plenty  of  flowers  and  vegetables  in  our  gardens,  plenty  ot 
corn  and  grass  in  our  fields, — and  few  bricks.  We  will  have 
some  music  and  poetry  ;  the  children  shall  learn  to  dance  to  it 
and  sing  it  ; — perhaps  some  of  the  old  people,  in  time,  may 
also.    We  will  have  some  art,  moreover  ;  we  will  at  least  try 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


73 


If,  like  the  Greeks,  we  can't  make  some  pots.  The  Greeks 
used  to  paint  pictures  of  gods  on  their  pots  ;  we,  probably, 
cannot  do  as  much,  but  we  may  put  some  pictures  of  insects 
on  tliem,  and  reptiles  ; — butterflies,  and  frogs,  if  nothing  bet- 
ter. There  was  an  excellent  old  potter  in  France  who  used 
to  put  frogs  and  vipers  into  his  dishes,  to  the  admiration  of 
mankind ;  we  can  surely  put  something  nicer  than  that. 
Little  by  little,  some  higher  art  and  imagination  may  mani 
fest  themselves  among  us  ;  and  feeble  rays  of  science  may 
dawn  for  us.  Botany,  though  too  dull  to  dispute  the  exist- 
ence of  flowers  ;  and  history,  though  too  simple  to  question 
the  nativity  of  men  ; — nay — even  perhaps  an  uncalculating 
and  uncovetous  wisdom,  as  of  rude  Magi,  presenting,  at  such 
nativity,  gifts  of  gold  and  frankincense. 

Faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


LETTER  VL 

Denmark  Hn.L, 

My  Friends,  ut  June,  1871.* 

The  main  purpose  of  these  letters  having  been  stated 
in  the  last  of  them,  it  is  needful 'that  I  should  tell  you  why  I 
approach  the  discussion  of  it  in  this  so  desultory  way,  writ- 
ing (as  it  is  too  true  that  I  must  continue  to  write,)  "  of 
things  that  you  little  care  for,  in  words  that  you  cannot  easily 
understand." 

I  write  of  things  you  little  care  for,  knowing  that  what 

*  I  think  it  best  to  publish  this  letter  as  it  was  prepared  for  press  on 
the  morning-  of  the  25th  of  last  month,  at  Abingdon,  before  the  papers 
of  that  day  had  reached  me.  Yon  may  misinterpret  its  tone  ;  and  think 
it  is  written  without  feeling  ;  but  I  will  endeavour  to  give  you  in  my 
next  letter,  a  brief  statement  of  the  meaning,  to  the  French  and  to  all 
other  nations,  of  this  war,  and  its  results  :  in  the  meantime,  trust  me, 
there  is  probably  no  other  man  living  to  whom,  in  the  abstract,  and  ir- 
rsspective  of  loss  of  family  and  property,  the  rr,in  of  Paris  is  so  great  a 
BOiiow  aa  it  is  to  me. 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


you  least  care  for  is,  at  this  juncture,  of  the  greatest  moment 
to  you. 

And  1  write  in  words  you  are  little  likely  to  understand, 
because  I  have  no  wish  (rather  the  contrary)  to  tell  you  any- 
thing that  you  can  understand  without  taking  trouble.  You 
usually  read  so  fast  that  you  can  catch  nothing  but  the  eclio 
of  your  own  opinions,  which,  of  course,  you  are  pleased  to 
see  in  print.  I  neither  wish  to  please  nor  displease  you  5 
but  to  provoke  you  to  think  ;  to  lead  you  to  think  accu» 
rately  ;  and  help  you  to  form,  perhaps,  some  different  opiu'* 
ions  from  those  you  have  now. 

Therefore,  I  choose  that  you  shall  pay  me  the  price  of  two 
pots  of  beer,  twelve  times  in  the  year,  for  my  advice,  each  of 
you  who  wants  it.  If  you  like  to  think  of  me  as  a  quack 
doctor,  you  are  welcome  ;  and  you  may  consider  the  large 
margins,  and  thick  paper,  and  ugly  pictures  of  my  book,  as 
my  caravan,  drum,  and  skeleton.  You  would  probably,  if 
invited  in  that  manner,  buy  my  pills  ;  and  I  should  make  a 
great  deal  of  money  out  of  you  ;  but  being  an  honest  doctor, 
I  still  mean  you  to  pay  me  what  you  ought.  You  fancy, 
doubtless,  that  I  write — as  most  other  political  writers  do— 
my  opinions  ; "  and  that  one  man's  opinion  is  as  good  as 
another's.  You  are  much  mistaken.  When  I  only  opine 
things,  I  hold  my  tongue ;  and  work  till  I  more  than  opine — 
until  I  know  them.  If  the  things  prove  unknowable,  I  with 
final  perseverance,  hold  my  tongue  about  them,  and  recom- 
mend a  like  practice  to  other  people.  If  the  things  prove 
knowable,  as  soon  as  I  know  them,  I  am  ready  to  write  about 
them,  if  need  be  ;  not  till  then.    That  is  what  people  call  my 

arrogance."  They  write  and  talk  themselves,  habitually, 
of  what  they  know  nothing  about  ;  they  cannot  in  any  wise 
conceive  the  state  of  mind  of  a  person  who  will  not  speak 
till  he  knows  ;  and  then  tells  them,  serenely,  ^'  This  is  so  ; 
you  may  find  it  out  for  yourselves,  if  you  choose  ;  but,  how- 
ever little  you  may  choose  it,  the  thing  is  still  so." 

Now  it  has  cost  me  twenty  years  of  thought,  and  of  hard 
reading,  to  learn  what  I  have  to  tell  you  in  these  pamphlets 
and  you  will  find,  if  you  choose  to  find,  it  is  true  ;  and  may 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


75 


prove,  if  you  choose  to  prove,  that  it  is  useful  :  and  I  am  not 
in  the  least  minded  to  compete  for  your  audience  with  the 
"  opinions"  in  your  damp  journals,  morning  and  evening,  tlie 
black  of  them  coming  o£E  on  your  lingers,  and  beyond  all 
washing,  into  your  brains.  It  is  no  affair  of  mine  whether 
you  attend  to  me  or  not  ;  but  yours  wholly  ;  my  hand  is 
weary  of  j^en-holaing,  my  heart  is  sick  of  thinking  ;  for  my 
own  part,  I  would  not  write  you  these  pamphlets  though  you 
would  give  me  a  barrel  of  beer,  instead  of  two  pints,  for 
them  ; — I  write  them  wholly  for  your  sake  ;  I  choose  that 
you  shall  have  them  decently  printed  on  cream-colored  paper, 
and  with  a  margin  underneath,  which  you  can  write  on,  if 
you  like.  That  is  also  for  your  sake  ;  it  is  a  proper  form  of 
book  for  any  man  to  have  who  can  keep  liis  books  clean  ;  and 
if  he  cannot,  he  has  no  business  with  books  at  all  ;  it  costs 
me  ten  pounds  to  print  a  thousand  copies,  and  five  more  to 
give  you  a  picture  ;  and  a  penny  off  my  sevenpence  to  send 
you  the  book — a  thousand  sixpences  are  twenty-five  pounds  ; 
when  you  have  bought  a  thousand  Fors  of  me,  I  shall  there- 
fore have  five  pounds  for  my  trouble — and  my  single  shop- 
man, Mr.  Allen,  five  pounds  for  liis  ;  we  won't  work  for  less, 
either  of  us  ;  not  that  we  would  not,  were  it  good  for  you  ; 
but  it  would  be  by  no  means  good.  And  I  mean  to  sell  all 
my  large  books,  henceforward,  in  the  same  way  ;  well  printed, 
well  bound,  and  at  a  fixed  price  ;  and  the  trade  may  charge 
a  proper  and  acknowledged  profit  for  their  trouble  in  retail- 
ing the  book.  Then  the  public  know  what  they  are  about, 
and  so  will  tradesmen  ;  T,  the  first  producer,  answer,  to  the 
best  of  my  power,  for  the  quality  of  the  book  ; — paper,  bind- 
ing, eloquence,  and  all  :  the  retail-dealer  charges  what  he 
ought  to  charge,  openly  ;  and  if  the  public  do  not  choose  to 
give  it,  they  can't  get  the  book.  That  is  what  I  call  legiti- 
mate business.  Then  as  for  this  misunderstanding  of  me— 
remember  that  it  is  really  not  easy  to  understand  anytiiing, 
which  you  have  not  heard  before,  if  it  relates  to  a  complex 
subject  ;  also  it  is  quite  easy  to  misunderstand  things  that 
you  are  hearing  every  day — which  seem  to  you  of  the  intelli* 
giblest  sort.    But  I  can  only  write  of  things  in  my  own  way 


76 


FORS  CLAVIGEIIA, 


and  as  they  come  into  my  bead  ;  and  of  the  things  I  care  for, 
whether  you  care  for  thein  or  not,  as  yet.  I  will  answer  for 
it,  you  must  care  for  some  of  them,  in  time. 

To  take  an  instance  close  to  my  hand  :  you  would  of  course 
think  it  little  conducive  to  your  interests  that  I  should  g-ive 
you  any  account  of  the  wild  hyacinths  which  are  opening  in 
flakes  of  blue  fire,  this  day,  within  a  couple  of  miles  of  me^ 
in  the  glades  of  Bagley  wood  through  which  the  Empress 
Maude  fled  in  the  snoAv,  (and  which,  by  the  way,  I  slink 
through,  myself,  in  some  discomfort  lest  the  gamekeeper  of 
the  college  of  the  gracious  Apostle  St.  John  should  catch 
sight  of  me  ;  not  that  he  would  ultimately  decline  to  make  a 
distinction  between  a  poacher  and  a  professor,  but  that  I  dis- 
like the  trouble  of  giving  an  account  of  myself).  Or,  if  even 
you  would  bear  with  a  scientific  sentence  or  two  about  them, 
explaining  to  you  that  they  were  only  green  leaves  turned 
blue,  and  that  it  was  of  no  consequence  wliether  they  were 
either  ;  and  that,  as  flowers,  they  were  scientifically  to  be 
considered  as  not  in  existence, — you  will,  I  fear,  throw  my 
letter,  even  though  it  has  cost  you  sevenpence,  aside  at  once, 
when  I  remark  to  you  tliat  these  wood-hyacinths  of  Bagley 
have  something  to  do  with  the  battle  of  Marathon,  and  if 
you  knew  it,  are  of  more  vital  interest  to  you  than  even  the 
Match  Tax. 

Nevertheless,  as  I  shall  feel  it  my  duty,  some  day,  to  speak 
to  you  of  Theseus  and  his  vegetable  soup,  so  to-day,  I  think 
it  necessary  to  tell  you  that  the  wood-hyacinth  is  the  best 
English  representative  of  the  tribe  of  flowers  which  the 
Greeks  called  Asphodel,"  and  which  they  thougiit  the 
heroes  who  had  fallen  in  the  battle  of  Marathon,  or  in  any 
other  battle,  fought  in  just  quarrel,  were  to  be  rewarded,  and 
enough  rewarded,  by  living  in  fields  full  of  ;  fields  called,  by 
them,  Elysian,  or  the  Fields  of  Coming,  as  you  and  I  talk  of 
the  good  time  "^Coming,"  though  with  perhaps  different 
views  as  to  the  nature  of  the  to  be  expected  goodness. 

Now  what  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  said  the  other 
day  to  the  Civil  FJngineors  (see  Saturday  Review^  April  29t}i),  ia 
entirely  true  ;  namely,  that  in  any  of  our  colliery  or  cartridge- 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


77 


manufactory  explosions,  we  send  as  many  men  (or  women)  into 
Elysium  as  were  likely  to  get  there  after  the  battle  of  Mara- 
thon ;  *  and  that  is,  indeed,  like  the  rest  of  our  economic  ar- 
rangements,  very  fine,  and  pleasant  to  think  upon  ;  neither 
may  it  be  doubted  on  modern  principles  of  religion  and 
equality,  that  every  collier  and  cartridge-filler  is  as  fit  for 
Elysium  as  any  heathen  could  be  ;  and  that  in  all  these 
respects  the  battle  of  Marathon  is  no  more  deserving  of  Eng- 
lish notice.  But  what  I  want  you  to  reflect  upon,  as  of  mo- 
ment to  you,  is  whether  you  really  care  for  the  hyacinthine 
Elysium  you  are  going  to  ?  and  if  you  do,  why  you  should  not 
live  a  little  while  in  Elvsium  here,  instead  of  waitins:  so 
patiently,  and  working  so  hardly,  to  be  blown  or  flattened 
into  it  ?  The  hyacinths  will  grow  well  enough  on  the  top  of  the 
ground,  if  you  will  leave  off  digging  away  the  bottom  of  it  ; 
and  another  plant  of  the  asphodel  species,  which  the  Greeks 
thought  of  more  importance  even  than  hyacinths — onions  ; 
though,  indeed,  one  dead  hero  is  represented  by  Lucian  as 
finding  something  to  complain  of  even  in  Elysium,  because 
he  got  nothing  but  onions  there  to  eat.  But  it  is  simply,  I 
assure  you,  because  the  French  did  not  understand  that  hya- 
cinths and  onions  were  the  principal  things  to  fill  their  exist- 
ing Elysian  Fields,  or  Champs  Elysees,  wnth,  but  chose  to 
have  carriages  and  roundabouts  instead,  that  a  tax  on 
matches  in  those  fields  would  be,  now-a-days,  so  much  more 
productive  than  one  on  Asphodel ;  and  I  see  that  only  a  day 
or  two  since  even  a  poor  Punch's  show  could  not  play  out  its 
play  in  Elysian  peace,  but  had  its  corner  knocked  off  by  a 
shell  from  Mont  Valerien,  and  the  dog  Toby  seriously 
alarmed." 

One  m.ore  instance  of  the  things  you  don't  care  for,  that 
are  vital  to  you,  may  be  better  told  now  than  hereafter. 

In  my  plan  for  our  practical  work,  in  last  number,  you  re- 
member I  said,  we  must  try  and  make  some  pottery,  and 

*  Of  course  this  was  written,  and  in  typO;  before  the  late  catastrophe 
in  Paris,  and  the  one  nt  Dunkirk  is,  I  suppose,  long  since  forgotten, 
much  more  our  own  good  ])eginning  at —Birmingham — was  it  ?  I  forget* 
myself,  now. 


73 


FOnS  CLAVIGBMA. 


have  some  music,  and  that  we  would  have  no  steam-engines. 
On  this  I  received  a  singular  letter  from  a  resident  at  Bir- 
mingham, advising  me  that  the  colours  for  my  pottery  must 
be  ground  by  steam,  and  my  musical  instruments  constructed 
by  it.  To  this,  as  my  correspondent  was  an  educated  per* 
son,  and  knew  Latin,  I  ventured  to  answer  that  porcelain 
had  been  painted  before  the  time  of  James  Watt  ;  that  even 
music  was  not  entirely  a  recent  invention  ;  that  my  poor 
company,  I  fear&d,  would  deserve  no  better  colours  than 
Apelles  and  Titian  made  shift  with,  or  even  the  Chinese  ; 
and  that  I  could  not  find  any  notice  of  musical  instruments 
in  the  time  of  David,  for  instance,  having  been  made  by 
steam. 

To  this  my  correspondent  again  replied  that  he  supposed 
David's  twangling  upon  the  harp"  would  have  been  un- 
satisfactory to  modern  taste  ;  in  which  sentiment  I  concurred 
with  him,  (thinking  of  the  Cumberland  procession,  without 
dancing,  after  its  sacred  cylindrical  Ark).  We  shall  have  to 
be  content,  however,  for  our  part,  with  a  little  twangling  " 
on  such  roughly-made  harps,  or  even  shells,  as  the  Jews  and 
Greeks  got  their  melody  out  of,  though  it  must  indeed  be 
little  conceivable  in  a  modern  manufacturing  town  that  a 
nation  could  ever  have  existed  which  imaginarily  dined  on 
onions  in  Heaven,  and  made  harps  of  the  near  relations  of 
turtles  on  Earth.  But,  to  keep  to  our  crockery,  you  know 
I  told  you  that  for  some  time  we  should  not  be  able  to  put 
any  pictures  of  Gods  on  it ;  and  you  might  think  that  would 
be  of  small  consequence  :  but  it  is  of  moment  that  we  should 
at  least  try — for  indeed  that  old  French  potter,  Palissy,  was 
nearly  the  last  of  potters  in  France,  or  England  either,  who 
could  have  done  so,  if  anybody  had  wanted  Gods.  But  nobody 
in  his  time  did  ;  they  only  wanted  Goddesses,  of  a  demi* 
divine-raonde  pattern  ;  Palissy,  not  well  able  to  produce 
such,  took  to  moulding  innocent  frogs  and  vipers  instead, 
in  his  dishes  ;  but  at  Sevres  and  other  places  for  shaping  of 
courtly  clay,  the  charmingest  things  were  done,  as  you  prob 
ably  saw  at  the  great  peace-promoting  Exhibition  of  1851  ; 
and  not  only  the  first  rough  potter's  fields,  tileries,  as  they 


F0R8  OLAVIGERA. 


n 


called  them,  or  Tuileries,  but  the  little  deii  wiiere  Palissy  long 
after  worked  under  the  Louvre,  were  effaced  and  forgotten  in 
the  glory  of  the  house  of  France  ;  until  the  House  of  France 
forgot  also  that  to  it,  no  less  than  the  House  of  Israel,  the  words 
were  spoken,  not  by  a  painted  God,  "  As  tlie  clay  is  in  I  he 
hands  of  the  potter,  so  are  ye  in  mine  ;  "  and  thus  the  stained 
and  vitrified  show  of  it  lasted,  as  you  have  seen,  until  the 
Tuileries  again  become  the  Potter's  field,  to  bury,  not 
strangers  in,  but  their  own  souls,  no  more  ashamed  of  Traitor- 
hood,  but  invoking  Traitorhood,  as  if  it  covered,  instead  of 
constituting,  uttermost  sliaine  ; — until,  of  the  kingdom  and 
its  glory  there  is  not  a  shard  left,  to  take  fire  out  of  tlie 
hearth. 

Left — to  men's  eyes,  I  should  have  written.  To  their 
thoughts,  is  left  yet  much  ;  for  true  kingdoms  and  true 
glories  cannot  pass  away.  What  France  has  had  of  such 
remain  to  her.  What  any  of  us  can  find  of  such,  will  remain 
to  us.  Will  you  look  back,  for  an  instant,  again  to  the  end 
of  my  last  Letter,  p.  73,  and  consider  the  state  of  life  de- 
scribed there  : — No  liberty,  but  instant  obedience  to  known 
law  and  appointed  persons  ;  no  equality,  but  recognition  of 
every  bitterness  and  reprobation  of  every  worseness  ;  and 
none  idle  but  the  dead." 

I  beg  you  to  observe  that  last  condition  especially.  You 
will  debate  for  many  a  day  to  come  the  causes  that  have 
brouglit  this  misery  upon  France,  and  there  are  many  ;  but 
one  is  chief — chief  cause,  now  and  always,  of  evil  everywhere; 
and  I  see  it  at  this  moment,  in  its  deadliest  form,  out  of  the 
window  of  my  quiet  English  inn.  It  is  the  21st  of  May,  and 
a  bright  morning,  and  the  sun  shines,  for  once,  warmly  on 
the  wall  opposite,  a  low  one,  of  ornamental  pattern,  imitative 
in  brick  of  wood-work  (as  if  it  had  been  of  wood- work 
it  would,  doubtless,  have  been  painted  to  look  like  brick). 
Against  this  low  decorative  edifice  leans  a  ruddy-faced 
English  boy  of  seventeen  or  eighteen,  in  a  white  blouse 
and  brow!)  corduroy  trousers,  and  a  domical  felt  hat  ;  with 
the  sun,  as  much  as  can  get  under  the  rim,  on  his  face,  and 
bis  hands  in  his  pockets  ;  listlessly  watching  two  dogs  at 


80 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


play.  He  is  a  good  boy,  evidently,  and  does  not  care  tc 
turn  the  play  into  a  fight  still  it  is  not  interesting  enough 
to  him,  as  play,  to  relieve  the  extreme  distress  of  his  idleness, 
and  he  occasionally  takes  his  hands  out  of  his  pockets,  and 
claps  them  at  the  dogs  to  startle  them. 

The  ornamental  wall  he  leans  against  surrounds  the  county 
police-office,  and  the  residence  at  the  end  of  it,  appropriately 
called  '^Gaol  Lodge."  This  county  gaol,  police-office,  and  a 
large  gasometer,  have  been  built  by  the  good  people  of  Ab- 
ingdon to  adorn  the  principal  entrance  to  their  town  from 
the  south.  It  was  once  quite  one  of  the  loveliest,  as  well  as 
historically  interesting,  scenes  in  England.  A  few  cottages 
and  their  gardens,  sloping  down  to  the  river-side,  are  still 
left,  and  an  arch  or  two  of  the  great  monastery  ;  but  the 
principal  object  from  the  road  is  now  the  gaol,  and  from  the 
river  the  gasometer.  It  is  curious  that  since  the  English 
have  believed  (as  you  will  find  the  editor  of  the  Liverpool 
Daily  Post,  quoting  to  you  from  Macaulay,  in  his  leader  of 
the  9th  of  this  month),  "the  only  cure  for  Liberty  is  more 
liberty  "  (which  is  true  enough,  for  when  you  have  got  all 
you  can,  you  will  be  past  physic),  they  always  make  their 
gaols  conspicuous  and  ornamental.  Now  I  have  no  objec- 
tion, myself,  detesting,  as  I  do,  every  approach  to  liberty,  to 
a  distinct  manifestation  of  gaol,  in  proper  quarters  ;  nay,  in 
the  highest,  and  in  the  close  neighbourhood  of  palaces  ;  per- 
haps, even,  with  a  convenient  passage,  and  Pontc  de'  Sos- 
piri,  from  one  to  the  other,  or,  at  least,  a  pleasant  access  by 
water-gate  and  down  tlie  river  ;  but  I  do  not  see  why  in  these 
days  of  incurable  "  liberty,  the  prospect  in  approaching  a 
quiet  English  county  town  should  be  gaol,  and  nothing  else. 

Tliat  being  so,  however,  the  country-boy,  in  his  white 
blouse,  leans  placidly  against  the  prison-wall  this  bright 
Sunday  morning,  little  thinking  what  a  luminous  sign-post 
he  is  making  of  himself,  and  living  gnomon  of  sun-dial,  of 
which  the  shadow  points  sharply  to  the  subtlest  cause  of  the 
fall  of  France,  and  of  England,  as  is  too  likely,  after  her. 

*  This  was  at  seven  in  the  mornirig,  he  had  them  fighting  at  half-past 
nine. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


81 


Your  hands  in  your  own  pockets,  in  the  morning.  That 
is  the  beginning  of  the  last  day  ;  your  hands  in  other  peo- 
ple's pockets  at  noon  ;  that  is  the  height  of  the  last  day  ; 
and  the  gaol,  ornamented  or  otherwise  (assuredly  the  great 
gaol  of  the  grave),  for  the  night.  That  is  the  history  of  na* 
tions  under  judgment.  Don't  think  I  say  this  to  any  single 
class  ;  least  of  all  specially  to  you  ;  the  rich  are  continually, 
now-a-days,  reproaching  you  with  3'Our  wish  to  be  idle.  It 
is  very  wrong  of  you  ;  but,  do  they  w^ant  to  work  all  day, 
themselves  ?  All  mouths  are  very  properly  open  now  against 
the  Paris  Communists  because  they  fight  that  they  may  get 
wages  for  marching  about  with  flags.  What  do  the  upper 
classes  fight  for,  then  ?  Wliat  have  they  fought  for  since 
the  world  became  upper  and  lower,  but  that  they  also  might 
have  wages  for  walking  about  with  flags,  and  that  mischiev- 
ously ?  It  is  very  wrong  of  the  Communists  to  steal  church- 
plate  and  candlesticks.  Very  wrong  indeed  ;  and  much  good 
may  they  get  of  their  pawnbrokers'  tickets.  Have  you  any 
notion  (I  mean  that  you  shall  have  some  soon),  liow  mucli 
the  fathers  and  fathers'  fathers  of  these  men,  for  a  thousand 
years  back,  have  paid  their  priests,  to  keep  them  in  plate  and 
candlesticks  ?  You  need  not  think  I  am  a  republican,  or  that 
I  like  to  see  priests  ill-treated,  and  their  candlesticks  carried 
off.  I  have  many  friends  among  priests,  and  should  have 
had  more  had  I  not  long  been  trying  to  make  them  see  that 
they  have  long  trusted  too  much  in  candlesticks,  not  quite 
enough  in  candles  ;  not  at  all  enougli  in  the  sun,  and  least 
of  all  enough  in  the  sun's  ?>Iaker.  Scientific  people  indeed 
of  late  opine  the  sun  to  have  been  produced  by  collision,  and 
to  be  a  splendidly  permanent  railroad  accident,  or  explosive 
Elysium  :  also  I  noticed,  only  yesterday,  that  gravitation  it- 
self is  announced  to  the  members  of  the  Royal  Institution  as 
the  result  of  vibratory  motion.  Some  day,  perhaps,  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Royal  Institution  will  proceed  to  inquire  after  the 
cause  of — vibratory  motion.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  Begin- 
ning, or  Prince  of  Vibration,  as  modern  science  has  it,— 
Prince  of  Peace,  as  old  science  had  it, — continues  through 
all  scientific  analysis,  His  own  arrangements  about  the  sun, 
6 


82 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


as  also  about  other  liarhts,  lately  hidden,  or  burniiig"  low. 
And  these  are  primarily,  that  He  has  appointed  a  great 
power  to  rise  and  set  in  heav^en,  which  gives  life,  and  warmth^ 
and  motion,  to  the  bodies  of  men,  and  beasts,  creeping  things, 
and  flowers  ;  and  w^iich  also  causes  light  and  colour  in  the 
eves  of  things  that  have  eyes.  And  he  has  set  above  the 
souls  of  men,  on  earth,  a  great  law  or  Sun  of  Justice  or 
Righteousness,  which  brings  also  life  and  health  in  the  daily 
strength  and  spreading  of  it,  being  spoken  of  in  the  priests' 
language,  (which  they  never  explained  to  anybody,  and  now 
w^onder  that  nobody  understands,)  as  having  "  healing  in  its 
wings  :  "  and  the  obedience  to  this  law,  as  it  gives  strength 
to  the  heart,  so  it  gives  light  to  the  eyes  of  souls  that  have 
got  any  eyes,  so  that  they  begin  to  see  each  other  as  lovely, 
and  to  love  each  other.  That  is  the  final  law  respecting  the 
sun,  and  all  manner  of  minor  lights  and  candles,  down  to 
rushlights  ;  and  I  once  got  it  fairly  explained,  two  years  ago, 
to  an  intellig-ent  and  obliofinir  wax-and-tallow  chandler  at 
Abbeville,  in  whose  shop  I  used  to  sit  sketching  in  rainy 
days  ;  and  watching  the  cartloads  of  ornamental  candles 
which  he  used  to  supply  for  the  church  at  the  far  east  end  of 
the  town,  (I  forget  what  saint  it  belongs  to,  but  it  is  opposite 
the  late  Emperor's  large  new  cavalry  barracks),  where  the 
young  ladies  of  the  better  class  in  Abbeville  had  just  got  up 
a  beautiful  evening  service,  with  a  pyramid  of  candles  which 
it  took  at  least  half-an-hour  to  light,  and  as  long  to  put  out 
again,  and  which,  when  lighted  up  to  the  top  of  the  church, 
v/ere  only  to  be  looked  at  themselves,  and  sung  to,  and  not 
to  light  anybody,  or  anytliing.  I  got  the  tallow-chandler  to 
calculate  vaguely  the  probable  cost  of  the  candles  lighted  in 
this  manner,  every  day,  in  all  the  churches  of  France  ;  and 
then  I  asked  him  how  many  cottagers'  wives  he  knew  round 
Abbeville  itself  who  could  afford,  without  pinching,  either 
dip  or  mould  in  the  evening  to  make  their  children's  clothe^ 
by,  and  whether,  if  the  pink  and  green  bees-wax  of  the  dis- 
trict were  divided  every  afternoon  among  them,  it  might  not 
be  quite  as  honourable  to  God,  and  as  good  for  the  candle- 
trade  ?    Which  he  admitted  readily  enough  ;   bnt  what  I 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


83 


Bhould  have  tried  to  convince  the  young*  ladies  themselves 
of,  at  the  evening  service,  would  probably  not  have  been  ad- 
mitted so  readily  ; — that  they  themselves  were  nothing*  more 
than  an  extremely  graceful  kind  of  wax-tapers  which  had  got 
into  their  heads  that  they  were  only  to  be  looked  at,  for  the 
honour  of  God,  and  not  to  light  anybody. 

Which  is  indeed  too  much  the  notion  of  even  the  mascu- 
line aristocracy  of  Europe  at  this  day.  One  can  imagine 
tliem,  indeed,  modest  in  the  matter  of  their  own  luminous- 
ness,  and  more  timid  of  the  tax  on  agricultural  horses  and 
carts,  than  of  that  on  lucifers  ;  but  it  would  be  vrell  if  they 
were  content,  here  in  England,  however  dimly  phosphores- 
cent themselves,  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  May  at  the  end 
of  Westminster  Bridge,  (as  my  boy  on  Abingdon  Bridge), 
with  their  backs  asrainst  the  larofe  edifice  thev  have  built 
there,  an  edifice,  by  the  way,  to  my  own  poor  judgment  less 
contributing  to  the  adornment  of  London,  than  the  new 
police-office  to  that  of  Abingdon.  But  the  English  squire, 
after  his  fashion,  sends  himself  to  that  highly  decorated  gaol 
all  spring-time  ;  and  cannot  be  content  with  his  hands  in  his 
ow.*!  pockets,  nor  even  in  yours  and  mine  ;  but  claps  and 
laughs,  semi-idiot  that  he  is,  at  dog-fights  on  the  floor  of  the 
House,  which,  if  he  knew  it,  are  indeed  dog-fights  of  the  Stars 
in  their  courses,  Sirius  against  Procyon  ;  and  of  the  havock 
and  loosed  dogs  of  war,  makes,  as  The  Times'^  correspondent 
says  they  make,  at  Versailles,  of  the  siege  of  Paris,  the  En- 
tertainment of  the  Hour." 

You  think  that,  perhaps,  an  unjust  saying  of  him,  as  he 
will,  assuredly,  himself.  He  w^ould  fain  put  an  end  to  this 
wild  w^ork,  if  he  could,  he  thinks. 

My  friends,  I  tell  you  solemnly,  the  sin  of  it  all,  down  to 
this  last  night's  doing,  or  undoing,  (for  it  is  Monday  now,  I 
waited  before  finishing  my  letter,  to  see  if  the  Sainte  Cha- 
pelle  would  follow  the  Vendome  Column  ;)  the  sin  of  it,  I  tell 
you,  is  not  that  poor  rabble's  ;  spade  and  pickaxe  in  hand 
among  the  dead  ;  nor  yet  the  blasphemer's,  making  noise  like 
a  dog  by  the  defiled  altars  of  our  Lady  of  Victories  ;  and 
round  the  barricades,  and  the  ruins,  of  the  Street  of  Peace. 


84 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


This  cruelty  has  been  done  by  the  kindest  of  us,  and  th^ 
most  honourable  ;  by  the  delicate  women,  by  the  nobly- 
nurtured  men,  who  through  their  happy  and,  as  they  thought, 
holy  lives,  have  sought,  and  still  seek,  only  the  entertain- 
ment of  the  hour."  And  this  robbery  has  been  taught  to 
the  hands, — this  blasphemy  to  the  lips, — of  the  lost  poor,  by 
the  False  Prophets  v»^ho  have  taken  the  name  of  Christ  in 
vain,  and  leao-ued  themselves  with  his  chief  enemv,  "  Covet- 
ousness,  which  is  idolatry." 

Covetousness,  lady  of  Competition  and  of  deadly  Care  ; 
idol  above  the  altars  of  Ignoble  Victory  ;  builder  of  streets, 
in  cities  of  Ignoble  Peace.  I  have  given  you  the  picture  of 
her — your  goddess  and  only  Hope — as  Giotto  saw  her  ;  domi- 
nant in  prosperous  Italy  as  in  prosperous  England,  and  having 
her  hands  clawed  then,  as  now,  so  that  she  can  only  clutch, 
not  work  ;  also  you  shall  read  next  month  with  me  what  one 

of  Giotto's  friends  says  of 
her — a  rude  versifier,  one 
of  the  t wangling  harp- 
ers ;  as  Giotto  was  a  poor 
painter  for  low  price,  and 
with  colours  ground  by 
hand  ;  but  such  cheap 
work  must  serve  our  turn 
for  this  time  ;  also,  here, 
is  portrayed  for  you  *  one 
of  the  ministering  angels 
of  the  goddess  ;  for  she 
herself,  having  ears  set 
wide  to  the  wind,  is  careful  to  have  wind-instruments  pro- 
vided by  her  servants  for  other  people's  ears. 

This  servant  of  hers  was  drawn  by  the  court  portrait  painter, 

*  Engraved,  as  also  the  woodcut  in  the  April  number,  carefully  after 
Holbein,  by  my  coal- waggon-assisting"  assistant:  but  he  has  missed  his 
mark  somewhat,  here  ;  the  imp's  abortive  hands,  hooked  processes 
only,  like  Envy's,  and  pterodactylous,  are  scarcely  seen  in  their  clutch 
of  the  bellows,  and  there  are  other  faults.  We  will  do  it  better  for  yoiv 
afterwards. 


FOES  CLAVIOERA. 


85 


Holbein  ;  and  was  a  councillor  at  poor- Jaw  boards,  in  his  day  ; 
counselling  then,  as  some  of  us  have,  since,  Bread  of  Aj93ic- 
tion  and  Water  of  Affliction "  for  the  vagrant  as  such, — 
which  is,  indeed,  good  advice,  if  you  are  quite  sure  the  va- 
grant has,  or  may  have  a  home  ;  not  otherwise.  But  we  will 
talk  further  of  this  next  month,  taking  into  council  one  of 
Holbein's  prosaic  friends,  as  well  as  that  singing  friend  of 
Giotto's — an  English  lawyer  and  country  gentleman,  living 
on  his  farm  at  Chelsea — (somewhere  near  Cheyne  Row,  I  be- 
lieve)— and  not  unfrequently  visited  there  by  the  King  of 
England,  who  would  ask  himself  unexpectedly  to  dinner  at 
the  little  Thames-side  farm,  though  the  floor  of  it  was  only 
strewn  with  green  rushes.  It  was  burnt  at  last,  rushes, 
ricks,  and  all  ;  some  said  because  bread  of  affliction  and  water 
of  affliction  had  been  served  to  heretics  there,  its  master  be- 
ing a  stout  Catholic  ;  and,  singularly  enough,  also  a  Com- 
nmnist  ;  so  that  because  of.  the  fire,  and  other  matters,  the 
King  at  last  ceased  to  dine  at  Chelsea,  ^^'^e  will  iiave  some 
talk,  however,  with  the  farmer,  ourselves,  some  day  soon  ; 
meantime  and  always,  believe  me, 

Faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKTN. 


POSTSCRIPT. 

25th  May  (early  morning),  Reuter's  final  telegram,  in  the 
Echo  of  last  night,  being  "  The  Louvre  and  the  Tuileries  are 
in  flames,  the  Federals  having  set  fire  to  them  with  petro- 
leum," it  is  interesting  to  observe  how  in  fulfilment  of  the 
Mechanical  Glories  of  our  age,  its  ingenious  Gomorrah  mail' 
ufactures,  and  supplies,  to  demand,  her  own  brimstone  : 
achieving  also  a  quite  scientific,  instead  of  miraculous,  de- 
scent of  it  from  Heaven  ;  and  ascent  of  it,  where  required, 
without  any  need  of  cleaving  or  quaking  of  earth,  except  in 
a  superficially     vibrator}^  "  manner. 

Nor  can  it  be  less  encouraging  to  you  to  see  how,  with  a 
sufficiently  curative  quantity  of  Liberty,  you  may  defend 


86 


FOHS  OLA  VIGEHA. 


yourselves  against  all  danger  of  over-Production,  especially 
in  art;  but,  in  case  you  should  ever  wisli  to  re-"  produce" 
any  of  the  combustibles  (as  oil,  or  canvas),  used  in  these 
Parisian  Economies,  you  will  do  well  to  inquire  of  the  author 
of  the  "  Essay  on  Liberty,"  wliether  he  considers  oil  of  lin- 
seed, or  petroleum,  as  best  fulfilling  his  definition,  "  utilities 
fixed  and  embodied  in  material  objects/' 


LETTER  YIL 

Denmark  Hill, 
My  Friends,  ^''^V^  1^'^^- 

It  seldom  chances,  my  work  lying  chiefly  among  stones, 
clouds,  and  flov^ers,  that  I  am  brought  into  any  freedom  of 
intercourse  with  my  fellow-creatures  ;  but  since  the  fighting 
in  Paris  1  have  dined  out  several  times,  and  spoken  to  the 
persons  who  sate  next  me,  and  to  others  when  I  went  up- 
stairs ;  and  done  the  best  I  could  to  find  out  what  people 
thought  about  the  fighting,  or  thought  they  ought  to  think 
about  it,  or  thought  they  ought  to  say.  I  had,  of  course,  no 
hope  of  finding  any  one  thinking  what  they  ought  to  do. 
But  I  have  not  yet,  a  little  to  my  surprise,  met  with  any  one 
who  either  appeared  to  be  sadder,  or  professed  himself  wiser, 
for  anything  that  has  happened. 

It  is  true  that  I  am  neither  sadder  nor  wiser,  because  of  it, 
myself.  But  then  I  was  so  sad  before,  that  nothing  could 
make  me  sadder  ;  and  getting  wiser  has  always  been  to  me  a 
very  slovr  process, — (sometimes  even  quite  stopping  for  whole 
days  together), — so  that  if  two  or  three  new  ideas  fall  in  my 
way  at  once,  it  only  puzzles  me  ;  and  the  fighting  in  Paris 
has  given  me  more  than  two  or  three. 

The  newest  of  all  these  new  ones,  and,  in  fact,  quite  a  glis* 
tering  and  freshly-minted  idea  to  me,  is  the  Parisian  notion 
of  Communism,  as  far  as  I  understand  it,  (which  I  don't  pro* 
fess  to  do  altogether,  yet,  or  I  should  be  v/iser  than  I  was, 
with  a  vengeance.) 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


87 


For,  indeed,  I  am  myself  a  Communist  of  the  old  school — ■ 
reddest  also  of  the  red  ;  and  was  on  the  very  point  of  saying 
so  at  the  end  of  my  last  letter  ;  only  the  telegram  about  the 
Louvre's  being  on  fire  stopped  me,  because  I  thought  the 
Communists  of  the  new  school,  as  I  could  not  at  all  under* 
stand  them,  might  not  quite  understand  me.  For  we  Com- 
munists of  the  old  school  think  that  our  property  belongs  to 
everybody,  aiid  everybody's  property  to  us;  so  of  course  I 
thouo^ht  the  Louvre  belono^ed  to  me  as  much  as  to  the  Paris- 
ians,  and  expected  they  would  have  sent  word  over  to  me, 
being  an  Art  Professor,  to  ask  whether  I  wanted  it  burnt 
down.  But  no  messao-e  or  intimation  to  that  effect  ever 
reached  me. 

Then  the  next  bit  of  new  coinage  in  the  way  of  notion 
which  I  have  picked  up  in  Paris  streets,  is  the  present  mean- 
ing of  the  French  word  "  Ouvrier,"  which  in  my  time  the  dic- 
tionaries used  to  give  as  "Workman,"  or  Working-man." 
For  again,  I  have  spent  many  days,  not  to  say  years,  with 
the  workinff-men  of  our  Eno^lish  school  mvself  :  and  I  know 
that  with  the  more  advanced  of  them,  the  gathering  word  is 
that  which  I  gave  you  at  the  end  of  my  second  number — To 
do  good  work,  whether  we  live  or  die."  Whereas  I  perceive 
the  gathering,  or  rather  scattering,  word  of  the  French 

ouvrier"  is,  "To  undo  good  work,  whether  we  live  or  die." 

And  this  is  the  third,  and  the  last  I  will  tell  you  for  the 
present,  of  my  new  ideas,  but  a  troublesome  one  :  namely, 
that  we  are  henceforward  to  have  a  duplicate  power  of  politi- 
cal economy  ;  and  that  the  new  Parisian  expression  for  its 
first  principle  is  not  to  be  "laissez  faire"  but  "  laissez  r6- 
faire." 

I  cannot,  however,  make  anything  of  these  new  French 
fashions  of  thought  till  I  have  looked  at  them  quietly  a  little  ; 
so  to-day  I  will  content  myself  with  telling  you  what  we 
Communists  of  the  old  school  meant  by  Communism  ;  and  it 
will  be  worth  your  hearing,  for — I  tell  you  simply  in  my  "ar- 
rogant "  way — we  know,  and  have  known,  what  Communism 
is — for  our  fathers  knew  it,  and  told  us,  three  thousand  years 
ago  ;  while  you  baby  Communists  do  not  so  much  as  know 


S8 


FOES  CLAVIGERA, 


what  the  name  means,  in  your  own  English  or  French — no, 
not  so  much  as  whether  a  House  of  Commons  implies,  or  does 
not  imply,  also  a  House  of  Uncommons  ;  nor  whether  the 
Holiness  of  the  Commune,  which  Garibaldi  came  to  fight  for^ 
had  any  relation  to  the  Holiness  of  the  "Communion  "  which 
he  came  to  fio^ht  ag-ainst. 

Will  3''ou  be  at  the  pains,  now,  however,  to  learn  rightly, 
and  once  for  all,  what  Communism  is  ?  First,  it  means  that 
everybody  must  work  in  common,  and  do  common  or  simple 
work  for  his  dinner  ;  and  that  if  any  man  will  not  do  it,  he 
must  not  have  his  dinner.  That  much,  perhaps,  you  thought 
you  knew  ? — but  you  did  not  think  we  Communists  of  the 
old  school  knew  it  also  ?  You  shall  have  it,  then,  in  the 
words  of  the  Chelsea  farmer  and  stout  Catholic,  I  was  telling 
vou  of,  in  last  number.  He  was  born  in  Milk  Street,  Lon- 
don,  three  hundred  and  ninety-one  years  ago  (1480,  a  year  I 
have  just  been  telling  my  Oxford  pupils  to  remember,  for 
manifold  reasons),  and  he  planned  a  Commune  flowing  with 
milk,  and  honey,  and  otherwise  Elysian  ;  and  called  it  the 
"  Place  of  Wellbeing,"  or  Utopia  ;  which  is  a  word  you  per- 
haps have  occasionally  used  before  now,  like  others,  without 
understanding  it  ; — (in  the  article  of  the  Liverj^ool  Daily 
Post  before  referred  to,  it  occurs  felicitously  seven  times). 
You  shall  use  it  in  that  stupid  way  no  more,  if  I  can  help  it. 
Listen  how  matters  really  are  managed  there. 

"  The  chief,  and  almost  the  only  business  of  the  govern- 
ment,* is  to  take  care  that  no  man  may  live  idle,  but  that 
every  one  may  follow  his  trade  diligently  :  yet  they  do  not 
wear  themselves  out  with  perpetual  toil  from  morning  to 
night,  as  if  they  were  beasts  of  burden,  which,  as  it  is  indeed 
a  heavy  slavery,  so  it  is  everywhere  the  common  course  of 
life  amongst  all  mechanics  except  the  Utopians  :  but  they, 
dividing  the  day  and  night  into  twenty-four  hours,  appoint 
six  of  these  for  work,  three  of  which  are  before  dinner  and 
three  after  ;  they  then  sup,  and,  at  eight  o'clock,  counting 

*  T  spare  you,  for  once,  a  word  for  *'  government"  used  by  this  old 
author,  which  would  have  been  unintelligible  to  you,  and  is  so,  except 
in  its  general  sense,  to  me,  too. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


89 


from  noon,  go  to  bed  and  sleep  eight  hours  :  the  rest  cf  their 
time,  besides  that  taken  up  in  work,  eating,  and  sleeping,  is 
left  to  every  man's  discretion  ;  yet  they  are  not  to  abuse  that 
interval  to  luxury  and  idleness,  but  must  employ  it  in  some 
proper  exercise,  according  to  their  various  inclinations,  which 
is,  for  the  most  part,  reading. 

"  But  the  time  appointed  for  labour  is  to  be  narrowly  ex- 
amined, otherwise,  you  may  imagine,  that,  since  there  are 
only  six  hours  appointed  for  work,  they  may  fall  under  a 
scarcity  of  necessary  provisions  :  but  it  is  so  far  from  being 
true  that  this  time  is  not  sufficient  for  supplying  them  with 
plenty  of  all  things,  either  necessary  or  convenient,  that  it  is 
rather  too  much  ;  and  this  you  will  easily  apprehend,  if  you 
consider  how  great  a  part  of  all  other  nations  is  quite  idle. 
First,  women  generally  do  little,  who  are  the  half  of  man- 
kind ;  and,  if  some  few  women  are  diligent,  their  husbands 
are  idle  :  then, —  " 

What  then  ? 

We  will  stop  a  minute,  friends,  if  you  please,  for  I  want 
you,  before  you  read  what  then,  to  be  once  more  made  fully 
aware  that  this  farmer  wlio  is  speaking  to  you  is  one  of  the 
sternest  Roman  Catholics  of  his  stern  time  ;  and,  at  tiie  fall 
of  Cardinal  Wolscy,  became  Lord  High  Chancellor  of  Eng- 
land in  his  stead. 

" — then,  consider  the  great  company  of  idle  priests,  and  of 
those  that  are  called  religious  men  ;  add  to  these,  all  rich 
men,  chiefly  those  that  have  estates  in  land,  who  are  called 
noblemen  and  gentlemen,  together  with  their  families,  made 
up  of  idle  persons,  that  are  kept  more  for  shew  than  use  : 
add  to  these,  all  those  strong  and  lusty  beggars  that  go 
about,  pretending  some  disease  in  excuse  for  their  begging  ; 
and,  upon  the  whole  account,  you  will  find,  that  the  number 
of  those  by  whose  labours  mankind  is  supplied  is  much  less 
than  you,  perhaps,  imagined  :  then,  consider  how  few  of 
those  that  work  are  employed  in  labours  that  are  of  real  ser- 
vice !  for  we,  who  measure  all  things  by  money,  give  rise  to 
many  trades  that  are  both  vain  and  superfluous,  and  serve 
only  to  support  riot  and  luxury  :  for  if  those  who  work  were 


90 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


employed  only  in  such  things  as  the  conveniences  of  life  re* 
quire,  there  would  be  such  an  abundance  of  them,  that  th6 
prices  of  them  would  so  sink  that  tradesmeri  could  not  b6 
maintained  by  their  gains  — (italics  mine — Fair  and  softly, 
Sir  Thomas  !  we  must  have  a  shop  round  the  corner,  and  a 
pedlar  or  two  on  fair-days,  yet) — "  if  all  those  who  labouj* 
about  useless  things  were  set  to  more  profitable  employ, 
nients,  and  if  all  that  languish  out  their  lives  in  sloth  and 
idleness  (every  one  of  whom  consumes  as  much  as  any  two 
of  the  men  that  are  at  work)  were  forced  to  labour,  you  may 
easily  imagine  that  a  small  proportion  of  time  would  serve 
for  doing  all  that  is  either  necessary,  profitable,  or  pleasant 
to  mankind,  especially  while  pleasure  is  kept  within  its  due 
bounds  :  this  appears  very  plainly  in  Utopia  ;  for  there,  in  a 
great  city,  and  in  all  the  territory  that  lies  round  it,  you  can 
scarce  find  five  hundred,  either  men  or  women,  by  their  age 
and  strength  capable  of  labour,  that  are  not  engaged  in  it  ! 
even  the  heads  of  government,  though  excused  by  the  law, 
yet  do  not  excuse  themselves,  but  work,  that,  by  their  ex- 
amples, they  may  excite  the  industry  of  the  rest  of  the 
people." 

You  see,  therefore,  that  there  is  never  any  fear  among  us 
of  the  old  school,  of  being  out  of  w^ork  ;  but  there  \s  great 
fear,  among  many  of  us,  lest  we  should  not  do  the  work  set 
us  Avell  ;  for,  indeed,  we  thorough-going  Communists  make 
it  a  part  of  our  daily  duty  to  consider  how  common  we  are  ; 
and  how  few  of  us  have  any  brains  or  souls  worth  speaking 
of,  or  fit  to  trust  to  ; — that  being  the,  alas,  almost  unexcep- 
tionable lot  of  human  creatures.  Not  that  we  think  our« 
selves  (still  less,  call  ourselves  without  thinking  so,)  miser- 
able sinners,  for  we  are  not  in  any  wise  miserable,  but  quite 
comfortable  for  the  most  part  :  and  we  are  not  sinners,  tb^t 
"we  know  of  ;  but  are  leading  godly,  righteous,  and  sober 
lives,  to  the  best  of  our  pov,^er,  since  last  Sunday  ;  (on  which 
day  some  of  us  were,  we  regret  to  be  informed,  drunk  ;)  but 
vv^e  are  of  course  common  creatures  enough,  the  most  of  us^ 
and  thankful  if  we  may  be  gathered  up  in  St.  Peter's  sheet, 
so  as  not  to  be  uncivilly  or  urjjustly  called  unclean  too.  -A  nd 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


therefore  our  chief  concern  is  to  find  out  any  among  us 
wiser,  and  of  better  make  than  the  rest,  and  to  get  them,  if 
they  will  for  any  persuasion  take  the  trouble,  to  rule  over 
us,  and  teach  us  how  to  behave,  and  make  the  most  of  what 
little  good  is  in  us. 

So  much  for  the  first  law  of  old  Communism,  respecting 
work.  Then  the  second  respects  property,  and  it  is  that  the 
public,  or  common,  wealth,  shall  be  more  and  statelier  in  all 
its  substance  than  private  or  singular  wealth  ;  that  is  to  say 
(to  come  to  my  own  special  business  for  a  moment)  that 
there  shall  be  only  cheap  and  few  pictures,  if  any,  in  the  in- 
sides  of  houses,  where  nobody  but  the  owner  can  see  them  ; 
but  costly  pictures,  and  many,  on  the  outsides  of  houses, 
where  the  people  can  see  them  :  also  that  the  H6tel-de-Ville, 
or  Hotel  of  the  whole  Town,  for  the  transaction  of  its  com- 
mon business,  shall  be  a  magnificent  building,  much  rejoiced 
in  by  the  people,  and  with  its  tower  seen  far  away  through 
the  clear  air  ;  but  that  the  hotels  for  private  business  or 
pleasure,  cafes,  taverns,  and  the  like,  sliall  be  low,  few,  plain, 
and  in  back  streets  ;  more  especially  such  as  furnish  singular 
and  uncommon  drinks  and  refreshments  ;  but  that  the  foun- 
tains which  furnish  the  people's  common  drink  should  be  very 
lovely  and  stately,  and  adorned  with  precious  marbles,  and 
the  like.  Then  farther,  according  to  old  Communism,  the 
private  dwellings  of  uncommon  persons — dukes  and  lords — 
are  to  be  very  simple,  and  roughly  put  together — sucli  ])er- 
sons  being  supposed  to  be  above  all  care  for  things  that 
please  the  commonalty  ;  but  the  buildings  for  public  or  com- 
mon service,  more  especially  schools,  almshouses,  and  work- 
houses, are  to  be  externally  of  a  majestic  character,  as  being 
for  noble  purposes  and  charities  ;  and  in  their  interiors  fur- 
nished with  many  luxuries  for  the  poor  and  sick.  And 
finally  and  chiefly,  it  is  an  absolute  law  of  old  Communism 
that  the  fortunes  of  private  persons  should  be  small,  and  of 
little  account  in  the  State  ;  but  the  common  treasure  of  the 
whole  nation  should  be  of  superb  and  precious  things  in  re- 
dundant quantity,  as  pictures,  statues,  precious  books  ;  gold 
and  silver  vessels,  preserved  from  ancient  times  ;  gold  and 


92 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


silver  bullion  laid  up  for  use,  in  case  of  any  chance  need  oi 
buying  anything  suddenly  from  foreign  nations  ;  noble 
horses,  cattle,  and  sheep,  on  the  public  lands  ;  and  vast 
spaces  of  land  for  culture,  exercise,  and  garden,  round  the 
cities,  full  of  flowers,  which,  being  everybody's  property,  no- 
body could  gather  ;  and  of  birds  which,  being  everybody's 
property,  nobody  could  shoot.  And,  in  a  word,  that  instead 
of  a  common  poverty,  or  national  debt,  which  every  poor  per- 
son in  the  nation  is  taxed  annually  to  fulfil  his  part  of,  there 
should  be  a  common  wealth,  or  national  reverse  of  debt,  con- 
sisting of  pleasant  things,  which  every  poor  person  in  the 
nation  should  be  summoned  to  receive  his  dole  of,  annually  ; 
and  of  pretty  things,  which  every  person  capable  of  admira- 
tion, foreiofners  as  well  as  natives,  should  unfeisrnedlv  admire, 
in  an  aesthetic,  and  not  a  covetous  manner  (though  for  my 
own  part,  I  can't  understand  what  it  is  that  I  am  taxed  now 
to  defend,  or  what  foi-eign  nations  are  supposed  to  covet, 
here.)  But  truly,  a  nation  that  has  got  anything  to  defend 
of  real  public  interest,  can  usually  hold  it  ;  and  a  fat  Latin 
communist  gave  for  sign  of  the  strength  of  his  commonalty, 
in  its  strongest  time, — 

' '  Privatus  illis  census  erat  breyis, 
Commune  magnum 

which  you  may  get  any  of  your  boys  or  girls  to  translate  for 
you,  and  remember ;  remembering,  also,  that  all  commonalty 
or  publicity  depends  for  its  goodness  on  the  nature  of  the 
thing  that  is  common,  and  that  is  public.  When  the  French 
cried,  "  Vive  la  Republique  ! "  after  the  battle  of  Sedan, 
they  were  thinking  only  of  the  Publique,  in  the  word,  and 
not  of  the  Ro  in  it.  But  that  is  the  essential  part  of  it, 
for  that  "  Re  "  is  not  like  the  mischievous  Re  in  Reform,  and 
Refaire,  which  the  words  had  better  be  v/ithout  ;  but  it  is 
short  for  res^  which  means  thing  ;  "  and  when  you  cry, 
"Live  the  Republic,"  the  question  is  mainly,  what  thing  it 
is  you  wish  to  be  publicly  alive,  and  whether  you  are  striv- 
ing for  a  Common-Wealth,  and  Public-Thing  ;  or,  as  too 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


93 


plainly  in  Paris,  for  a  Common-IUth,  and  Public-Nothing,  or 
even  Public-Less-than-noiliing  and  Common  Deficit. 

Now  all  these  laws  respecting  public  and  private  property, 
are  accepted  in  the  same  terms  by  the  entire  body  of  us  Com- 
munists of  the  old  school  ;  but  w^ith  respect  to  the  manage- 
ment of  both,  we  old  Reds  fall  into  two  classes,  differing,  not 
indeed  in  colour  of  redness,  but  in  depth  of  tint  of  it — one 
class  being,  as  it  were,  only  of  a  delicately  pink,  peach-blos- 
som, or  dog-rose  redness  ;  but  the  other,  to  which  I  myself  do 
partly,  and  desire  wholly,  to  belong,  as  I  told  you,  reddest  of 
the  red,  that  is  to  say,  full  crimson,  or  even  dark  crimson, 
passing  into  that  deep  colour  of  the  blood,  which  made  the 
Spaniards  call  it  blue,  instead  of  red,  and  which  the  Greeks 
call  OoLVLK€o^,  being  an  intense  phoenix  or  flamingo  colour  :  and 
this  not  merely,  as  in  the  flamingo  featliers,  a  colour  on  tlie 
outside,  but  going  through  and  through,  ruby-wise  ;  so  that 
Dante,  who  is  one  of  the  few  people  wlio  have  ever  beheld 
our  queen  full  in  the  face,  says  of  l>er  that,  if  she  had  been  in 
a  fire,  he  could  not  liave  seen  her  at  all,  so  (ire-colour  siie 
was,  all  through.* 

And  between  these  two  sects  or  shades  of  us,  there  is  this 
difference  in  our  way  of  holding  our  common  faith  (that  our 
neighbour's  property  is  ours,  and  ours  his),  namely,  that  the 
rose-red  division  of  us  are  content  in  their  dilijrencc  of  care 
to  preserve  or  guard  from  injury  or  loss  their  neighbour's 
property,  as  their  own  ;  so  that  they  may  be  called,  not 
merely  dog-rose  red,  but  even  watch-dog-rose  "  red  ;  being, 
indeed,  more  careful  and  anxious  for  the  safety  of  the  pos- 
sessions of  other  people,  (especially  their  masters,)  than  for 
any  of  their  own  ;  and  also  more  sorrowful  for  any  wound  oi 
harm  suffered  by  any  creature  in  their  sight,  than  for  hurt  to 
themselves.  So  that  thev  are  Communists,  even  less  in  their 
having  part  in  all  common  well-being  of  their  neighbours,  than 
])art  in  all  common  pain  :  being  yet,  on  the  whole,  infinite 
gainers  ;  for  there  is  in  this  world  infinitely  more  joy  than 

*  Tanto  rossa,  cV  appeua  fora  dentro  al  fuoco  nota." — Purg.  xxix., 
132. 


94 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


pain  to  be  shared,  if  you  will  only  take  your  share  when  it  is 
set  for  you. 

The  vermilion,  or  Tyrian-red  sect  of  us,  however,  are  not 
content  merely  with  this  carefulness  and  watchfulness  over 
our  neighbour's  goods,  but  we  cannot  rest  unless  we  are  giv- 
ing what  we  can  spare  of  our  own  ;  and  the  more  precious  it 
is,  the  more  we  want  to  divide  it  with  somebody.  So  that 
above  all  things,  in  what  we  value  most  of  possessions,  pleas- 
ant sights,  and  true  knowledge,  we  cannot  relish  seeing  any 
pretty  things  unless  other  people  see  them  also  ;  neither  can 
we  be  content  to  know  anything  for  ourselves,  but  must  con- 
trive, somehow,  to  make  it  known  to  others. 

And  as  thus  especially  we  like  to  give  knowledge  away  ; 
so  we  like  to  have  it  good  to  give,  (for,  as  for  selling  knowl- 
edge, thinking  it  comes  by  the  spirit  of  Heaven,  we  hold 
the  selling  of  it  to  be  only  a  way  of  selling  God  again,  and 
utterly  Iscariot's  business)  ;  also,  we  know  that  the  knowl- 
edge made  up  for  sale  is  apt  to  be  watered  and  dusted,  or 
even  itself  good  for  nothing  ;  and  we  try,  for  our  part,  to 
get  it,  and  give  it,  pure  :  the  mere  fact  that  it  is  to  be  given 
away  at  once  to  anybody  who  asks  to  have  it,  and  immedi- 
ately wants  to  use  it,  is  a  continual  check  upon  us.  For 
instance,  when  Colonel  North,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  on 
the  20th  of  last  month,  (as  reported  in  the  2\rnes,)  "  would 
simply  observe  in  conclusion,  that  it  was  impossible  to  tell 
how  many  thousands  of  the  young  men  who  were  to  be  em- 
barked for  India  next  September,  would  be  marched,  not  to 
the  hills,  but  to  their  graves  ;  "  any  of  us  Tyrian-reds  would 
simply  observe  "  that  the  young  men  themselves  ought  to  be 
constantly,  and  on  principle,  informed  of  their  destination 
before  embarking  ;  and  that  this  pleasant  communicative- 
ness of  what  knowledge  on  the  subject  was  to  be  got,  would 
soon  render  quite  possible  the  attainment  of  more.  So  also, 
in  abstract  science,  the  instant  habit  of  makino^  true  discov- 
eries  common  property,  cures  us  of  a  bad  trick  which  one 
may  notice  to  have  much  hindered  scientific  persons  lately, 
of  rather  spending  their  time  in  hiding  their  neighbours'  dis* 
coveries  than  improving  their  own  :  whereas,  among  us^ 


FORS  CLAVTOERA. 


95 


scientific  flamingoes  are  not  only  openly  graced  for  discover- 
ies, but  openly  disgraced  for  coveries  ;  and  that  sharply  and 
permanently  ;  so  that  there  is  rarely  a  hint  or  thought  among 
them  of  each  other's  being  wrong,  but  quick  confession  of 
whatever  is  found  out  rightly.* 

But  the  point  in  which  we  dark-red  Communists  differ 
most  from  other  people  is,  that  we  dread,  above  all  things, 
getting  miserly  of  virtue  ;  and  if  there  be  any  in  us,  or 
among  us,  we  try  forthwith  to  get  it  made  common,  and 
would  fain  hear  the  mob  crying  for  some  of  that  treasure, 
where  it  seems  to  have  accumulated.  I  say  "  seems,"  only  : 
for  though,  at  first,  ail  the  finest  virtue  looks  as  if  it  were 
laid  up  with  the  rich,  (so  that,  generally,  a  millionnaire  would 
be  much  surprised  at  hearing  that  his  daughter  had  made  a 
petroleuse  of  herself,  or  that  his  son  had  murdered  anybody 
for  the  sake  of  their  watch  and  cravat), — it  is  not  at  all  clear 
to  us  dark-reds  that  this  virtue,  proportionate  to  income,  is 
of  the  right  sort  ;  and  we  believe  that  even  if  it  were,  the 
people  who  keep  it  thus  all  to  themselves,  and  leave  the  so- 
called  canaille  without  any,  vitiate  what  they  keep  by  keep- 
ing it,  so  that  it  is  like  manna  laid  up  througli  the  night, 
which  breeds  worms  in  the  morning. 

You  see,  also,  that  we  dark-red  Communists,  since  we  exist 
only  in  giving,  must,  on  the  contrary,  hate  with  a  perfect 
hatred  all  manner  of  thieving  :  even  to  Coeur-de- Lion's  tar- 
and-feather  extreme  ;  and  of  all  thieving,  we  dislike  thieving 
on  trust  most  (so  that,  if  we  ever  get  to  be  strong  enough  to 
do  what  we  want,  and  chance  to  catch  hold  of  any  failed 
bankers,  their  necks  will  not  be  worth  half  an  hour's  pur- 
chase).    So,  also,  as  we  think  virtue  diminishes  in  the  honour 

*  Confession  always  a  little  painful,  however;  scientific  envy  being" 
the  most  difficult  of  all  to  conquer.  1  find  I  did  much  injustice  to  the 
botanical  lecturer,  as  well  as  to  my  friend,  in  my  last  letter;  and,  in- 
deed, suspected  as  much  at  the  time;  but  having  some  botanical  notions 
myself,  which  I  am  vain  of,  I  wanted  the  lecturer's  to  be  wrong,  and 
stopped  cross-examining  my  friend  as  soon  as  I  had  got  what  suited  rae. 
Nevertheless,  the  general  statement  that  follows,  remember,  rests  on  no 
tea-table  chat ;  and  the  tea-table  chat  itself  is  accurate,  as  far  as  it  goes. 


96 


FOBS  CLAVIGVjRA, 


and  force  of  it  in  proportion  to  income,  we  think  vice  in< 
creases  in  the  force  and  shame  of  it,  and  is  worse  in  kings 
and  rich  people  than  in  poor  ;  and  worse  on  a  large  scale  thai> 
on  a  narrow  one  ;  and  worse  when  deliberate  than  hasty.  So 
that  we  can  understand  one  man's  coveting  a  piece  of  vine- 
yard-ground for  a  garden  of  herbs,  and  stoning  the  master 
of  it,  (both  of  them  being  Jews  ;) — and  yet  the  dogs  ate 
queen's  flesh  for  that,  and  licked  king's  blood  !  but  for  two 
nations — both  Christian — to  covet  their  neighbour's  vine- 
yards, all  down  beside  the  River  of  their  border,  and  slay 
until  the  River  itself  runs  red  !  The  little  pool  of  Samaria  ! 
— shall  all  the  snows  of  the  Alps,  or  the  salt  pool  of  the 
Great  Sea,  wash  their  armour,  for  these  ? 

I  promised,  in  my  last  letter,  that  I  would  tell  you  the 
main  meaning  and  bearing  of  the  war,  and  its  results  to  this 
day  : — now  that  you  know  what  Communism  is,  I  can  tell 
you  these  briefly,  and  what  is  more  to  the  purpose,  hov^^  to 
bear  yourself  in  the  midst  of  them. 

The  first  reason  for  all  wars,  and  for  the  necessity  of 
national  defences,  is  that  the  majority  of  persons,  high 
and  low,  in  all  European  nations,  are  Thieves,  and  in 
their  hearts,  greedy  of  their  neighbours'  goods,  land,  and 
fame. 

But  besides  being  Thieves,  they  are  also  fools,  and  have 
never  yet  been  able  to  understand  that  if  Cornish  men  want 
pippins  cheap,  they  must  not  ravage  Devonshire — that  the 
prosperity  of  their  neighbours  is,  in  the  end,  their  own  also  ; 
and  the  poverty  of  their  neighbours,  by  the  Communism  of 
God,  becomes  also  in  the  end  their  own.  "Invidia,"  jealousy 
of  your  neighbour's  good,  has  been,  since  dust  was  first  made 
flesh,  the  curse  of  man  ;  and  Charitas,"  the  desire  to  do  your 
neighbour  grace,  the  one  source  of  all  human  glory,  power, 
and  material  Blessing. 

But  war  between  nations  (thieves  and  fools  though  they 
be,)  is  not  necessarily  in  all  respects  evil.  I  gave  you  that 
long  extract  from  Froissart  to  show  you,  mainly,  that  Theft 
in  its  simplicity — however  sharp  and  rude,  yet  if  frankly 
done,  and  bravely — does  not  corrupt  men's  souls  ;  and  they 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


can,  in  a  foolish,  but  quite  vital  and  faithful  way,  keep  the 
feast  of  the  Virgin  Mary  in  the  midst  of  it. 

But  Occult  Theft,  Theft  which  hides  itself  even  from  itself, 
and  is  legal,  respectable,  and  cowardly,  corrupts  the  body 
and  soul  of  man,  to  the  last  fibre  of  them.  And  the  guilty 
Thieves  of  Europe,  the  real  sources  of  all  deadly  war  in  it, 
are  the  Capitalists — that  is  to  say,  people  who  live  by  per- 
centages or  the  labour  of  others  ;  instead  of  by  fair  wages 
for  their  own.  The  Real  war  in  Europe,  of  which  this  fight- 
ing in  Paris  is  the  Inauguration,  is  between  these  and  the 
workman,  such  as  these  have  made  him.  They  have  kept 
him  poor,  ignorant,  and  sinful,  that  they  might,  without  his 
knowledge,  gather  for  themselves  the  produce  of  his  toil.  At 
last,  a  dim  insight  into  the  fact  of  this  dawns  on  him  ;  and 
such  as  they  have  made  him,  he  meets  them,  and  will  meet. 

Nay,  the  time  is  even  come  when  he  will  study  that  Mete- 
orological question,  suggested  by  the  Spectator^  formerly 
quoted,  of  the  Filtration  of  Money  from  above  downwards. 

"  It  was  one  of  the  many  delusions  of  the  Commune,"  (says 
to-day's  Telegraphy  24tli  June,)  "  that  it  could  do  without 
rich  consumers."  Well,  such  unconsumed  existence  wouhi 
be  very  wonderful  !  Yet  it  is,  to  me  also,  conceivable. 
Without  the  riches, — no  ;  but  without  the  consumers  ? — 
possibly  !  It  is  occurring  to  the  minds  of  the  workmen  that 
tliese  Golden  Fleeces  must  get  their  dew  from  somewhere. 
"  Shall  there  be  dew  upon  the  fieece  only  ?  "  they  ask  : — and 
will  be  answered.  They  cannot  do  without  these  long  purses, 
say  you  ?  No  ;  but  they  want  to  find  where  the  long  purses 
are  filled.  Nay,  even  their  trying  to  burn  the  Louvre,  with- 
out reference  to  Art  Professors,  had  a  ray  of  meaning  in  it — 
quite  Spectatorial. 

"If  we  must  choose  between  a  Titian  and  a  Lancashire 
cotton-mill,"  (vvrotei  the  Spectator  of  August  6th,  last  year, 
instructing  me  in  political  economy,  just  as  the  war  was  be- 
ginning,) in  the  name  of  manhood  and  morality,  give  us  the 
cotton-mill." 

So  thinks  the  French  workman  also,  energetically  ;  only 
his  mill  is  not  to  be  in  Lancashire.    Both  French  and  English 
7 


98 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


agree  to  have  no  more  Titians, — it  is  well, — but  which  is  to 
have  the  Cotton-Mill? 

Do  you  see,  in  The  Times  of  yesterday  and  the  day  before, 
22nd  and  23rd  June,  that  the  Minister  of  France  dares  not, 
even  in  this  her  utmost  need,  put  on  an  income  tax  ;  and  do 
you  see  why  he  dares  not  ? 

Observe,  such  a  tax  is  the  only  honest  and  just  one  ; 
because  it  tells  on  the  rich  in  true  proportion  to  the  poor, 
and  because  it  meets  necessity  in  the  shortest  and  bravest 
way,  and  without  interfering  with  any  commercial  opera- 
tion. 

All  rich  people  object  to  income  tax,  of  course  ; — they  like 
to  pay  as  much  as  a  poor  man  pays  on  their  tea,  sugar,  and 
tobacco — nothing  on  their  incomes. 

Whereas,  in  true  justice,  the  only  honest  and  wholly  right 
tax  is  one  not  merely  on  income,  but  property  ;  increasing 
in  percentage  as  the  property  is  greater.  And  the  main  virt- 
ue of  such  a  tax  is  that  it  makes  publicly  known  what  every 
man  has,  and  how  he  gets  it. 

For  every  kind  of  Vagabonds,  high  and  low,  agree  in  their 
dislike  to  give  an  account  of  the  way  they  get  their  living, 
still  less,  of  how  much  they  have  got  sewn  up  in  their 
breeches.  It  does  not,  however,  matter  much  to  a  country 
that  it  should  know  how  its  poor  Vagabonds  live  ;  but  it  is 
of  vital  moment  that  it  should  know  how  its  rich  Vas^abonds 
live  ;  and  that  much  of  knowledge,  it  seems  to  me,  in  the 
present  state  of  our  education,  is  quite  attainable.  But  that, 
when  you  have  attained  it,  you  may  act  on  it  wisely,  the  first 
need  is  that  you  should  be  sure  you  are  living  honestly  your- 
selves. That  is  why  I  told  you  in  my  second  letter,  you 
must  learn  to  obey  good  laws  before  you  seek  to  alter  bad 
ones  : — I  will  amplify  now  a  little  the  three  promises  I  want 
you  to  make.    Look  back  at  them. 

1.  You  are  to  do  good  work,  whether  you  live  or  die.  It 
may  be  you  will  have  to  die  ; — well,  men  have  died  for  their 
country  often,  yet  doing  her  no  good  ;  be  ready  to  die  for 
her  in  doing  her  assured  good  :  her,  and  all  other  countries 
with  her.    Mind  your  own  business  with  your  absolute  heart 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


99 


and  soul  ;  but  see  that  it  is  a  good  business  first.  That  it  is 
corn  and  sweet  pease  you  are  producing, — not  gunpowder 
and  arsenic.  And  be  sure  of  this,  literally  : — you  Diust  sim^ 
ply  rather  die  than  make  any  destroying  mechanism  or  com- 
pound.  You  are  to  be  literally  employed  in  cultivating  the 
ground,  or  making  useful  things,  and  carrying  them  where 
they  are  wanted.  Stand  in  the  streets,  and  say  to  all  who 
pass  by  : — Have  you  any  vineyard  we  can  work  in, — not 
Naboth's  ?  In  your  powder  and  petroleum  manufactory  we 
work  no  more. 

I  have  said  little  to  you  yet  of  any  of  the  pictures 
engraved — you  perhaps  think,  not  to  the  ornament  of  my 
book. 

Be  it  so.  You  will  find  them  better  than  ornaments  in 
time.  Notice,  however,  in  the  one  I  give  you  with  this 
letter — the  Charity  "  of  Giotto — the  Red  Queen  of  Dante, 
and  ours  also, — how  different  his  thought  of  her  is  from  the 
common  one. 

Usually  she  is  nursing  children,  or  giving  money.  Giotto 
thinks  there  is  little  charity  in  nursing  children  ; — bears  and 
wolves  do  that  for  their  little  ones  ;  and  less  still  in  giving 
money. 

His  Charity  tramples  upon  bags  of  gold — has  no  use  for 
them.  She  gives  only  corn  and  flowers  ;  and  God's  angel 
gives  her,  not  even  these — but  a  Heart. 

Giotto  is  quite  liberal  in  his  meaning,  as  well  as  figurative. 
Your  love  is  to  give  food  and  flowers,  and  to  labour  for  them 
only. 

But  what  are  we  to  do  against  powder  and  petroleuir., 
then  ?  What  men  may  do  ;  not  what  poisonous  beasts  may. 
If  a  wretch  spits  in  your  face,  will  you  answer  by  spitting  in 
his?  if  he  throw  vitriol  at  you,  will  you  go  to  the  apothecary 
for  a  bigger  bottle  ? 

There  is  no  physical  crime,  at  this  day,  so  far  beyond  par- 
don,— so  without  parallel  in  its  untempted  guilt,  as  the  mak- 
ing of  war- machinery,  and  invention  of  mischievous  substance. 
Two  nations  may  go  mad,  and  fight  like  harlots — God  have 
mercy  on  them  ; — you,  who  hand  them  carving-knives  off  th% 


100 


F0R8  CLAVIOERA. 


table,  for  leave  to  pick  up  a  dropped  sixpence,  what  mercy 
is  there  for  you  ?  We  are  so  humane,  forsooth,  and  so  wise  ; 
and  our  ancestors  had  tar-barrels  for  witches  ;  we  will  have 
them  for  everybody  else,  and  drive  the  witches'  trade  our- 
selves, by  daylight  ;  we  will  have  our  cauldrons,  please  Hec- 
ate, cooled,  (according  to  the  Darwinian  theory,)  with  bab^ 
oons'  blood,  and  enough  of  it,  and  sell  hell-fire  in  the  open 
streets. 

II.  Seek  to  revenge  no  injury.  You  see  now — do  not  you 
— a  little  more  clearly  why  I  wrote  that  ?  what  strain  there 
is  on  the  untaught  masses  of  you  to  revenge  themselves,  even 
with  insane  fire  ? 

Alas,  the  Taught  masses  are  strained  enough  also  ; — have 
you  not  just  seen  a  great  religious  and  reformed  nation,  with 
its  goodly  Captains — philosophical, — sentimental, — domestic, 
► — evangelical-angelical-minded  altogether,  and  with  its  Lord's 
Prayer  really  quite  vital  to  it, — come  and  take  its  neighbour 
nation  by  the  throat,  saying,  "Pay  me  that  thou  owest." 

Seek  to  revenge  no  injury  :  I  do  not  say,  seek  to  punish 
no  crime  :  look  what  I  hinted  about  failed  bankers.  Of  that 
hereafter. 

III.  Learn  to  obey  good  laws  ;  and  in  a  little  while,  you 
will  reach  the  better  learning — how  to  obey  good  Men,  who 
are  living,  breathing,  unblinded  law  ;  and  to  subdue  base 
and  disloyal  ones,  recognizing  in  these  the  light,  and  ruling 
over  those  in  the  power,  of  the  Lord  of  Light  and  Peace, 
whose  Dominion  is  an  everlasting  Dominion,  and  his  King 
dom  from  generation  to  generation. 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKIK 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


101 


LETTER  VIII. 

My  Friends, 

I  BEGIN  this  letter  a  month  before  it  is  wanted,*  having 
several  matters  in  my  mind  that  I  would  fain  put  into  words 
at  once.  It  is  the  first  of  July,  and  I  sit  down  to  write  by 
the  dismallest  light  that  ever  yet  I  wrote  by  ;  namely,  the 
light  of  this  midsummer  morning,  in  mid-England,  (Matlock, 
Derbyshire),  in  the  year  1871. 

For  the  sky  is  covered  with  grey  cloud  ; — not  rain-clouds, 
but  a  dry  black  veil,  which  no  ray  of  sunshine  can  pierce  ; 
partly  diffused  in  mist,  feeble  mist,  enough  to  make  distant 
objects  unintelligible,  yet  without  any  substance,  or  wreath- 
ing, or  colour  of  its  own.  And  everywhere  the  leaves  of  the 
trees  are  shaking  fitfully,  as  they  do  before  a  thunderstorm  ; 
only  not  violently,  but  enough  to  sliow  the  passing  to  and 
fro  of  a  strange,  bitter,  blighting  wind.  Dismal  enough, 
had  it  been  the  first  morning  of  its  kind  that  summer  had 
sent.  But  during  all  this  spring,  in  London,  and  at  Oxford, 
through  meagre  March,  through  changelessly  sullen  x\j)ril, 
through  despondent  May,  and  darkened  June,  morning  after 
morning  has  come  grey-shrouded  thus. 

And  it  is  a  new  thing  to  me,  and  a  very  dreadful  one.  1 
am  fifty  years  old,  and  more  ;  and  since  I  was  five,  have 
gleaned  the  best  hours  of  my  life  in  the  sun  of  spring  and 
summer  mornings  ;  and  I  never  saw  such  as  these,  till  now. 

And  the  scientific  men  are  busy  as  ants,  examining  the 
sun,  and  the  moon,  and  the  seven  stars,  and  can  tell  me  all 
about  them,  I  believe,  by  this  time  ;  and  how  they  move, 
and  what  thev  are  made  of. 

And  I  do  not  care,  for  my  part,  two  copper  spangles  how 

*  I  have  since  been  ill,  and  cannot  thoroughly  revise  my  sheets ;  but 
my  good  friend  Mr.  Robert  Chester,  whose  keen  reading  has  saved  me 
many  a  blunder  ere  now,  will,  I  doubt  not,  see  me  safely  through  the 
pinch. 


102 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


they  move,  nor  what  they  are  made  of.  I  can't  move  them 
any  other  way  than  they  go,  nor  make  them  of  anything 
else,  better  than  they  are  made.  But  I  would  care  aiuch 
and  give  much,  if  I  could  be  told  where  this  bitter  wind 
comes  from,  and  what  it  is  made  of. 

For,  perhaps,  with  forethought,  and  fine  laboratory  science, 
one  might  make  it  of  something  else. 

It  looks  partly  as  if  it  were  made  of  poisonous  smoke  ; 
very  possibly  it  may  be  :  there  are  at  least  two  hundred  fur- 
nace chimneys  in  a  square  of  two  miles  on  every  side  of  me. 
But  mere  smoke  would  not  blow  to  and  fro  in  that  wild  way. 
It  looks  more  to  me  as  if  it  were  made  of  dead  men's  souls — 
such  of  them  as  are  not  gone  yet  where  they  have  to  go,  and 
may  be  flitting  hither  and  thither,  doubting,  themselves,  of 
the  fittest  place  for  them. 

You  know,  if  there  are  such  things  as  souls,  and  if  ever 
any  of  them  haunt  places  where  they  have  been  hurt,  there 
must  be  many  about  us,  just  now^  displeased  enough  ! 

You  may  laugh,  if  you  like.  I  don't  believe  any  one  of 
you  would  like  to  live  in  a  room  with  a  murdered  man  in  the 
cupboard,  however  well  preserved  chemically  ; — even  with  a 
sunflower  growing  out  of  the  top  of  his  head. 

And  I  don't,  myself,  like  livmg  in  a  world  witli  such  a 
multitude  of  murdered  men  in  the  or-round  of  it — thouofh  we 
are  making  heliotropes  of  them,  and  scientific  flowers,  that 
study  the  sun. 

I  wish  the  scientific  men  would  let  me  and  other  people 
study  it  with  our  own  eyes,  and  neither  through  telescopes 
nor  heliotropes.  You  shall,  at  all  events,  study  the  rain  a 
little,  if  not  the  sun,  to-day,  and  settle  that  question  we  have 
been  upon  so  long  as  to  where  it  comes  from. 

All  France,  it  seems,  is  in  a  state  of  enthusiastic  delight 
and  pride  at  the  unexpected  facility  with  which  she  has  got 
into  debt  ;  and  Monsieur  Thiers  is  congratulated  by  all  our 
wisest  papers  on  his  beautiful  statesmanship  of  borrowing. 
I  don't  m^^self  see  the  cleverness  of  it,  having  suffered  a  good 
deal  from  that  kind  of  statesmanship  in  private  persons  ;  but 
I  daresay  it  is  as  clever  as  anything  else  that  statesmen  do, 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


103 


now-a-days  ;  only  it  happens  to  be  more  mischievous  than 
most  of  their  other  doings,  and  I  want  you  to  understand 
the  bearings  of  it. 

Everybody  in  France  who  iias  got  any  money  is  eager  to 
lend  it  to  M.  Thiers  at  five  per  cent.  No  doubt ;  but  who 
is  to  pay  the  five  per  cent.?  It  is  to  be  raised  "  by  duties 
on  this  and  that.  Then  certainly  the  persons  who  get  the 
five  per  cent,  will  have  to  pay  some  part  oi  these  duties 
themselves,  on  their  own  tea  and  sugar,  or  whatever  else  is 
taxed  ;  and  this  taxing  will  be  on  the  whole  of  their  trade, 
and  on  whatever  they  buy  with  the  rest  of  their  fortunes  ;* 
bwt  the  five  per  cent,  only  on  what  they  lend  M.  Thiers. 

*  "  The  charge  on  France  for  the  interest  of  the  newly-created  debt^ 
for  the  amount  advanced  by  the  Bank,  and  for  the  annual  repayments 
— in  short,  for  the  whole  additional  burdens  which  the  war  has  rendered 
necessary — is  substantially  to  be  met  by  increased  Customs  and  Excise 
duties.  The  two  principles  which  seem  to  have  governed  the  selection 
of  these  imposts  are,  to  extort  the  largest  amount  of  money  as  it  is  leav- 
ing the  hand  of  the  purchaser,  and  to  enforce  the  same  process  as  the 
cash  ia  falling  into  the  hand  of  the  native  vendor  ;  the  results  beiog  to 
burden  the  consumer  and  restrict  the  national  industry.  Leading  com- 
modities of  necessary  use — such  as  sugar  and  coffee,  all  raw  materials 
for  manufacture,  and  all  textile  substances — have  to  pay  ad  vaiorern 
duties,  in  some  cases  ruinously  heavy.  Worse  still,  and  bearing  most 
seriously  on  English  interests,  heavy  export  dudes  are  to  be  imposed  on 
French  products,  among  which  wine,  brandy,  liqueurs,  fruits,  eggs,  and 
oilcake  stand  conspicuous — these  articles  paying  a  fixed  duty  ;  while  all 
others,  grain  and  flour,  we  presume,  included,  will  pay  1  per  cent,  ad 
valorem.  Navigation  dues  are  also  to  be  levied  on  shipping,  French 
and  foreign ;  and  the  internal  postage  of  letters  is  to  be  increased  25 
per  cent.  From  the  changes  in  the  Customs  duties  alone  an  increased 
revenue  of  £10,500,000  is  anticipated.  We  will  not  venture  to  assert 
that  these  changes  may  not  yield  the  amount  of  money  so  urgently 
needed  ;  but  if  they  do,  the  result  will  open  up  a  new  chapter  in 
political  economy.  Judging  from  the  experience  of  every  civilij-ed 
State,  it  is  simply  inconceivable  that  such  a  tariff  can  be  productive, 
can  possess  the  faculty  of  healthy  natural  increase,  or  can  act  otherwise 
than  as  a  dead  weight  on  the  industrial  energies  of  the  country.  Every 
native  of  France  will  have  to  pay  more  for  articles  of  prime  necessity, 
and  will  thus  have  less  to  spare  on  articles  of  luxury — that  is,  on  those 
which  contribute  most  to  the  revenue,  with  the  least  of  damage  to  the 
resources  of  his  industry.    Again,  the  i;ianufacturer  will  have  the  raw 


104 


FOES  CLAVIGEJIA, 


It  is  a  low  estimate  to  say  the  payment  of  duties  will  take 
off  one  per  cent,  of  their  five. 

Practically,  therefore,  the  arrangement  is  that  they  get 
four  per  cent,  for  their  money,  and  have  all  the  trouble  of 
customs  duties,  to  take  from  them  another  extra  one  per 
cent.,  and  give  it  them  back  again.  Four  per  cent.,  however, 
is  not  to  be  despised.    But  who  pays  that  ? 

The  people  who  have  got  no  money  to  lend,  pay  it  ;  the 
daily  worker  and  producer  pays  it.  Unfortunate  "  William," 
who  has  borrowed,  in  this  instance,  not  a  plane  he  could  make 
planks  with,  but  mitrailleuses  and  gunpowder,  with  which 
he  has  planed  away  liis  own  farmsteads,  and  forests,  and  fair 
fields  of  corn,  and  having  left  himself  desolate,  now  has  to 
pay  for  the  loan  of  this  useful  instrument,  five  per  cent.  So 
says  the  gently  commercial  James  to  him  :  Not  only  the 
price  of  your  plane,  but  five  per  cent,  to  me  for  lending  it, 
O  sweetest  of  Williams." 

Sweet  William,  carrying  generally  more  absinthe  in  his 
brains  than  wit,  has  little  to  say  for  himself,  having,  indeed, 
wasted  too  much  of  his  sweetness  lately,  tainted  disagreeably 
with  petroleum,  on  the  desert  air  of  Paris.  And  the  people 
who  are  to  get  their  five  per  cent,  out  of  him,  and  roll  him 
and  suck  him, — the  sugar-cane  of  a  William  that  he  is, — how 
should  they  but  think  the  arrangement  a  glorious  one  for  the 
nation  ? 

material  of  his  trade  enhanced  in  value ;  and,  though  he  may  have  the 
benefit  of  a  drawback  on  his  exports,  he  will  find  his  home  market 
starved  by  State  policy.  His  foreign  customer  will  purchase  less,  be- 
cause the  cost  is  so  much  greater,  and  because  his  means  are  lessened 
by  the  increase  in  the  prices  of  food  through  the  export  duty  on  French 
products.  The  French  peasant  finds  his  market  contracted  by  an  ex- 
port duty  which  prevents  the  English  consumers  of  his  eggs,  poultry, 
and  wine  from  buying  as  largely  as  they  once  did ;  his  profits  are  there- 
fore reduced,  his  piece  of  ground  is  less  valuable,  his  ability  to  pay 
taxes  is  lessened.  The  policy,  in  short,  might  almost  be  thought  ex- 
pressly devised  to  impoverish  the  entire  nation  when  it  most  wants  en- 
riching— to  strangle  French  industry  by  slow  degrees,  to  dry  up  at  theiif 
source  the  main  currents  of  revenue.  Our  only  hope  is,  that  the  pro- 
posals, by  their  very  grossness,  will  defeat  themselves." — Telegraphy 
June  2dth. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


So  there  is  great  acclaim  and  triuinplial  procession  of  finan- 
ciers !  and  the  arrangement  is  made  ;  namely,  tliat  all  the 
poor  labouring  persons  in  France  are  to  pay  the  rich  idle  ones 
five  per  cent,  annually,  on  the  sum  of  eighty  millions  of  ster- 
ling pounds,  until  further  notice. 

But  this  is  not  all,  observe.  Sweet  William  is  not  alto- 
gether so  soft  in  his  rind  that  you  can  crush  him  without 
some  sufficient  machinery  :  you  must  have  your  army  in 
good  order,  to  justify  public  confidence  :"  and  you  must 
get  the  expense  of  that,  besides  your  five  percent.,  out  of 
ambrosial  William.    He  must  pay  the  cost  of  his  own  roller. 

Now,  therefore,  see  briefly  w^hat  it  all  comes  to. 

First,  you  spend  eighty  millions  of  money  in  fireworks, 
doing  no  end  of  damage  in  letting  them  ofF. 

Then  you  borrow  money  to  pay  the  firework-maker's  bill, 
from  any  gain-loving  persons  who  have  got  it. 

And  then,  dressing  your  bailiff's  men  in  new  red  coats  and 
cocked  hats,  you  send  them  drumming  and  trumpeting  into 
the  fields,  to  take  the  peasants  by  the  throat,  and  make  them 
pay  the  interest  on  what  you  have  borrowed,  and  the  expense 
of  the  cocked  hats  besides. 

That  is  financiering,"  my  friends,  as  the  mob  of  the 
money-makers  understand  it.  And  they  understand  it  well. 
For  that  is  what  it  always  comes  to,  finally  ;  taking  the  peas- 
ant by  the  throat.  lie  must  pay — for  he  only  can.  Food 
can  only  be  got  out  of  the  ground,  and  all  these  devices  of 
•soldiership,  and  law,  and  arithmetic,  are  but  ways  of  getting 
at  last  dowMi  to  him,  the  furrow-driver,  and  snatching  the 
roots  from  him  as  he  digs. 

And  they  have  got  him  down,  now,  they  think,  well,  for 
a  while,  poor  William,  after  his  fit  of  fury  and  petroleum  : 
and  can  make  their  money  out  of  him  for  years  to  come,  in 
the  old  wavs. 

Did  you  chance,  my  friends,  any  of  you,  to  see,  the  other 
day,  the  83d  number  of  the  Graphic^  with  the  picture  of  the 
Queen's  concert  in  it  ?  All  the  fine  la<lies  sitting  so  trimly, 
Rnd  looking  so  sweet,  and  doino-  the  whole  datv  of  woman-- 
wearing  their  fine  clothes  gracefully  ;  and  th.e  pretty  singer, 


106 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


white-throated,  warbling  ''Home,  sweet  liome"  to  them,  so 
morally,  and  melodiously  !  Here  was  yet  to  be  our  ideal  of 
virtuous  life,  thought  the  Graphio  !  Surely,  we  are  safe 
back  with  our  virtues  in  satin  slippers  and  lace  veils  ; — and 
our  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  come  again,  with  observation,  and 
crown  diamonds  of  the  dazzlingest.  Cherubim  and  Seraphim 
in  toilettes  de  Paris, — (bleu-de-ciel— vert  d*olivier-de-Noe — 
mauve  de  colombe-fusiilee),  dancing  to  Coote  and  Tinney's 
band  ;  and  vulgar  Hell  reserved  for  the  canaille,  as  hereto- 
fore !  Vulgar  Hell  shall  be  didactically  portrayed,  accord- 
ingly ;  (see  page  96), — Wickedness  going  its  way  to  its  poor 
home — bitter-sweet.  Ouvrier  and  petroleuse — prisoners  at 
last — ^glaring  wild  on  their  way  to  die. 

Alas,  of  these  divided  races,  of  whom  one  was  appointed 
to  teach  and  guide  the  other,  which  has  indeed  sinned  deep- 
est— the  unteaching,  or  the  untaught  ? — which  now  are  guil- 
tiest— these,  who  perish,  or  those — who  forget  ? 

Ouvrier  and  petroleuse  ;  they  are  gone  their  way — to  their 
death.  But  for  these,  the  Virgin  of  France  shall  yet  unfold 
the  oriflamme  above  their  graves,  and  lay  her  blanched  lilies 
on  their  smirched  dust.  Yes,  and  for  these,  great  Charles 
shall  rouse  his  Roland,  and  bid  him  put  ghostly  trump  to  lip, 
and  breathe  a  point  of  war  ;  and  the  helmed  Pucelle  shall 
answer  with  a  wood-note  of  Domremy  ; — yes,  and  for  these 
the  Louis  they  mocked,  like  his  Master,  shall  raise  his  holy 
hands,  and  pray  God's  peace. 

"  Not  as  the  world  giveth."  Everlasting  shame  only,  and 
unrest,  are  the  world's  gifts.  These  Swine  of  the  five  per 
cent,  shall  share  them  dulv. 

La  sconoscente  vita,  che  i  fe'  sozzi 

Ad  ogni  oonoscenza  or  li  fa  braal. 
*  *  *  ♦ 

Che  tutto  Toro,  ch'e  sotto  la  luna, 

E  che  gia  fti,  di  queste  anime  stanch« 

Non  poterebbe  fame  posar  una. 

**Ad  ogni  oonoscenza  bruni:  "  Dark  to  all  recognition  !  So 
they  would  have  it  indeed,  true  of  instinct.  Ce  serait  I'in* 
quisition,"  screamed  the  Senate  of  France,  threatened  with 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


107 


income-tax  and  inquiry  into  their  ways  and  means.  Well, — 
what  better  thing  could  it  be  ?  Had  they  not  been  blind 
long  enough,  under  their  mole-hillocks,  that  they  should 
shriek  at  the  first  spark  of  "  Inquisition  "  ?  A  few  things 
might  be  "  inquired,"  one  should  think,  and  answered,  among 
honest  men,  now,  to  advantage,  and  openly  ?  "  Ah  no — for 
God's  sake,"  shrieks  the  Senate,  "  no  Inquisition.  If  ever 
anybody  should  come  to  know  how  we  live,  we  were  dis- 
graced for  ever,  honest  gentlemen  that  we  are." 

Now,  my  friends,  the  first  condition  of  all  bravery  is  to 
keep  out  of  this  loathsomeness.  If  you  do  live  by  rapine, 
stand  up  like  a  man  for  the  old  law  of  bow  and  spear  ;  but 
don't  fall  whimpering  down  on  your  belly,  like  Autolycus, 

grovelling  on  the  ground,"  when  another  human  creature 
asks  you  how  you  get  your  daily  bread,  with  an  Oii,  that 
ever  I  was  born, — here  is  inquisition  come  on  me  !  " 

The  Inquisition  must  come.  Into  men's  consciences,  no  ; 
not  now  :  there  is  little  worth  looking  into  there.  But  into 
their  pockets — yes  ;  a  most  practicable  and  beneficial  inqui- 
sition, to  be  made  thoroughly  and  purgatorially,  once  for  all, 
and  rendered  unnecessary  hereafter,  by  furnishing  the  re- 
lieved marsupialia  with — glass  pockets,  for  the  future. 

You  know,  at  least,  that  we,  in  our  own  society,  are  to 
have  glass  pockets,  as  we  are  all  to  give  the  tenth  of  what 
we  have,  to  buy  land  with,  so  that  we  must  every  one  know 
each  other's  property  to  a  farthing.  And  this  month  I  be- 
gin making  up  my  own  accounts  for  you,  as  I  said  I  would  : 
I  could  not,  sooner,  though  I  set  matters  in  train  as  soon  as 
my  first  letter  was  out,  and  effected  (as  I  supposed  !),  in  Feb- 
ruary, a  sale  of  14,000/.  worth  of  houses,  at  the  West  End. 
to  Messrs.   and  ,  of   Row. 

But  from  then  till  now,  I've  been  trying  to  get  that  piece 
of  business  settled,  and  until  yesterday,  19th  July,  I  have 
not  been  able. 

For,  first  there  was  a  mistake  made  by  my  lawyer  in  the 
list  of  the  houses  :  No.  7  ought  to  have  been  No.  1.  It  was 
a  sheer  piece  of  stupidity,  and  ought  to  have  been  corrected 
by  a  dash  of  the  pen  ;  but  all  sorts  of  deeds  had  to  be  made 


103 


FOliS  GLAVIGERA. 


out  again,  merely  that  they  might  be  paid  for  ;  and  it  took 
about  three  months  to  change  7  into  1. 

At  last  all  was  declared  smooth  again,  and  I  thought  I 

should  get  my  money  ;   but  Messrs.  never  stirred. 

My  people  kept  sending  them  letters,  saying  I  really  did 
want  the  money,  though  they  mightn't  think  it.  Whether 
they  thought  it  or  not,  they  took  no  notice  of  any  such  in- 
formal communications.  I  thought  they  were  going  to  back 
out  of  their  bargain  ;  but  my  man  of  business  at  last  got 
their  guarantee  for  its  completion. 

"  If  they've  guaranteed  the  payment,  why  don't  they 
pay  ?  "  thought  I  ;  but  still  I  couldn't  get  any  money.  At. 
last  I  found  the  lawyers  on  both  sides  were  quarrelling  over 
the  stamp-duties  !  Nobody  knew,  of  the  whole  pack  of  them, 
whether  this  stamp  or  that  was  the  right  one  !  and  my  law- 
yers wouldn't  give  an  eighty-pound  stamp,  and  theirs  wouldn't 
be  content  with  a  twenty-pound  one. 

Now,  you  know,  all  this  stamp  business  itself  is  merely  Mr. 
Gladstone's  *  way  of  coming  in  for  his  share  of  the  booty.  I 
can't  be  allowed  to  sell  my  houses  in  peace,  but  Mr.  Glad- 
stone must  have  his  three  hundred  pounds  out  of  me,  to  feed 
his  Woolwich  infant  with,  and  fire  it  off  "  with  the  most 
satisfactory  result,"  "  nothing  damaged  but  the  platform." 

lam  content,  if  only  he  would  come  and  say  what  he  wants, 
and  take  it,  and  get  out  of  my  sight.  But  not  to  know  what 
he  does  want  !  and  to  keep  me  from  getting  my  money  at 
all,  while  his  lawyers  are  asking  which  is  the  right  stamp  ?  I 
think  he  had  better  be  clear  on  that  point  next  time. 

But  here,  at  last,  are  six  months  come  and  gone,  and  the 
stamp  question  is — not  settled,  indeed,  but  I've  undertaken 
to  keep  my  man  of  business  free  of  harm,  if  the  stamps  won't 
do  ;  and  so  at  last  he  says  I'm  to  have  my  money  ;  and  I 

really  believe,  by  the  time  this  letter  is  out,  Messrs.  

will  have  paid  me  my  14,000^. 

Now  you  know  I  promised  you  the  tenth  of  alll  had,  when 
free  from  incumbrances  already  existing  on  it.    This  first  in- 

*  Of  course,  the  Prime  Minister  is  always  the  real  tax-gatherer ;  tho 
Chancellor  of  Exchequer  is  only  tho  caf  n-paw. 


FOBS  CLA  VIGERA. 


109 


stalment  of  14,000/.  is  not  all  clear,  for  I  want  part  of  it  to 
found  a  Mastership  of  Drawing-  under  the  Art  Professorship 
at  Oxford  ;  which  I  can't  do  rightly  for  less  than  5,000/.  But 
I'll  count  the  sum  left  as  10,000/.  instead  of  9,000/.,  and  that 
will  be  clear  for  our  society,  and  so,  you  shall  have  a  thou- 
sand pounds  down,  as  the  tentli  of  that,  which  will  quit  nie, 
observe,  of  my  pledge  tlms  far. 

A  thousand  down,  I  say  ;  but  down  where  ?  Where  can 
I  put  it  to  be  safe  for  us  ?  You  will  find  presently,  as  others 
come  in  to  help  us,  and  we  get  something  worth  takiiig  care 
of,  that  it  becomes  a  very  curious  question  indeed,  where  we 
can  put  our  money  to  be  safe  ! 

In  the  meantime,  I  have  told  my  man  of  business  to  buy 
1,000/.  consols  in  the  names  of  two  men  of  honour  ;  the  names 
cannot  yet  be  certain.  What  remains  of  the  round  thousand 
shall  be  kept  to  add  to  next  instalment.  And  thus  begins 
the  fund,  which  I  think  we  may  advisably  call  the  "St. 
George's  "  fund.  And  although  the  interest  on  consols  is,  as 
I  told  you  before,  only  the  taxation  on  the  British  peasant 
continued  since  the  Napoleon  wars,  still  this  little  portion  of 
his  labour,  tiie  interest  on  our  St.  George's  fund,  will  at  last  * 
be  saved  for  him,  and  brought  back  to  him. 

And  now,  if  you  will  read  over  once  again  tlie  end  of  my 
fifth  letter,  I  will  tell  you  a  little  more  of  what  v/e  are  to  do 
with  this  money,  as  it  increases. 

First,  let  whoever  gives  us  any,  be  clear  in  their  minds 
that  it  is  a  Gift.  It  is  not  an  Investment.  It  is  a  frank  and 
simple  gift  to  the  British  people  ;  nothing  of  it  is  to  come 
back  to  the  giver. 

But  also,  nothing  of  it  is  to  be  lost.  This  money  is  not  to 
be  spent  in  feeding  Woolwich  infants  with  gunpowder.  It  is 
to  be  spent  in  dressing  the  earth  and  keeping  it, — in  feeding 
human  lips, — in  clothing  human  bodies, — in  kindling  human 
souls. 

First  of  all,  I  say,  in  dressim;-  liio  earth.  As  soon  as  the 
fund  reaches  any  sufficient  amount,  the  Trustees  shall  buy 
with  it  any --kind  of  land  offered  them  at  just  price  in 


110 


FOJRS  CLAVIGERA, 


Britain.    Rock,  moor,  marsh,  or  sea-shore — -it  matters  not 
what,  so  it  be  British  ground,  and  secured  to  us. 

Then,  we  will  ascertain  tlie  absolute  best  that  can  be  made 
of  every  acre.  We  will  first  examine  what  flowers  and  herbs 
it  naturally  bears  ;  every  wholesome  flower  that  it  will  grow 
shall  be  sown  in  its  wild  places,  and  every  kind  of  fruit-tree 
that  can  prosper  ;  and  arable  and  pasture  land  extended  by 
every  expedient  of  tillage,  with  humble  and  simple  cottaga 
dwellings  under  faultless  sanitary  regulation.  Whatever 
piece  of  land  we  begin  work  upon,  w^e  shall  treat  thoroughly 
at  once,  putting  unlimited  manual  labour  on  it,  until  we  have 
every  foot  of  it  under  as  strict  care  as  a  flower-garden  :  and 
the  labourers  shall  be  paid  sufficient,  unchanging  wages  ;  and 
their  children  educated  compulsorily  in  agricultural  schools 
inland,  and  naval  schools  by  the  sea,  the  indispensable  first 
condition  of  such  education  being  that  the  boj's  learn  either 
to  ride  or  to  sail  ;  the  girls  to  spin,  weave,  and  sew,  and  at 
a  proper  age  to  cook  all  ordinary  food  exquisitely  ;  the 
youths  of  both  sexes  to  be  disciplined  daily  in  the  strictest 
practice  of  vocal  music  ;  and  for  morality,  to  be  taught  ' 
'  gentleness  to  all  brute  creatures, — finished  courtesy  to  each 
other, — to  speak  truth  with  rigid  care,  and  to  obey  orders 
with  the  precision  of  slaves.  Then,  as  tlie}^  get  older,  they 
are  to  learn  the  natural  history  of  the  place  they  live  in, — to 
know  Latin,  boys  and  girls  both, — and.  the  history  of  five 
cities  ;  Athens,  Rome,  Venice,  Florence,  and  London. 

Now,  as  I  told  you  in  my  fifth  letter,  to  what  extent  I  may 
be  able  to  carry  this  plan  into  execution,  I  know  not  ;  but 
to  some  visible  extent,  with  my  own  single  hand,  I  can,  and 
will,  if  I  live.  Nor  do  I  doubt  but  that  I  shall  find  help 
enough,  as  soon  as  the  full  action  of  the  system  is  seen, 
and  ever  so  little  a  space  of  rightly  cultivated  ground  in 
perfect  beauty,  with  inhabitants  in  peace  of  heart,  of  whom 
none 

Doluit  miserans  inopem,  aut  invidit  habenti. 

Such  a  life  we  have  lately  been  taught  by  vile  persons 
to  think  impossible  ;  so  far  from  being  impossible,  it  has 


FOnS  CLAVIGEIU. 


Ill 


been  tlie  actual  life  of  all  glorious  human  states  in  their 
origin. 

Hanc  olim  vetercs  vitam  coluere  Sabini ; 

Hanc  Remus  ct  frater  ;  sic  forfcis  Etruria  crevit ; 

Scilicet  et  rerum  facta  est  pulcherrima  Roma. 

But,  had  it  never  been  endeavoured  until  now,  we  might 
yet  learn  to  hope  for  its  unimagined  good  by  considering 
what  it  has  been  possible  for  us  to  reach  of  unimagined  evil. 
Utopia  and  its  benediction  are  probable  and  simple  things, 
compared  to  the  Kakotopia  and  its  curse,  which  we  have 
seen  actually  fulfilled.  We  have  seen  the  city  of  Paris  (what 
miracle  can  be  thought  of  beyond  this  ?)  witli  her  own  forts 
raining  ruin  on  her  palaces,  and  her  young  children  casting 
fire  into  the  streets  in  which  they  had  been  born,  but  we 
have  not  faith  enouofh  in  heaven  to  imagine  the  reverse  of 
this,  or  the  building  of  any  city  whose  streets  shall  be  full  of 
innocent  boys  and  girls  playing  in  tlie  midst  thereof. 

My  friends,  you  have  trusted,  in  your  time,  too  many  idle 
.words.  Read  now  these  following,  not  idle  ones  ;  and  re- 
member them  ;  and  trust  tiiem,  for  they  are  true  : — 

"  Oh,  thou  afflicted,  tossed  with  tempest,  and  not  com- 
forted, behold,  I  will  lay  thy  stones  with  fair  colours,  and  lay 
thy  foundations  with  sapphires. 

"And  all  thy  children  shall  be  taught  of  the  lyord  ;  and 
great  shall  be  the  peace  of  thy  children. 

"  In  rigliteousness  shalt  thou  be  established:  thou  shall 
be  far  from  oppression  ;  for  thou  shalt  not  fear  :  and  from 
terror  ;  for  it  shall  not  come  near  thee. 

"  Whosoever  sliall  gather  together  against  thee  shall  fall 
for  thy  sake.    .    .  . 

"  No  weapon  that  is  formed  against  thee  sliall  prosper; 
and  every  tongue  that  shall  rise  against  thee  in  judgment 
thou  shalt  condemn.  This  is  the  heritage  of  the  servants  of 
the  Lord  ;  and  their  righteousness  is  of  me,  saith  the  Lord." 

Remember  only  that  in  this  now  antiquated  translation, 
"righteousness"  means,  accurately  and  simply,  "justice," 
and  is  the  eternal  law  of  riirht,  obeved  alike  in  the  great 


112 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


times  of  each  state,  by  Jew,  Greek,  and  Roman.    In  my  next 
letter,  we  will  examine  into  the  nature  of  this  justice,  and  of 
its  relation  to  Governments  that  deserve  the  name. 
And  so  believe  me 

Faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


LETTER  IX. 

Denmark  Hill, 

My  Friends,  September,  1871. 

As  the  desio:n  which  I  had  in  view  when  I  beo-an  these  let- 
ters  (and  many  a  year  before,  in  the  germ  and  first  outlines  of 
it)  is  now  fairly  afoot,  and  in  slow,  but  determined,  begin- 
nincr  of  realization,  I  will  endeavour  in  this  and  the  next  fol- 
lowing  letter  to  set  its  main  features  completely  before  you; 
though,  remember,  the  design  would  certainly  be  a  shallow 
and  vain  one,  if  its  bearings  could  be  either  shortly  explained, 
or  quickly  understood.  I  have  much  in  my  own  hope,  which' 
I  know  you  are  as  yet  incapable  of  hoping,  but  which  your 
enemies  are  dexterous  in  discouraging,  and  eager  to  dis- 
courage. Have  you  noticed  how  curiously  and  earnestly  the 
greater  number  of  public  journals  that  have  yet  quoted  these 
2:)apers,  allege,  for  their  part,  nothing. but  the  difficulties  in 
our  Vv^ay  ;  and  that  with  as  much  contempt  as  they  can  vent- 
ure to  express  ?  No  editor  could  say  to  your  face  that  the 
endeavour  to  give  you  fresh  air,  wholesome  employment, 
and  high  education,  was  reprehensible  or  dangerous.  The 
worst  he  can  venture  to  say  is,  that  it  is  ridiculous, — which 
you  observe  is,  by  most,  declared  as  wittily  as  they  may. 

Some  must,  indeed,  candidly  think,  as  well  as  say  so. 
Education  of  any  noble  kind  has  of  late  been  so  constantly 
given  only  to  the  idle  classes,  or,  at  least,  to  those  who  con- 
ceive it  a  privilege  to  be  idle,*  that  it  is  difficult  for  any  per- 

*  Infinite  nonsense  is  talked  about  the  "work  done"  by  the  upper 
classes.  I  have  done  a  little  myself,  in  my  day,  of  the  kind  of  work  they 
boast  of  ;  but  mine,  at  least:,  has  been  all  play.  Even  lawyerV.,  which  'fi, 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


113 


son,  trained  in  modern  habits  of  thought,  to  imagine  a  true 
and  refined  scholarship,  of  which  the  essential  foundation  is  to 
be  skill  in  some  useful  labour.  Time  and  trial  will  show 
which  of  the  two  conceptions  of  education  is  indeed  the  ridic- 
ulous one — and  have  shown,  many  and  many  a  day  before 
this,  if  any  one  would  look  at  the  showing.  Such  trial,  how- 
ever, I  mean  anew  to  make,  with  what  life  is  left  to  me,  and 
help  given  to  me  :  and  the  manner  of  it  is  to  be  this,  that,  few 
or  many,  as  our  company  may  be,  we  will  secure  for  the 
people  of  Britain  as  wide  spaces  of  British  ground  as  we  can; 
and  on  such  spaces  of  freehold  land  we  will  cause  to  be 
trained  as  many  British  children  as  we  can,  in  healthy,  brave, 
and  kindly  life,  to  every  one  of  whom  there  shall  be  done  true 
justice,  and  dealt  fair  opportunity  of  advancement,"  or 
what  else  may,  indeed,  be  good  for  them. 

''True  justice!"  I  might  more  shortly  have  written 
justice,"  only  you  are  all  now  so  much  in  the  way  of  asking 
for  what  you  think  "  rights,"  which,  if  you  could  get  them, 
would  turn  out  to  be  the  deadliest  wrongs;  —  and  you 
suffer  so  much  from  an  external  mechanism  of  justice,  which 
for  centuries  back  has  abetted,  or,  at  best,  resulted  in,  every 
conceivable  maimer  of  injustice, — that  I  am  compelled  to  say 
"  2Vue  justice,"  to  distinguish  it  from  that  which  is  com- 
monly imagined  by  the  populace,  or  attainable  under  the 
existing,  laws,  of  civilized  nations. 

This  true  justice — (not  to  spend  time,  which  1  am  apt 
to  be  too  fond  of  doing,  in  verbal  definition),  consists  mainly 
in  the  granting  to  every  human  being  due  aid  in  the  de^ 
velopment  of  such  faculties  as  it  possesses  for  action  and  en- 
joyment ;  primarily,  for  useful  action,  because  all  enjoyment 
worth  having  (nay,  all  enjoyment  not  harmful)  must  in  some 
way  arise  out  of  that,  either  in  happy  energy,  or  rightly 
complacent  and  exulting  rest. 

on  the  whole,  the  hardest,  you  may  observe  to  be  essentially  grim  play, 
made  more  jovial  for  themselves  by  conditions  which  make  it  somewhat 
dismal  Co  other  people.  Here  and  there  we  have  a  real  worker  among 
soldiers,  or  no  soldiering  would  long  be  possible ;  nevertheless  young  men 
don't  go  into  the  Guards  with  any  primal  or  essential  idea  of  work. 
8 


114 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA. 


^*Due"  aid  you  see  I  have  written.  Not  equal"  aid. 
One  of  the  first  statements  I  made  to  you  respecting  this 
domain  of  ours  was  *Hhere  shall  be  no  equality  in  it."  In 
education  especially,  true  justice  is  curiously  unequal — if 
you  choose  to  give  it  a  hard  name,  iniquitous.  The  right 
law  of  it  is  that  you  are  to  take  most  pains  with  the  best 
material.  Many  conscientious  masters  will  plead  for  the  ex- 
actly contrary  iniquity,  And  say  you  should  take  the  most 
pains  with  the  dullest  boys.  But  that  is  not  so  (only  you 
must  be  very  careful  that  you  know  which  are  the  dull  boys; 
for  the  cleverest  look  often  very  like  them).  Never  waste 
pains  on  bad  ground  ;  let  it  remain  rough,  though  properly 
looked  after  and  cared  for ;  it  will  be  of  best  service  so  ;  but 
spare  no  labour  on  the  good,  or  on  what  has  in  it  the  capac- 
ity of  good.  The  tendency  of  modern  help  and  care  is  quite 
morbidly  and  madly  in  reverse  of  this  great  principle.  Benev- 
olent persons  are  always,  by  preference,  busy  on  the  essen- 
tially bad  ;  and  exhaust  themselves  in  their  efforts  to  get 
maximum  intellect  from  cretins  and  maximum  virtue  from 
criminals.  Meantime,  they  take  no  care  to  ascertain  (and 
for  the  most  part  when  ascertained,  obstinately  refuse  to  re- 
move) the  continuous  sources  of  cretinism  and  crime,  and 
suffer  the  most  splendid  material  in  child-nature  to  wander 
neglected  about  the  streets,  until  it  has  become  rotten  to 
the  degree  in  which  they  feel  prompted  to  take  an  interest  in 
it.  Now  I  have  not  the  slightest  intention — understand 
this,  I  beg  of  you,  very  clearly — of  setting  myself  to  mend 
or  reform  people  ;  when  they  are  once  out  of  form  they  may 
stay  so,  for  me.*    But  of  what  unspoiled  stuff  1  can  find  to 

*  I  speak  in  the  first  person,  not  insolently,  but  necessarily,  being  yet 
alone  in  this  design :  and  for  some  time  to  come  the  responsibility  of 
carrying  it  on  must  rest  with  me,  nor  do  I  ask  or  desire  any  present 
help,  except  from  those  who  understand  what  I  have  written  in  the 
course  of  the  last  ten  years,  and  who  can  trust  me,  therefore.  But  tho 
continuance  of  the  scheme  must  depend  on  the  finding  men  staunch 
and  prudent  for  the  heads  of  each  department  of  the  practical  work, 
consulting,  indeed,  with  each  other  as  to  certain  great  principles  of  that 
work,  but  left  wholly  to  their  own  judgment  as  to  the  maaner  and 
degree  in  which  they  are  to  be  carried  into  effect. 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


115 


my  hand  I  will  cut  the  best  shapes  there  is  room  for  ;  shapes 
unalterable,  if  it  may  be,  forever. 

"  The  best  shapes  there  is  room  for,"  since,  according  to 
the  conditions  round  them,  men's  natures  must  expand  or  re- 
main contracted  ;  and,  yet  more  distinctly  let  me  say,  "  the 
best  shapes  that  there  is  substance  for,"  seeing  that  we  must 
accept  contentedly  infinite  difference  in  the  original  nature 
and  capacity,  even  at  their  purest  ;  which  it  is  the  first  con- 
dition of  right  education  to  make  manifest  to  all  persons  — 
most  of  all  to  the  persons  chiefly  concerned.  That  other 
men  should  know  their  measure,  is,  indeed,  desirable  ;  but 
that  they  should  know  it  themselves,  is  wholly  necessary. 

"  By  competitive  examination  of  course?"  Sternly,  no  ! 
but  under  absolute  prohibition  of  all  violent  and  strained  ef- 
fort— most  of  all  envious  or  anxious  effort — in  everv  exercise 
of  body  and  mind  ;  and  by  enforcing  on  every  scholar's 
heart,  from  the  first  to  the  last  stage  of  his  instruction,  the 
irrevocable  ordinance  of  the  tiiird  Fors  (Jkivigera^  that  his 
mental  rank  among  men  is  fixed  from  the  hour  he  was  born, 
— that  by  no  temporary  or  violent  effort  can  he  train,  though 
he  may  seriously  injure,  the  faculties  he  has  ;  that  by  no 
manner  of  effort  can  he  increase  them  ;  and  that  his  best 
happiness  is  to  consist  in  the  admiration  of  powers  by  him 
forever  unattainable,  and  of  arts,  and  deeds,  by  him  forever 
inimitable. 

Some  ten  or  twelve  years  ago,  when  I  was  first  actively 
engaged  in  Art  teaching,  a  young  Scottish  student  came  up 
to  London  to  put  himself  under  me,  having  taken  many 
prizes  (justly,  with  respect  to  the  qualities  looked  for  by  the 
judges)  in  various  schools  of  Art.  lie  worked  under  me 
very  earnestly  and  patiently  for  some  time  ;  and  I  was  able 
to  praise  his  doings  in  what  I  thought,  very  high  terms  : 
nevertheless,  there  remained  always  a  look  of  mortification 
on  his  face,  after  he  had  been  praised,  however  unqualifiedly. 
At  last,  he  could  hold  no  longer,  but  one  day,  when  I  had 
been  more  than  usually  complimentary,  turned  to  me  with 
an  anxious,  yet  not  unconfident  expression,  and  asked  :  Do 
you  think.  Sir,  that  I  shall  ever  draw  as  well  as  Turner  ?  " 


116 


FOIIS  CLAVIGEEA, 


I  paused  for  a  second  or  two,  being*  much  taken  aback  \ 
and  then  answered,*  "  It  is  far  more  likely  you  should  be 
made  Emperor  of  All  the  Russias.  There  is  a  new  Emperor 
every  fifteen  or  twenty  years,  on  the  average  ;  and  by  strange 
hap,  and  fortunate  cabal,  anybody  might  be  made  Emperor. 
But  there  is  only  one  Turner  in  five  hundred  years,  and  God 
decides,  without  any  admission  of  auxiliary  cabal,  what  piece 
of  clay  his  soul  is  to  be  put  in." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  been  brought  into  direct 
collision  with  the  modern  system  of  prize-giving  and  compe- 
tition ;  and  the  mischief  of  it  was,  in  the  sequel,  clearly 
shown  to  me,  and  tragically.  This  youth  had  the  finest  pow- 
ers of  mechanical  execution  I  have  ever  met  with,  but  was 
quite  incapable  of  invention,  or  strong  intellectual  effort  of 
any  kind.  Had  he  been  taught  early  and  thoroughly  to  know 
his  place,  and  be  cont^t  with  his  faculty,  he  would  have 
been  one  of  the  happiest  and  most  serviceable  of  men.  But, 
at  the  art  schools,  he  got  prize  after  prize  for  his  neat  hand- 
ling ;  and  having,  in  his  restricted  imagination,  no  power  of 
discerning  the  qualities  of  great  work,  all  the  vanity  of  his 
nature  was  brought  out  unchecked  ;  so  that,  being  intensely 
industrious  and  conscientious,  as  well  as  vain,  (it  is  a  Scottish 
combination  of  character  not  unfrequent  "j"),  he  naturally  ex- 
pected to  become  one  of  the  greatest  of  men.  My  answer 
not  only  mortified,  but  angered  him,  and  made  him  suspicious 
of  me  ;  he  thought  I  wanted  to  keep  his  talents  from  being 
fairly  displayed,  and  soon  afterwards  asked  leave  (he  was 
then  in  my  employment  as  well  as  under  my  teaching)  to  put 
himself  under  another  master.  I  gave  him  leave  at  once, 
telling  him,  "  if  he  found  the  other  master  no  better  to  his 
mind,  he  might  come  back  to  me  whenever  he  chose."  The 
other  master  giving  him  no  more  hope  of  advancement  than 

*  I  do  not  mean  that  I  answered  in  these  words,  but  to  the  effect  of 
them,  at  greater  length. 

f  We  English  are  usually  bad  altogether  in  a  harmonious  way,  and 
only  quite  insolent  when  we  are  quite  good-for-nothing  ;  the  least  good 
in  us  shows  itself  in  a  measure  of  modesty ;  but  many  Scotch  natures^ 
of  fine  capacity  otherwise,  are  rendered  entirely  abortive  by  conceit. 


FOES  CLAVIGEIiA.  117 

I  did,  he  came  back  to  me  ;  I  sent  him  into  Switzerland,  to 
draw  Swiss  architecture  ;  but  instead  of  doing  what  I  bid 
him,  quietly,  and  nothing  else,  he  set  himself,  with  furious 
industry,  to  draw  snowy  mountains  and  clouds,  that  he  might 
show  me  he  could  draw  like  Albert  Durer,  or  Turner  ; — spent 
his  strength  in  agony  of  vain  effort  ; — caught  cold,  fell  into 
decline,  and  died.  How  many  actual  deaths  are  now  an- 
nually caused  by  the  strain  and  anxiety  of  competitive  exam- 
ination, it  would  startle  us  all  if  we  could  know  :  but  the 
mischief  done  to  the  best  faculties  of  the  brain  in  all  cases, 
and  the  miserable  confusion  and  absurdity  involved  in  the 
system  itself,  which  oilers  every  place,  not  to  the  man  who  is 
indeed  fitted  for  it,  but  to  the  one  who,  on  a  given  day, 
chances  to  have  bodily  strength  enough  to  stand  the  cruellest 
strain,  are  evils  infinite  in  their  consequences,  and  more  lam- 
entable than  many  deaths. 

This,  then,  shall  be  the  first  condition  of  what  education 
it  may  become  possible  for  us  to  give,  that  the  strength  of 
the  youths  shall  never  be  strained  ;  and  that  their  best  pow- 
ers shall  be  developed  in  each,  without  competition,  though 
they  shall  have  to  pass  crucial,  but  not  severe,  examinations, 
attesting  clearly  to  themselves  and  to  other  people,  not  the 
utmost  they  can  do,  but  that  at  least  they  can  do  some  things 
accurately  and  well  :  their  own  certainty  of  this  being  ac- 
companied with  the  quite  as  clear,  and  much  happier  cer- 
tainty, that  there  are  many  other  things  which  they  will 
never  be  able  to  do  at  all. 

"  The  happier  certainty  ?  "  Yes.  A  man's  happiness  con- 
sists infinitely  more  in  admiration  of  the  faculties  of  others 
than  in  confidence  in  his  own.  That  reverent  admiration  is 
the  perfect  human  gift  in  him  ;  all  lower  animals  are  happy 
and  noble  in  the  degree  they  can  share  it.  A  dog  reverences 
you,  a  fly  does  not  ;  the  capacity  of  partly  understanding  a 
creature  above  him,  is  the  dog's  nobility.  Iticrease  sucli  rev- 
erence in  human  beings,  and  you  increase  daily  their  hap- 
piness, peace,  and  dignity  ;  take  it  away,  and  you  make  them 
wretched  as  well  as  vile.  But  for  fiftv  vears  back  modern 
education  has  devoted  itself  simply  to  the  teaching  of  impu- 


118 


FOllS  CLAVIGEUA. 


dence  ;  and  then  we  complain  that  we  can  no  more  manage 
our  mobs  !  "  Look  at  Mr.  Robert  Stephenson,"  (we  tell  a 
boy,)  and  at  Mr.  James  Watt,  and  Mr.  William  Shakspeare  ! 
You  know  you  are  every  bit  as  good  as  they  ;  you  have  only  to 
work  in  the  same  way,  and  you  will  infallibly  arrive  at  the  same 
eminence."  Most  boys  believe  the  "  you  are  every  bit  as  good 
as  they,"  without  any  painful  experiment  :  but  the  better- 
minded  ones  really  take  the  advised  measures  ;  and  as,  at  the 
end  of  all  things,  there  can  be  but  one  Mr.  James  Watt  or  Mr. 
William  Shakspeare,  the  rest  of  the  candidates  for  distinction, 
finding  themselves,  after  all  their  work,  still  indistinct,  think 
it  must  be  the  fault  of  the  police,  and  are  riotous  accordingly. 

To  some  extent  it  is  the  fault  of  the  police,  truly  enough, 
considering  as  the  police  of  Europe,  or  teachers  of  politeness 
and  civic  manners,  its  higher  classes, — higher  either  by  race 
or  faculty.  Police  they  are,  or  else  are  nothing  :  bound  to 
keep  order,  both  by  clear  teaching  of  the  duty  and  delight 
of  Respect,  and,  much  more,  by  being  themselves — Respect- 
able ;  whether  as  priests,  or  kings,  or  lords,  or  generals,  or 
admirals  ;  if  they  will  only  take  care  to  be  verily  that,  the 
Respect  will  be  forthcoming,  with  little  pains  :  nay,  even 
Obedience,  inconceivable  to  modern  free  souls  as  it  may  be, 
we  shall  get  again,  as  soon  as  there  is  anybody  worth  obey- 
ing, and  who  can  keep  us  out  of  shoal  water. 

Not  but  that  those  two  admirals  and  their  captains  have 
been  sorely,  though  needfully,  dealt  with.  It  was,  doubtless, 
not  a  scene  of  the  brightest  in  our  naval  history — that  Agin^ 
court,  entomologically,  as  it  were,  pinned  to  her  wrong  place, 
off  Gibraltar  ;  but  in  truth,  it  was  less  the  captain's  fault, 
than  the  ironmonger's.  You  need  not  think  you  can  ever 
have  seamen  in  iron  ships  ;  it  is  not  in  flesh  and  blood  to  be 
vigilant  when  vigilance  is  so  slightly  necessary  the  best 
seaman  born  will  lose  his  qualities,  when  he  knows  he  can 
steam  against  wind  and  tide,*  and  has  to  handle  ships  so 

*  "Steam  has,  of  course,  utterly  extirpated  seamanship," says  Admi- 
ral Rous,  in  his  letter  to  l^he  Times  (which  I  had,  of  course,  not  seen 
when  I  wrote  this).  Read  the  whole  letter  and  the  article  on  it  in  Tht 
Times  of  the  17th,  which  is  entirely  temperate  and  conclusive. 


FORS  CLAVIQERA. 


large  that  the  care  of  them  is  necessarily  divided  among 
many  persons.  If  you  want  sea-captains  indeed,  like  Sir 
Ricliard  Grenville  or  Lord  Dundonald,  you  must  give  them 
small  ships,  and  wooden  ones, — nothing  but  oak,  pine,  and 
hemp  to  trust  to,  above  or  below, — and  those,  trustworthy. 

You  little  know  how  much  is  implied  in  the  two  conditions 
of  boys'  education  that  I  gave  you  in  my  last  letter, — that 
thev  shall  all  learn  either  to  ride  or  sail  :  nor  bv  what  con- 
stancy  of  law  the  power  of  highest  discipline  and  honour  is 
vested  by  Nature  in  the  two  chivalries — of  the  Horse  and  the 
Wave.  Both  are  significative  of  the  right  command  of  man 
over  his  own  passions  ;  but  they  teach,  farther,  the  strange 
mystery  of  relation  that  exists  between  liis  soul  and  the  wild 
natural  elements  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  wild  lower  animals 
on  the  other.  The  sea-riding  gave  their  chief  strength  of 
temper  to  the  Athenian,  Norman,  Pisan,  and  Venetian, — 
masters  of  the  arts  of  the  world — but  the  gentleness  of  chiv- 
alry, properly  so  called,  depends  on  the  recognition  of  the 
order  and  awe  of  lower  and  loftier  animal-life,  first  clearly 
taught  in  the  myth  of  Chiron,  and  in  his  bringing  up  of  Jason, 
-55sculapius,  and  Achilles — but  most  perfectly  by  Homer  m 
the  fable  of  the  horses  of  Achilles,  and  the  part  assigned  to 
them,  in  relation  to  the  death  of  his  friend,  and  in  prophecy 
of  his  own.  There  is,  perhaps,  in  all  the  Iliad  nothing  more 
deep  in  significance — there  is  nothing  in  all  literature  more 
perfect  in  human  tenderness,  and  honour  for  the  mystery  of 
inferior  life,*  than  the  verses  that  describe  the  sorrow  of  the 
divine  horses  at  the  death  of  Patroclus,  and  the  comfort 
given  them  by  the  greatest  of  the  gods.  *You  shall  read 
Pope's  translation  ;  it  does  not  give  you  the  manner  of  the 
original,  but  it  entirely  gives  you  the  passion  : — 

Meantime,  at  distance  from  the  scene  of  blood, 
The  pensive  steeds  of  great  Achilles  stood  ; 
Their  godlike  master  slain  before  their  eyes 

*  The  myth  of  Balaam ;  the  cause  assigned  for  the  journey  of  the 
first  King  of  Israel  from  his  father's  house  ;  and  the  manner  of  the  tri- 
umphal entry  of  the  greatest  Kiug  of  Judah  into  his  capital,  are  sym- 
bolic of  the  same  truths ;  but  in  a  yet  more  strange  humility. 


120  FOES  CLAVIGEUA.  " 

They  wept,  and  shared  in  human  miseries. 

In  vain  Automedon  now  shakes  the  rein, 

Now  plies  the  lash,  and. soothes  and  threats  in  yaias 

Nor  to  the  fight  nor  Hellespont  they  go, 

Restive  they  stood,  and  obstinate  in  woe  \ 

Still  as  a  tombstone,  never  to  be  mov'd, 

On  some  good  man  or  woman  unreprov'd 

Lays  its  eternal  weight ;  or  fix'd  as  stands 

A  marble  courser  by  the  sculptor's  hands, 

Placed  on  th^j  hero's  grave.    Along  their  face, 

The  big  round  drops  cours'd  down  with  silent  pace, 

Conglobing  on  the  dust.    Their  manes,  that  late 

Circled  their  arched  necks,  and  wav'd  in  state, 

Trail'd  on  the  dust,  beneath  the  yoke  were  spread, 

And  prone  to  earth  was  hung  their  languid  head : 

Nor  Jove  disdain'd  to  cast  a  pitying  look, 

While  thus  relenting  to  the  steeds  he  spoke : 

*•  Unhappy  couriers  of  immortal  strain! 
Exempt  from  age,  and  deathless  now  in  vain  1 
Did  we  your  race  on  mortal  man  bestow, 
Only,  alas  !  to  share  in  mortal  woe  ? 
For  ah  !  what  is  there,  of  inferior  birth, 
That  breathes  or  creeps  upon  the  dust  of  earth ; 
What  wietched  creature  of  wh  t  wretched  kind. 
Than  man  mo;e  weak,  calamitous,  and  blind  ? 
A  miserable  race  !    But  cease  to  mourn  ; 
For  not  by  you  shall  Priam's  son  be  borne 
High  on  the  splendid  car  :  one  glorious  prize 
He  rashly  boasts ;  the  rest  our  will  denies. 
Ourself  will  swiftness  to  your  nerves  impart, 
Ourself  with  rising  spirits  swell  your  heart. 
Automedon  your  rapid  flight  shall  bear 
Safe  to  the  navy  through  the  storm  of  war.    .  . 

He  said  ;  and,  breathing  in  th'  immortal  horse 
Excessive  spirit,  urg'd  them  to  the  course ; 
From  their  high  manes  they  shake  the  dust,  and  bear 
The  kindling  chariot  through  the  parted  war. 

Is  not  that  a  prettier  notion  of  horses  than  you  will  get 
from  your  betting  English  chivalry  on  the  Derby  day  ?  * 
We  will  have,  please  heaven,  some  riding,  not  as  jockeys 
ride,  and  some  sailing,  not  as  pots  and  kettles  sail,  once  more 

*  Compare  also.  Black  Auster  at  the  Battle  of  the  Lake,  in  Macaulay'a 
Lays  of  Rome, 


FOBS '  CLA  VIGERA. 


121 


on  English  land  and  sea  ;  and  out  of  both,  kindled  yet  again, 
the  chivalry  of  heart  of  the  Knight  of  Athens,  and  Eques  of 
Rome,  and  Ritter  of  Germany,  and  Chevalier  of  France,  and 
Cavalier  of  England — chivalry  gentle  always  and  lowly,  among 
those  who  deserved  their  name  of  knight  ;  showing  mercy  to 
whom  mercy  was  due,  and  honour  to  whom  honour. 

It  exists  yet,  and  out  of  La  Mancha,  too  (or  none  of  lis 
could  exist),  whatever  you  may  think  in  these  days  of  ungen- 
tleness  and  Dishonour.  It  exists  secretly,  to  the  full,  among 
you  yourselves,  and  the  recovery  of  it  again  would  be  to  you 
as  the  opening  of  a  well  in  the  desert.  You  remember  what 
I  told  you  were  the  three  spiritual  treasures  of  your  life — 
Admiration,  Hope,  and  Love.  Admiration  is  the  Faculty  of 
giving  Honour.  It  is  the  best  word  we  have  for  the  various 
feelings  of  wonder,  reverence,  awe,  and  humility,  which  are 
needful  for  all  lovely  work,  and  wiiich  constitute  the  habitual 
temper  of  all  noble  and  clear-sighted  persons,  as  opposed  to 
the  "  impudence  "  of  base  and  blind  ones.  Tlie  Latins  called 
this  great  virtue  "pudor,"  of  which  our  "impudence"  is  the 
negative  ;  the  Greeks  had  a  better  word,  alhois  ;  "  too  wide 
in  the  bearings  of  it  for  me  to  explain  to  you  to-day,  even  if 
it  could  be  explained  before  you  recovered  the  feeling  ; — 
which,  after  being  taught  for  fifty  years  that  impudence  is 
the  chief  duty  of  man,  and  that  living  in  coal-holes  and  ash- 
heaps  is  his  proudest  existence,  and  that  tiie  methods  of  gen- 
eration of  vermin  are  his  loftiest  subjects  of  science, — it  will 
not  be  easy  for  you  to  do  ;  but  your  children  may,  and  you 
will  see  that  it  is  good  for  them.  In  the  history  of  the  live 
cities  I  named,  they  shall  learn,  so  far  as  they  can  under- 
etand,  what  has  been  beautifully  and  bravely  done  ;  and  they 
shall  know  the  lives  of  the  heroes  and  heroines  in  trutii  and 
naturalness  ;  and  shall  be  taught  to  remember  the  greatest 
of  them  on  the  days  of  their  birth  and  death  ;  so  that  the 
3^ear  shall  have  its  full  calendar  of  reveient  Memory.  And, 
on  every  day,  part  of  their  morning  service  shall  be  a  song 
in  honour  of  the  hero  whose  birthday  it  is  ;  and  part  of  their 
evening  service,  a  song  of  triumph  for  the  fair  death  of  one 
whose  death-day  it  is  :  and  in  their  first  learning  of  notes 


122 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


they  shall  be  taught  the  great  purpose  of  music,  which  is  to 
say  a  thing  that  you  mean  deeply,  in  the  strongest  and  clear* 
est  possible  way  ;  and  they  shall  never  be  taught  to  sing 
what  they  don't  mean.  They  shall  be  able  to  sing  merrily 
when  they  are  happy,  and  earnestly  when  they  are  sad  ;  but 
they  shall  find  no  mirth  in  mockery,  nor  in  obscenity  ;  neither 
shall  they  waste  and  profane  their  hearts  with  artificial  and 
lascivious  sorrow. 

Regulations  which  will  bring  about  some  curious  changes 
in  piano-playing,  and  several  other  things. 

Which  will  bring."  They  are  bold  words,  considering 
how  many  schemes  have  failed  disastrously  (as  your  able 
editors  gladly  point  out),  which  seemed  much  more  plausible 
than  this.  But,  as  far  as  I  know  history,  good  designs  have 
not  failed  except  when  they  were  too  narrow  in  their  final  aim, 
and  too  obstinately  and  eagerly  pushed  in  the  beginning  of 
them.  Prosperous  Fortune  only  grants  an  almost  invisible 
slowness  of  success,  and  demands  invincible  patience  in  pur- 
suing it.  Many  good  men  have  failed  in  haste  ;  more  in 
egotism,  and  desire  to  keep  everything  in  their  own  hands  ; 
and  some  by  mistaking  the  signs  of  their  times  ;  but  others, 
and  those  generally  the  boldest  in  imagination,  have  not 
failed  ;  and  their  successors,  true  knights  or  monks,  have 
bettered  the  fate  and  raised  the  thoughts  of  men  for  centu- 
ries ;  nay,  for  decades  of  centuries.  And  there  is  assuredly 
nothing  in  this  purpose  I  lay  before  you,  so  far  as  it  reaches 
hitherto,  which  will  require  either  knightly  courage  or  monk- 
ish enthusiasm  to  carry  out.  To  divert  a  little  of  the  large 
current  of  English  charity  and  justice  from  watching  disease 
to  guarding  health,  and  from  the  punishment  of  crime  to  the 
reward  of  virtue  ;  to  establish,  here  and  there,  exercise 
grounds  instead  of  hospitals,  and  training  schools  instead  of 
penitentiaries,  is  not,  if  you  will  slowly  take  it  to  heart,  a 
frantic  imagination.  What  farther  hope  I  have  of  getting 
some  honest  men  to  serve,  each  in  his  safe  and  useful  trade, 
faithfully,  as  a  good  soldier  serves  in  his  dangerous  and  too 
often,  very  wide  of  useful  one,  may  seem  for  the  moment, 
vain  enough  ;  for  indeed,  in  the  last  sermon  I  heard  out  of 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


123 


an  English  pulpit,  the  clergyman  said  it  was  now  acknowl* 
edged  to  be  impossible  for  any  honest  man  to  live  by  trade 
in  Enoland.  From  which  the  conclusion  he  drew  was,  not 
that  the  manner  of  trade  in  England  should  be  amended,  but 
that  his  hearers  should  be  thankful  they  were  going  to 
heaven.  It  never  seemed  to  occur  to  him  that  perhaps  it 
might  be  only  through  amendment  of  their  ways  in  trade 
that  some  of  them  could  ever  get  there. 

Such  madness,  therefore,  as  may  be  implied  in  this  ulti- 
mate hope  of  seeing  some  honest  work  and  traffic  done  in 
faithful  fellowship,  I  confess  to  you  :  but  what,  for  my  own 
part,  I  am  about  to  endeavour,  is  certainly  witiiin  my  power, 
if  my  life  and  health  last  a  few  years  more,  and  the  compass 
of  it  is  soon  definable.  First, — as  I  told  you  at  the  beginning 
of  these  Letters — I  must  do  my  own  proper  work  as  well  as 
I  can — nothing  else  must  come  in  the  way  of  that  ;  and  for 
some  time  to  come,  it  will  be  heavy,  because,  after  carefully 
considering  the  operation  of  the  Kensington  system  of  art- 
teaching  throughout  the  country,  and  watching  for  two  years 
its  effect  on  various  classes  of  students  at  Oxford,  I  became 
finally  convinced  that  it  fell  short  of  its  objects  in  more  than 
one  vital  particular  :  and  I  have,  therefore,  obtained  per- 
mission to  found  a  separate  Mastership  of  Drawing  in  con- 
nection with  the  Art-Professorship  at  Oxford ;  and  elementary 
schools  will  be  opened  in  the  University  galleries,  next  Oc- 
tober, in  which  the  methods  of  teaching  will  be  calculated  to 
meet  requirements  which  have  not  been  contemplated  in  the 
Kensington  system.  But  how  far  what  these,  not  new,  but 
very  ancient  disciplines  teach,  may  be  by  modern  students, 
either  required  or  endured,  remains  to  be  seen.  The  organ- 
ization of  the  system  of  teaching,  and  preparation  of  ex- 
amples, in  this  school,  is,  however,  at  present  my  chief  work 
— no  light  one — and  everything  else  must  be  subordinate  to  it. 

But  in  my  first  series  of  lectures  at  Oxford,  I  stated,  (and 
cannot  too  often  or  too  firmly  state)  that  no  great  arts  were 
practicable  by  any  people,  unless  they  were  living  contented 
lives,  in  pure  air,  out  of  the  way  of  unsightly  objects,  and 
emanc\pated  from  unnecessary  mechanical  occupation.    It  is 


124 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


simply  one  part  of  the  practical  work  1  have  to  do  in  Art 
teaching,  to  bring,  somewhere,  such  conditions  into  existence, 
and  to  show  the  working  of  them.  I  know  also  assuredly 
that  the  conditions  necessary  for  the  Arts  of  men,  are  the 
best  for  their  souls  and  bodies  ;  and  knowing  this,  I  do  not 
doubt  but  that  it  may  be  with  due  pains,  to  some  material 
extent,  convincingly  shown  ;  and  I  am  now  ready  to  receive 
help,  little  or  much,  from  any  one  who  cares  to  forward  the 
showing  of  it. 

Sir  Thomas  Dyke  Acland,  and  the  Right  Hon.  William 
Cowper-Temple  have  consented  to  be  the  Trustees  of  the 
fund  ;  it  being  distinctly  understood  that  in  that  office  they 
accept  no  responsibility  for  the  conduct  of  the  scheme,  and 
refrain  from  expressing  any  opinion  of  its  principles.  They 
simply  undertake  the  charge  of  the  money  and  land  given 
to  the  St.  George's  Fund  ;  certify  to  tlie  public  that  it  is 
spent,  or  treated,  for  the  purposes  of  that  fund,  in  the  man- 
ner stated  in  my  accounts  of  it  ;  and,  in  the  event  of  my 
death,  hold  it  for  such  fulfilment  of  its  purposes  as  they  may 
then  find  possible. 

But  it  is  evidently  necessary  for  the  right  working  of  the 
scheme  that  the  Trustees  should  not,  except  only  in  that 
office,  be  at  present  concerned  with,  or  involved  in  it ;  and 
that  no  ambiguous  responsibility  should  fall  on  them.  I 
know  too  much  of  the  manner  of  law  to  hope  that  I  can  get 
the  arrangement  put  into  proper  form  before  the  end  of  the 
year ;  but  I  hope,  at  latest,  on  the  eve  of  Christmas-day  (the 
day  I  named  first)  to  publish  the  December  number  of  Fors 
with  the  legal  terras  all  clear  :  until  then,  whatever  sums  or 
land  I  may  receive  will  be  simply  paid  to  the  Trustees,  or 
secured  in  their  name,  for  the  St.  George's  Fund  ;  what  I 
may  attempt  afterwards  will  be  in  any  case,  scarcely  notice- 
able for  some  time  ;  for  I  shall  only  work  with  the  interest 
of  the  fund      and  as  I  have  strength  and  leisure  : — I  have 

*  Since  last  Fors  was  published  I  have  sold  some  more  property, 
which  has  brought  me  in  another  ten  thousand  to  tithe  ;  so  that  I  have 
bought  a  second  thou-and  consols  in  the  names  of  the  Trustees — and 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA, 


12n 


Httle  enough  of  the  one  ;  and  am  like  to  have  little  of  the 
other,  for  years  to  come,  if  these  drawing-schools  become 
useful,  as  I  hope.  But  what  I  may  do  myself  is  of  small 
consequence.  Long  before  it  can  come  to  any  convincing 
result,  I  believe  some  of  the  gentlemen  of  England  will  have 
taken  up  the  matter,  and  seen  that,  for  their  own  sake,  no 
less  than  the  country's,  they  must  now  live  on  their  estates, 
not  in  shooting-time  only,  but  all  the  year  ;  and  be  them- 
selves farmers,  or  "shepherd  lords,'^  and  make  the  field  gain 
on  the  street,  not  the  street  on  the  field  ;  and  bid  the  light 
break  into  the  smoke-clouds,  and  bear  in  their  hands,  up  to 
those  loathsome  city  walls,  the  gifts  of  Giotto's  Charity,  corn 
and  flowers. 

It  is  time,  too,  I  think.  Did  you  notice  the  lovely  in- 
stances of  chivalry,  modesty,  and  musical  taste,  recorded  in 
those  letters  in  the  Times^  giving  description  of  the  "civiliz- 
ing" influence  of  our  progressive  age  on  the  rural  district  of 
Margate  ? 

They  are  of  some  documentary  value,  and  worth  preserv- 
ing, for  several  reasons  ;  here  they  are  : — ■ 

1.— A  TRIP  TO  MARGATE. 

To  the  Editor  of  the  Times. 

Sir, — On  Monday  last  I  had  the  misfortune  of  taking*  a  trip  per  steamer 
to  Margate.  The  sea  was  rough,  the  ship  crowded,  and  therefore  most 
of  the  Cockney  excursionists  prostrate  with  sea-sicknesa.  On  landing  on 
Margate  pier  I  must  confess  I  thou;^ht  that,  instead  of  landin;^  in  an 
English  sea-port,  I  had  been  transported  by  magic  to  a  land  inhabited 
by  savages  and  lunatics.  The  scene  that  ensued  when  the  unhappy 
passengers  had  to  pass  between  the  double  line  of  a  Margate  mob  ou 
the  pier  must  be  seen  to  be  believed  possible  in  a  civilized  country. 
Shouts,  yells,  howls  of  delight  greeted  every  pale-looking  passenger,  as 
he  or  she  got  on  the  pier,  accompanied  by  a  running  comment  of  the 
lowest,  foulest  language  imaginable.  But  the  most  insulted  victims 
were  a  young  lady,  who,  having  had  a  fit  of  hysterics  on  board,  had  to 
be  assisted  up  the  step?,  and  a  venerable-looking  old  gentlem?in  with  a 
long  grey  beard,  who,  by  the-by,  was  not  sick  at  all,  but  being  crippled 

have  received  a  pretty  little  gift  of  seven  acres  of  woodland,  in  Worces- 
tershiro,  for  you,  already —so  you  see  there  is  at  least  a  beginning. 


126 


FOBS  GLAVIGEMA. 


and  very  old,  feebly  tofcfcered  up  the  slippery  steps  leaning  on  two  sticks^ 
Here's  a  guy  !  '*  *'  Hallo  !  you  old  thief,  you  won  t  get  drowned,  bo- 
cause  you  know  that  you  are  to  be  hung,"  &c  ,  and  worse  than  that, 
were  the  greetings  of  that  poor  old  man.  All  this  while  a  very  much 
silver-bestriped  policeman  stood  calmly  by,  without  interfering  by  word 
or  deed ;  and  myself,  having  several  ladies  to  take  care  of,  could  do 
nothing  except  telling  the  ruffianly  mob  some  hard  words,  with,  of 
course,  no  other  effect  than  to  draw  all  the  abuse  on  myself.  This  is 
not  an  exceptional  exhibition  of  Margate  ruffianism,  but,  as  I  have  been 
told,  is  of  daily  occurrence,  only  varying  in  intensity  with  the  roughness 
of  the  sea. 

Public  exposure  is  the  only  likely  thing  to  put  a  stop  to  such  ruffian- 
ism ;  and  now  it  is  no  longer  a  wonder  to  me  why  so  many  people  are 
ashamed  of  confessing  that  they  have  been  to  Margate. 

I  remain,  Sir,  yours  obediently, 
London^  August  16.  C.  L.  S. 

2.— MARGATE. 

To  the  Editor  of  the  Times, 

Sir, — From  personal  experience  obtained  from  an  enforced  residence 
at  Margate,  I  can  confirm  all  that  your  correspondent  "  C.  L.  S."  states 
of  the  behaviour  of  the  mob  on  the  jetty  ;  and  in  addition  I  will  ven- 
ture to  say  that  in  no  town  in  England  or,  so  far  as  my  experience  goes, 
on  the  Continent,  can  such  utterly  indecent  exhibitions  be  daily  wit- 
nessed as  at  Margate  during  bathing  hours.  Nothing  can  be  more  r& 
volting  to  persons  having  the  least  feelings  of  modesty  than  the  pro- 
miscuous mixing  of  the  bathers;  nude  men  dancing,  swimming,  or 
floating  with  women  not  quite  nude,  certainly,  but  with  scant  clothing. 
The  machines  for  males  and  females  are  not  kept  apart,  and  the  latter 
do  not  apparently  care  to  keep  within  the  awnings.  The  authorities 
post  notices  as  to  indecent  bathing,"  but  that  appears  to  be  all  they 
think  they  ought  to  do. 

I  am,  Sir,  yours  obediently,  B. 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Times. 

Sir, — The  account  of  the  scenes  which  occur  at  the  landing  of  pas- 
sengers at  the  Margate  jetty,  giveH  by  your  correspondent  to-day,  is  by 
no  means  overcharged.  Bat  that  is  nothing.  The  rulers  of  the  place 
seem  bent  on  doing  their  utmost  to  keep  respectable  people  away,  or, 
doubtless,  long  before  this  the  class  of  visitors  would  have  greatly  im- 
proved.   The  sea-froats  of  the  town,  which  in  the  summer  would  be 


FOBS  GLAVI9ERA. 


127 


Otherwise  enjoyable,  are  abandoned  to  the  noisy  rule  of  the  lowest 
kinds  of  itinerant  mountebanks,  organ-grinders,  and  niggers  ;  and  from 
early  morn  till  long  after  nightfall  the  place  is  one  hopeless,  hideous 
din.  There  is  yet  another  grievance.  The  whole  of  the  drainage  ia 
discharged  upon  the  rocks  to  the  east  of  the  harbour,  considerably 
above  low-water  mark  ;  and  to  the  west,  where  much  building  is  con- 
templated, drains  have  already  been  laid  into  the  sea,  and,  when  these 
new  bouses  are  built  and  inhabited,  bathing  at  Margate,  now  its  great- 
est attraction,  must  cease  for  ever. 

Yours  obediently, 
MarQOXe,  August  18.  PHAROS. 

I  have  printed  these  letters  for  several  reasons.  In  the 
first  place,  read  after  them  this  account  of  the  town  of  Mar- 
gate, given  in  the  Encyclopmdia  Britannica^  in  1797  : 
"  Margate,  a  seaport  tov^^n  of  Kent,  on  the  north  side  of  the 
Isle  of  Thanet,  near  the  North  Foreland.  It  is  noted  for 
shipping  vast  quantities  of  corn  (most,  if  not  all,  the  product 
of  that  island)  for  London,  and  has  a  salt-water  bath  at  the 
Post-house,  which  has  performed  great  cures  in  nervous  and 
paralytic  cases." 

Now  this  Isle  of  Thanet,  please  to  observe,  which  is  an 
elevated  (200  to  400  feet)  mass  of  chalk,  separated  from  the 
rest  of  Kent  by  little  rivers  and  marshy  lands,  ought  to  be 
respected  by  you  (as  PJnglislimen)  because  it  was  the  first 
bit  of  ground  ever  possessed  in  this  greater  island  by  your 
Saxon  ancestors,  when  they  came  over,  some  six  or  seven 
hundred  of  them  only,  in  three  ships,  and  contented  them- 
selves for  a  while  with  no  more  territory  than  that  white 
island.  Also,  the  North  Foreland,  you  ought,  I  think,  to 
know,  is  taken  for  the  terminal  point  of  the  two  sides  of 
Britain,  east  and  south,  in  the  first  geographical  account  of 
our  dwelling-place,  definitely  given  by  a  learned  person. 
But  you  ought,  beyond  all  question,  to  know,  that  the  cures 
of  the  nervous  and  paralytic  cases,  attributed  seventy  years 
ago  to  the  "salt-water  bath  at  the  Post-house,"  were  much 
more  probably  to  be  laid  to  account  of  the  freshest  and 
changefullest  sea-air  to  be  breathed  in  England,  bending  the 
rich  corn  over  that  white  dry  ground,  and  giving  to  sight, 
above  the  northern  and  eastern  sweep  of  sea,  the  loveliest 


128 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


skies  that  can  be  seen,  not  in  England  only,  but  perhaps  in 
all  the  world  ;  able,  at  least,  to  challenge  the  fairest  in 
Europe,  to  the  far  south  of  Italy. 

So  it  was  said,  I  doubt  not  rightly,  by  the  man  who  of  all 
others  knew  best  ;  the  once  in  five  hundred  years  given 
painter,  whose  chief  work,  as  separate  from  others,  was  the 
painting  of  skies.  He  knew  tlie  colours  of  the  clouds  over 
the  sea,  from  the  Bay  of  Naples  to  the  Hebrides  ;  and  being 
once  asked  where,  in  Europe,  were  to  be  seen  the  loveliest 
skies,  answered  instantly,  "  in  the  Isle  of  Thanet."  Where, 
therefore,  and  in  this  very  town  of  Margate,  he  lived,  when 
he  chose  to  be  quit  of  London,  and  yet  not  to  travel. 

And  I  can  myself  give  this  much  confirmatory  evidence 
of  his  saying  ; — that  though  I  never  stay  in  Thanet,  the  two 
loveliest  skies  I  have  myself  ever  seen  (and  next  to  Turner, 
I  suppose  few  men  of  fifty  have  kept  record  of  so  many), 
were,  one  at  Boulogne,  and  the  other  at  Abbeville  ;  that  is 
to  say  in  precisely  the  correspondent  French  districts  of  corn- 
bearing  chalk,  on  the  other  side  of  the  channel. 

"  And  what  are  pretty  skies  to  us  ?  perhaps  you  will  ask 
me,  or  what  have  they  to  do  with  the  behaviour  of  that 
crowd  on  Margate  Pier  ?  " 

Well,  my  friends,  the  final  result  of  the  education  I  want 
you  to  give  your  children  will  be,  in  a  few  words,  this.  They 
will  know  what  it  is  to  see  the  sky.  They  will  know  what 
it  is  to  breathe  it.  And  they  will  know,  best  of  all,  what  it 
is  to  behave  under  it,  as  in  the  presence  of  a  Father  who  is 
in  heaven. 

Faithfully  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


LETTER  X. 

Denmark  Hit.l, 
^  1th  September,  187L 

My  Friends, 

For  the  last  two  or  three  days,  the  papers  have  been  full 
of  articles  on  a  speech  of  Lord  Derby's,  which,  it  seems,  has 
s^t  the  public  mind  on  considering  the  land  question.  My 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


129 


own  mind  having  long*  ago  been  both  set,  and  entirely  made 
up,  on  that  question,  I  have  read  neither  the  speech  nor  the 
articles  on  it  ;  but  my  eye  being  caught  this  morning,  fortu- 
nately, by  the  words  "  Doomsday  Book  "  in  my  Daily  Tele- 
graph, and  presently,  looking  up  the  column,  by  "  stalwart 
arms  and  heroic  souls  of  free  resolute  Englishmen,"  I  glanced 
down  the  space  between,  and  found  this,  to  me,  remarkable, 
passage  : 

The  upshot  is,  that,  looking  at  the  question  from  a  purely  mechani- 
cal point  of  view,  we  should  seek  the  beau  ideal  in  a  landowner  culti- 
Tating  huge  farms  for  himself,  with  abundant  machinery  and  a  few 
well  paid  labourers  to  manage  the  mechanism,  or  delegating  the  task 
to  the  smallest  possible  number  of  tenants  with  capital  But  when  we 
bear  in  mind  the  origin  of  landlordism,  of  our  national  needs,  and  the 
real  interests  of  the  great  body  of  English  tenantry,  we  see  how  advis- 
able it  is  to  retain  intelligent  yeomen  as  part  of  our  means  of  cultivat- 
ing the  soil." 

This  is  all,  then,  is  it,  that  your  liberal  paper  ventures  to 
say  for  you  ?  It  is  advisable  to  retain  difew  intelligent  yeo- 
men in  the  island.  I  don't  mean  to  find  fault  with  the  Daily 
Telegraph:  I  think  it  always  means  well  on  tlie  whole,  and 
deals  fairly  ;  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  for  its  highly 
toned  and  delicately  perfumed  opponent,  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette.  But  I  think  a  "  Liberal  "  paper  might  have  said 
more  for  the  "  stalwart  arms  and  heroic  souls  "  than  this.  I 
am  going  myself  to  say  a  great  deal  more  for  them,  though 
I  am  not  a  Liberal — quite  the  Polar  contrary  of  that. 

You,  perhaps,  have  been  provoked,  in  the  course  of  these 
letters,  bv  not  bein<2:  able  to  make  out  what  I  was.  It  is  time 
you  should  know,  and  I  will  tell  you  plainly.  I  am,  and  my 
father  was  before  me,  a  violent  Tory  of  the  old  school  ;  (Wal- 
ter Scott's  school,  that  is  to  say,  and  Homer's,)  I  name  these 
two  out  of  the  numberless  great  Tory  writers,  because  they 
were  my  own  two  masters.  I  had  Walter  Scott's  novels  and 
the  Iliad,  (Pope's  translation,)  for  my  only  reading  when  I 
was  a  child,  on  week-days  :  on  Sundays  their  effect  was  tem- 
pered by  Robinson  Crusoe  and  the  Pilgrim's  Progress;  my 
mother  having  it  deeply  in  her  heart  to  make  an  evangelical 
% 


130 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


clergyman  of  me.  Fortunately,  I  had  an  aunt  more  evangeli- 
cal than  my  mother  ;  and  my  aunt  gave  me  cold  mutton  lot 
Sunday's  dinner,  which — as  I  much  preferred  it  hot — greatly 
diminished  the  influence  of  the  PUgrhn's  Progress,  and  the 
end  of  the  matter  was,  that  I  got  all  the  noble  imaginative 
teaching  of  Defoe  and  Bunyan,  and  yet — am  not  an  evangeli- 
cal clergyman. 

I  had,  however,  still  better  teaching  than  theirs,  and  that 
compulsorily,  and  every  day  of  the  week.  (Have  patience 
with  me  in  this  egotism,  it  is  necessary  for  many  reasons  that 
you  should  know  what  influences  have  brought  me  into  the 
temper  in  which  I  write  to  you.) 

Walter  Scott  and  Pope's  Homer  were  reading  of  my  own 
election,  but  my  mother  forced  me,  by  steady  daily  toil,  to 
learn  long  chapters  of  the  Bible  by  heart  ;  as  well  as  to  read 
it  every  syllable  through,  aloud,  hard  names  and  ail,  from 
Genesis  to  the  Apocalypse,  about  once  a  year  ;  and  to  that 
discipline — patient,  accurate,  and  resolute — I  owe,  not  only 
a  knowledge  of  the  book,  which  I  find  occasionally  service- 
able, but  much  of  my  general  power  of  taking  pains,  and  the 
best  part  of  my  taste  in  literature.  From  Walter  Scott's 
novels  I  might  easily,  as  I  grew  older,  have  fallen  to  other 
people's  novels  ;  and  Pope  might,  perhaps,  have  led  me  to 
take  Johnson's  English,  or  Gibbon's,  as  types  of  language  ; 
but,  once  knowing  the  32nd  of  Deuteronomy,  the  119th 
Psalm,  the  15th  of  1st  Corinthians,  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount, 
and  most  of  the  Apocalypse,  every  syllable  by  heart,  and 
having  always  a  way  of  thinking  with  myself  what  w^ords 
meant,  it  was  not  possible  forme,  even  in  the  foolishest  times 
of  youth,  to  write  entirely  superficial  or  formal  English,  and 
the  affectation  of  trying  to  write  like  Hooker  and  George 
Herbert  was  the  most  innocent  I  could  have  fallen  into. 

From  my  own  masters,  then,  Scott  and  Homer,  I  learned 
the  Toryism  which  my  best  after-thought  has  only  served  to 
confirm. 

That  is  to  say  a  most  sincere  love  of  kings,  and  dislike  of 
everybody  who  attempted  to  disobey  them.  Only,  both  by 
Homer  and  Scott,  I  was  taught  strange  ideas  about  kings, 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


131 


which  I  find,  for  the  present,  much  obsolete  ;  for,  I  perceived 
that  both  the  author  of  the  Iliad  and  the  author  of  Waverley 
made  their  kings,  or  king-loving  persons,  do  harder  work 
than  anybody  else.  Tydides  or  Idomeneus  always  killed 
twenty  Trojans  to  other  people's  one,  and  Redgauntlet 
speared  more  salmon  than  any  of  the  Solway  fishermen,  and 
— which  was  particularly  a  subject  of  admiration  to  me, — I 
observed  that  they  not  only  did  more,  but  in  proportion  to 
their  doings,  got  less,  than  other  people — nay,  that  the  best 
of  them  were  even  ready  to  govern  for  nothing,  and  let  their 
followers  divide  any  quantity  of  spoil  or  profit.  Of  late  it 
has  seemed  to  me  that  the  idea  of  a  king  has  become  exactly 
the  contrary  of  this,  and  that  it  has  been  supposed  the  duty 
of  superior  persons  generally  to  do  less,  and  to  get  more  than 
anybody  else  ;  so  that  it  was.  perhaps,  quite  as  well  that  in 
those  early  days  my  contemplation  of  existent  kingship  was 
a  very  distant  one,  and  my  childish  eyes  wholly  unacquainted 
with  the  splendour  of  courts. 

The  aunt  who  gave  me  cold  mutton  on  Sundays  was  my 
father's  sister  :  she  lived  at  Bridge-end,  in  the  town  of  Perth, 
and  had  a  garden  full  of  gooseberry-bushes,  sloping  down  to 
the  Tay,  with  a  door  opening  to  the  water,  which  ran  past  it 
clear-brown  over  the  pebbles  three  or  four  feet  deep  ;  an  in- 
finite thing  for  a  child  to  look  down  into. 

My  father  began  business  as  a  wine-merchant,  with  no 
capital,  and  a  considerable  amount  of  debts  bequeathed  him 
by  my  grandfather.  He  accepted  the  bequest,  and  paid  them 
all  before  he  began  to  lay  by  anything  for  himself,  for  which 
his  best  friends  called  him  a  fool,  and  I,  without  expressing 
any  opinion  as  to  his  wisdom,  which  I  knew  in  such  matters 
to  be  at  least  equal  to  mine,  have  written  on  the  granite  slab 
over  his  grave  that  he  was  "an  entirely  honest  merchant." 
As  days  went  on  he  was  able  to  take  a  liouse  in  Hunter 
Street,  Brunswick  Square,  No.  54  (the  windows  of  it,  fort- 
unately for  me,  commanded  a  view  of  a  marvellous  iron  post, 
out  of  which  the  water-carts  were  filled  through  beautiful 
little  trap-doors,  by  pipes  like  boa-constrictors  ;  and  1  was 
never  weary  of  contemplating  that  mystery,  and  the  delicious 


132 


FORS  CLAVIOERA, 


dripping  consequent)  ;  and  as  years  went  on,  and  I  came  to 
be  four  or  five  years  old,  he  could  command  a  post-chaise  and 
pair  for  two  months  in  the  summer,  by  help  of  which,  with 
my  mother  and  me,  lie  went  the  round  of  his  country  cus- 
tomers (who  liked  to  see  the  principal  of  the  house  his  own 
traveller)  ;  so  that,  at  a  jog-trot  pace,  and  through  the  pan- 
oramic opening'  of  the  four  windows  of  a  post-chaise,  made 
more  panoramic  still  to  me  because  my  seat  was  a  little 
bracket  in  fronts  (for  we  used  to  hire  the  chaise  regularly  for 
the  two  months  out  of  Long  Acre,  and  so  could  have  it 
bracketed  and  pocketed  as  we  liked),  I  saw  all  the  highroads, 
and  most  of  the  cross  ones,  of  England  and  Wales,  and  great 
part  of  lowland  Scotland,  as  far  as  Perth,  where  every  other 
year  we  spent  the  whole  summer  ;  and  I  used  to  read  the 
Abbot  at  Kinross  and  the  Monastery  in  Glen  Farg,  which  I 
confused  with  "  Glendearg,"  and  thought  that  the  White 
Lady  had  as  certainly  lived  by  the  streamlet  in  that  glen  of 
the  Ochils,  as  the  Queen  of  Scots  in  the  island  of  Loch 
Leven. 

It  happened  also,  which  was  the  real  cause  of  the  bias  of 
my  after  life,  that  my  father  had  a  rare  love  of  pictures.  I 
use  the  word  rare  "  advisedly,  having  never  met  with  an- 
other instance  of  so  innate  a  faculty  for  the  discernment  of 
true  art,  up  to  the  point  possible  without  actual  practice. 
Accordingly,  wherever  there  was  a  gallery  to  be  seen,  we 
stopped  at  the  nearest  town  for  the  night  ;  and  in  reverent- 
est  manner  I  thus  saw  nearly  all  the  noblemen's  houses  in 
England  ;  not  indeed  myself  at  that  age  caring  for  the  pict- 
ures, but  much  for  castles  and  ruins,  feeling  more  and  more, 
as  I  grew  older,  the  healthy  delight  of  uncovetous  admira- 
tion, and  perceiving,  as  soon  as  I  could  perceive  any  political 
truth  at  all,  that  it  was  probably  much  happier  to  live  in  a 
small  house,  and  have  Warwick  Castle  to  be  astonished  at, 
than  to  live  in  Warwick  Castle,  and  have  nothing  to  be 
astonished  at  ;  but  that,  at  all  events,  it  would  not  make 
Brunswick  Square  in  the  least  more  pleasantly  habitable, 
to  pull  Warwick  Castle  down.  And,  at  this  day,  though 
I  have  kind  invitations  enough  to  visit  America,  I  could 


F0R8  CLAVIGEEA. 


133 


not,  even  for  a  couple  of  months,  live  in  a  country  so  miser* 
able  as  to  possess  no  castles. 

Nevertheless,  having  formed  my  notion  of  kingliood  chiefly 
from  the  FitzJames  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  and  of  noblesse 
from  the  Douglas  there,  and  the  Douglas  in  Marmion,  a 
painful  wonder  soon  arose  in  my  child-mind,  why  the  castles 
should  now  be  always  empty.  Tantallon  was  there  ;  but  no 
Archibald  of  Angus  : — Stirling,  but  no  Knight  of  Snow- 
doun.  The  galleries  and  gardens  of  England  were  beautiful 
to  see — but  his  Lordship  and  her  Ladyship  were  always  in 
town,  said  the  housekeepers  and  gardeners.  Deep  yearning 
took  hold  of  me  for  a  kind  of  '^Restoration,"  which  I  began 
slowly  to  feel  that  Charles  the  Second  had  not  altogether 
effected,  though  I  always  wore  a  gilded  oak-apple  very  rev- 
erently in  my  button-hole  on  the  29th  of  May.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  Charles  the  Second's  Restoration  had  been,  as  com- 
pared with  the  Restoration  I  wanted,  much  as  that  gilded 
oak-apple  to  a  real  apple.  And  as  I  grew  older,  the  desire 
for  red  pippins  instead  of  brown  ones,  and  Living  Kings  in- 
stead of  dead  ones,  appeared  to  me  rational  as  well  as 
romantic  ;  and  gradually  it  has  become  the  main  purpose  of 
my  life  to  grow  pippins,  and  its  chief  hope,  to  see  Kings. 

Hope,  this  last,  for  others  much  more  than  for  myself.  I 
can  always  behave  as  if  I  had  a  King,  whether  I  have  one  or 
not  ;  but  it  is  otherwise  with  some  unfortunate  persons. 
Nothing  has  ever  impressed  me  so  much  with  the  power  of 
kingship,  and  the  need  of  it,  as  the  declamation  of  the 
French  Republicans  against  the  Emperor  before  his  fall. 

He  did  not,  indeed,  meet  my  old  Tory  notion  of  a  King  ; 
and  in  my  own  business  of  architecture  he  was  doing,  I  saw, 
nothing  but  mischief  ;  pulling  dow^n  lovely  buildings,  and 
putting  up  frightful  ones  carved  all  over  with  L.  N.'s  :  but 
the  intense  need  of  France  for  a  governor  of  some  kind  was 
made  chiefly  evident  to  me  by  the  way  tiie  Republicans  con- 
fessed themselves  paralyzed  by  him.  Nothing  could  be  done 
in  France,  it  seemed,  because  of  the  Emperor  ;  they  could 
not  drive  an  honest  trade  ;  they  could  not  keep  their  houses 
in  order  ;  they  could  not  study  the  sun  and  moon  ;  they 


134 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA, 


could  not  eat  a  comfortable  dejetlner  k  la  fourchette  ;  they 
could  not  sail  in  the  Gulf  of  Lyons,  nor  climb  on  the  Mont 
d'Or  ;  they  could  not,  in  hne,  (so  they  said),  so  much  as  walk 
straight,  nor  speak  plain,  because  of  the  Emperor.  On  this 
side  of  the  water,  moreover,  the  Republicans  were  all  in  the 
the  same  tale.  Their  opinions,  it  appeared,  were  not  printed 
to  their  minds  in  the  Paris  journals,  and  the  world  must 
come  to  an  end  therefore.  So  that,  in  fact,  here  was  all  the 
Republican  force  of  France  and  England,  confessing  itself 
paralyzed,  not  so  much  by  a  real  King,  as  by  the  shadow  of 
one.  All  the  harm  the  extant  and  visible  King  did  was,  to  en- 
courage the  dressmakers  and  stone-masons  in  Paris, — to  pay 
some  idle  people  very  large  salaries, — and  to  make  some,  per- 
haps agreeably  talkative,  people,  hold  their  tongues.  That, 
I  repeat,  was  all  the  harm  he  did,  or  could  do  ;  he  corrupted 
nothing  but  what  was  voluntarily  corruptible, — crushed  noth- 
ing but  what  was  essentially  not  solid  :  and  it  remained  open 
to  these  Republican  gentlemen  to  do  anything  they  chose 
that  was  useful  to  France,  or  honourable  to  themselves,  be* 
tween  earth  or  heaven,  except  only — print  violent  abuse  of 
this  shortish  man  with  a  long  nose,  who  stood,  as  they  would 
have  it,  between  them  and  heaven.  But  there  they  stood, 
spell-bound  ;  the  one  thing  suggesting  itself  to  their  frantic 
impotence  as  feasible,  being  to  get  this  one  shortish  man 
assassinated.  Their  children  would  not  grow,  their  corn 
would  not  ripen,  and  the  stars  w^ould  not  roll,  till  they  had 
got  this  one  short  man  blown  into  shorter  pieces. 

If  the  shadow  of  a  King  can  thus  hold  (how  many  ?)  mill- 
ions of  men,  by  their  own  confession,  helpless  for  terror  of 
it,  what  power  must  there  be  in  the  substance  of  one  ? 

But  this  mass  of  republicans — vociferous,  terrified,  and 
mischievous,  is  the  least  part,  as  it  is  the  vilest,  of  the  great 
European  populace  who  are  lost  for  want  of  true  kings.  It 
is  not  these  who  stand  idle,  gibbering  at  a  shadow,  whom 
w^e  have  to  mourn  over  ; — they  would  have  been  good  for 
little,  even  governed  ; — but  those  who  work  and  do  not  gib- 
ber,— the  quiet  peasants  in  the  fields  of  Europe,  sad-browed, 
honest-hearted,  full  of  natural  tenderness  and  courtesy,  who 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


135 


have  none  to  help  them,  and  none  to  teach  ;  who  have  no 
kings,  except  those  who  rob  them  while  they  live,  no  tutors, 
except  those  who  teach  them — how  to  die. 

I  had  an  impatient  remonstrance  sent  me  tiie  other  da\\ 
by  a  country  clergyman's  wife,  against  that  saying  in  my 
former  letter,  "  Dying  has  been  more  expensive  to  you  than 
living."  Did  I  know,  she  asked,  what  a  country  clergyman's 
life  was,  and  that  he  was  the  poor  man's  only  friend. 

Alas,  I  know  it,  and  too  well.  What  can  be  said  of  more 
deadly  and  ghastly  blame  against  the  clergy  of  England,  or 
any  other  country,  than  that  they  are  the  poor  man's  only 
friends  ? 

Have  they,  then,  so  betrayed  their  Master's  charge  and 
mind,  in  their  preaching  to  the  rich  ; — so  smoothed  their 
words,  and  so  sold  their  authority, — that,  after  twelve  hun- 
dred years  entrusting  of  the  gospel  to  them,  there  is  no  man 
in  England  (this  is  their  chief  plea  for  themselves  forsooth) 
who  will  have  mercy  on  the  poor,  but  they  ;  and  so  they 
must  leave  the  word  of  God,  and  serve  tables  ? 

I  would  not  myself  have  said  so  much  against  English 
clergymen,  whether  of  country  or  town.  Three — and  one 
dead  makes  four — of  my  dear  friends  (and  I  have  not  many 
dear  friends)  are  country  clergymen  ;  and  I  know  the  ways  of 
every  sort  of  them  ;  my  architectural  tastes  necessarily  bring- 
ing me  into  near  relations  with  the  sort  who  like  pointed 
arches  and  painted  glass  ;  and  my  old  religious  breeding 
having  given  me  an  unconquerable  habit  of  taking  up  with 
any  travelling  tinker  of  evangelical  principles  I  may  come 
across  ;  and  even  of  reading,  not  without  awe,  the  prophetic 
warnings  of  any  persons  belonging  to  that  peculiarly  well- 
informed  "  persuasion,"  such,  for  instance,  as  those  of  Mr. 
Zion  Ward  concerning  the  fall  of  Lucifer,  in  a  letter  to  a 
friend,  Mr.  William  Dick,  of  Glasgow,  price  twopence,"  in 
which  I  read  (as  aforesaid,  with  unfeigned  feelings  of  con- 
cern,) that  "  the  slain  of  the  Lord  shall  be  man-y  ;  that  is, 
man,  in  whom  death  is,  with  all  the  works  of  carnality,  shall 
be  burnt  up  !  " 

But  I  was  not  thinking  either  of  English  clergy,  or  of  any 


136 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


other  group  of  clergy,  specially,  when  I  wrote  that  sentence  \ 
but  of  the  entire  Clerkly  or  Learned  Company,  from  the  first 
priest  of  Egypt  to  the  last  ordained  Belgravian  curate,  and 
of  all  the  talk  they  have  talked,  and  all  the  quarrelling  they 
have  caused,  and  all  the  gold  they  have  had  given  them,  to 
this  day,  when  still,  'Hhey  are  the  poor  man's  only  friends" 
— and  by  no  means  all  ot  them  that,  heartily  !  tiiough  I  see 
the  Bishop  of  Manchester  has  of  late  been  superintending — 
I  beg  his  pardon.  Bishops  don't  superintend — looking  on,  or 
over,  I  should  have  said, — the  recreations  of  his  flock  at  the 
seaside  ;  and  "  the  thought  struck  him  "  that  railroads  were 
an  advantage  to  them  in  taking  them  for  their  holiday  out  of 
Manchester.  The  thought  may,  perhaps,  strike  him,  next, 
that  a  working  man  ought  to  be  able  to  find  "  holy  days  "  in 
his  home,  as  well  as  out  of  it.* 

A  year  or  two  ago,  a  man  who  had  at  the  time,  and  has 
still,  important  official  authority  over  much  of  the  business 
of  the  country,  was  speaking  anxiously  to  me  of  the  misery 
increasing  in  the  suburbs  and  back  streets  of  London,  and 
debating,  with  the  good  help  of  the  Oxford  Regius  Professor 
of  Medicine — who  was  second  in  council — what  sanitary  or 
moral  remedy  could  be  found.  The  debate  languished,  how- 
ever, because  of  the  strong  conviction  in  the  minds  of  all 
three  of  us  that  the  misery  was  inevitable  in  the  suburbs  of 
so  vast  a  city.  At  last,  either  the  minister  or  physician,  I 
forget  which,  expressed  the  conviction.  Well,"  I  answered, 
*nhen  you  must  not  have  large  cities."  "  That,"  answered 
the  minister,  "  is  an  unpractical  saying— you  know  we  must 
have  them,  under  existing  circumstances." 

I  made  no  reply,  feeling  that  it  was  vain  to  assure  any 
man  actively  concerned  in  modern  parliamentar}^  business, 
that  no  measures  were  "  practical "  except  those  which 
touched  the  source  of  the  evil  opposed.  All  systems  of 
government — all  efforts  of  benevolence,  are  vain  to  repress 
the  natural  consequences  of  radical  error.  But  any  man  of 
influence  who  had  the  sense  and  courag-e  to  refuse  himself 
and  his  family  one  London  season — to  stay  on  his  estate 
*  See  §  159,  (written  seven  years  ago),  in  Munera  Pulvem, 


FOliS  CLAVIGERA. 


137 


and  employ  the  shopkeepers  in  his  own  village,  instead  ot 
those  in  Bond  Street — would  be  "  practically  "  dealing 
with,  and  conquering,  this  evil,  so  far  as  in  him  lay  ;  and 
contributing  with  his  whole  might  to  the  thorough  and  final 
conquest  of  it. 

Not  but  that  I  know  how  to  meet  it  directly  also,  if  any 
London  landlords  choose  so  to  attack  it.  You  are  beginning 
to  hear  something  of  what  Miss  Hill  has  done  in  Marylebone, 
and  of  the  change  brought  about  by  her  energy  and  good 
sense  in  the  centre  of  one  of  the  worst  districts  of  London. 
It  is  difficult  enough,  I  admit,  to  find  a  woman  of  average 
sense  and  tenderness  enough  to  be  able  for  such  work  ;  but 
there  are,  indeed,  other  such  in  the  world,  only  three-fourths 
of  them  now  get  lost  in  pious  lecturing,  or  altar-cloth  sewing  ; 
and  the  wisest  remaining  fourth  stay  at  home  as  quiet  house- 
wives, not  seeins:  their  wav  to  wider  action  :  nevertheless, 
any  London  landlord  who  will  content  himself  with  moderate 
and  fixed  rent  (I  get  five  per  cent,  from  Miss  Hill,  which  is 
surely  enough  !),  assuring  his  tenants  of  secure  possession 
if  that  is  paid,  so  that  they  need  not  fear  having  their  rent 
raised,  if  they  improve  their  houses  ;  and  who  will  secure  also 
a  quiet  bit  of  ground  for  their  ciiildren  to  play  in,  instead  of 
the  street, — has  established  all  the  necessary  conditions  of 
success  ;  and  T  doubt  not  that  Miss  Hill  herself  could  find 
co-workers  able  to  extend  the  system  of  management  she  has 
originated,  and  shown  to  be  so  effective. 

But  the  best  that  can  be  done  in  this  way  will  be  useless 
ultimately,  unless  the  deep  source  of  the  misery  be  cut  off. 
While  Miss  Hill,  with  intense  effort  and  noble  power,  has  par- 
tially moralized  a  couple  of  acres  in  Marylebone,  at  least  fifty 
square  miles  of  lovely  country  have  been  Demoralized  out- 
side London,  by  the  increasing  itch  of  the  upper  classes  to  live 
where  they  can  get  some  gossip  in  their  idleness,  and  show 
each  other  their  dresses. 

That  life  of  tiieirs  must  come  to  an  end  soon,  both  here  and 
in  Paris,  but  to  what  end,  it  is,  I  trust,  in  their  own  power 
still  to  decide.  If  they  resolve  to  maintain  to  the  last  the 
present  system  of  spending  the  rent  taken  from  the  rural 


138 


F0R8  OLAVIGEJRA, 


districts  in  the  dissipation  of  the  capitals,  they  will  not  always 
find  they  can  secure  a  quiet  time,  as  the  other  day  in  Dublin, 
by  withdrawing  the  police,  nor  that  park-railings  are  the  only 
things  which  (police  being  duly  withdrawn)  will  go  down. 
Those  favourite  castle  battlements  of  mine,  their  internal 
police"  withdrawn,  will  go  down  also  ;  and  I  should  be 
sorry  to  see  it  ; — the  lords  and  ladies,  houseless  at  least  in 
shooting  season,  perhaps  sorrier,  though  they  did  find  the 
grey  turrets  dismal  in  winter  time.  If  they  would  yet  have 
them  for  autumn,  thev  must  have  them  for  winter.  Con- 
sider,  fair  lords  and  ladies,  by  the  time  you  marry,  and  choose 
your  dwelling-places,  there  are  for  you  but  forty  or  fifty 
winters  more,  in  whose  dark  days  you  may  see  the  snow 
fall  and  wreathe.  There  will  be  no  snow  in  Heaven,  I  pre- 
sume— still  less  elsewhere  (if  lords  and  ladies  ever  miss 
of  Heaven). 

And  that  some  may,  is  perhaps  conceivable,  for  there  are 
more  than  a  few  things  to  be  managed  on  an  English  estate, 
and  to  be  "faithful"  in  those  few  cannot  be  interpreted  as 
merely  abstracting  the  rent  of  them.  Nay,  even  the  Tele^ 
graph's  beau  ideal  of  the  landowner,  from  a  mechanical  point 
of  view,  may  come  short,  somewhat.  Cultivating  huge 
farms  for  himself  with  abundant  machinery  ; — "  Is  that 
Lord  Derby*s  ideal  also,  may  it  be  asked  ?  The  Scott-reading 
of  my  youth  haunts  me,  and  I  seem  still  listening  to  the 
(perhaps  a  little  too  long)  speeches  of  the  Black  Countess 
who  appears  terrifically  through  the  sliding  panel  in  Peveril 
of  the  Peak^  about  "  her  sainted  Derby."  Would  Saint 
Derby's  ideal,  or  his  Black  Countess's,  of  due  ordinance  for 
their  castle  and  estate  of  Man,  have  been  a  minimum  of  Man 
therein,  and  an  abundance  of  machinery  ?  In  fact,  only  the 
Trinacrian  Legs  of  Man,  transposed  into  many  spokes  of 
wheels — no  use  for  "  stalwart  arms"  any  more — and  less  than 
none  for  inconveniently    heroic  "  souls? 

"  Cultivating  huge  farms  for  himself  !  "  I  don't  even  see, 
after  the  sincerest  efforts  to  put  myself  into  a  mechanicaJ 
point  of  view,  how  it  is  to  be  done.  For  himself  ?  Is  he  to 
eat  the  cornricks  then  ?    Surely  such  a  beau  ideal  is  morQ 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


139 


Utopian  than  any  of  mine  ?  Indeed,  whether  it  be  praise-  or 
blame-worth}'-,  it  is  not  so  easy  to  cultivate  anything  wholly 
for  oneself,  nor  to  consume,  oneself,  the  products  of  cultiva- 
tion. I  have,  indeed,  before  now,  hinted  to  you  that  perhaps 
the  "  consumer  "  was  not  so  necessary  a  person  economically, 
as  has  been  supposed  ;  nevertheless,  it  is  not  in  his  own  mere 
eating  and  drinking,  or  even  his  picture-collecting,  that  a 
false  lord  injures  the  poor.  It  is  in  his  bidding  and  forbid- 
ding— or  worse  still,  in  ceasing  to  do  either.  I  have  given 
you  another  of  Giotto's  pictures,  this  montJi,  his  imagination 
of  Injustice,  which  he  had  seen  done  in  his  time,  as  we  in 
ours  ;  and  I  am  sorry  to  observe  that  his  Injustice  lives  in  a 
battlemented  castle,  and  in  a  mountain  country,  it  appears  ; 
the  gate  of  it  between  rocks,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  wood  ; 
but  in  Giotto's  time,  woods  were  too  many,  and  towns  too 
few.  Also,  Injustice  has  indeed  very  ugly  talons  to  his  fin- 
gers, like  Envy  ;  and  an  ugly  quadruple  hook  to  his  lance, 
and  other  ominous  resemblances  to  the  hooked  bird,"  the 
falcon,  which  both  knights  and  ladies  too  much  delighted  in. 
Nevertheless  Giotto's  main  idea  about  him  is,  clearly,  that  he 
*'sits  in  the  gate"  pacifically,  with  a  cloak  thrown  over  his 
chain-armour  (you  can  just  see  the  links  of  it  appear  at  his 
throat),  and  a  plain  citizen's  cap  for  a  helmet,  and  his  sword 
sheathed,  while  all  robbery  and  violence  have  way  in  the  wild 
places  round  him, — he  heedless. 

Which  is,  indeed,  the  depth  of  Injustice  :  not  the  harm 
you  do,  but  that  you  permit  to  be  done, — hooking  perhaps 
here  and  there  something  to  you  with  your  clawed  weapon 
meanwhile.  The  baronial  type  exists  still,  I  fear,  in  such 
manner,  here  and  there,  in  spite  of  improving  centuries. 

My  friends,  we  have  been  thinking,  perhaps,  to-day,  more 
than  we  ought  of  our  masters'  faults, — scarcely  enough  of  our 
own.  If  you  would  have  the  upper  classes  do  their  duty,  see 
that  you  also  do  yours.  See  that  you  can  obey  good  laws, 
and  good  lords,  or  law-wards,  if  you  once  get  them — that  you 
believe  in  goodness  enough  to  know  what  a  good  law  is.  A 
good  law  is  one  that  holds,  whether  you  recognize  and  pro- 
nounce it  or  not  \  a  bad  law  is  one  that  cannot  hold,  how- 


140 


FOES  GLAVIGERA, 


ever  much  you  ordain  and  pronounce  it.  That  is  the  ftiighty 
truth  wiiich  Carlyle  has  been  telling  you  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century — once  for  all  he  told  it  you,  and  the  land-owners, 
and  all  whom  it  concerns,  in  the  third  book  of  Past  and 
Present  (1845,  buy  Chapman  and  Hall's  second  edition,  if  you 
can,  it  is  g-ood  print,  and  read  it  till  you  know  it  by  heart), 
and  from  that  day  to  this,  whatever  there  is  in  England  of 
dullest  and  insolentest  may  be  always  known  by  the  natural 
instinct  it  has  to  howl  against  Carlyle.  Of  late,  matters 
coming  more  and  more  to  crisis,  the  liberty  men,  seeing  their 
way,  as  they  think,  more  and  more  broad  and  bright  before 
them,  and  still  this  too  legible  and  steady  old  sign-post  say- 
ing. That  it  is  not  the  way,  lovely  as  it  looks,  the  outcry  against 
it  becomes  deafening.  Now,  I  tell  you  once  for  all,  Carlyle 
is  the  only  living  writer  who  has  spoken  the  absolute  and 
perpetual  truth  about  yourselves  and  your  business  ;  and  ex- 
actly in  proportion  to  the  inherent  weakness  of  brain  in  your 
lying  guides,  will  be  their  animosity  against  Carlyle.  Your 
lying  guides,  observe,  I  say — not  meaning  that  they  lie  wil- 
fully— but  that  their  nature  is  to  do  nothing  else.  For  in 
the  modern  liberal  there  is  a  new  and  wonderful  form  of  mis- 
guidance. Of  old,  it  was  bad  enough  that  the  blind  should 
lead  the  blind  ;  still,  with  dog  and  stick,  or  even  timid  walk- 
ing with  recognized  need  of  dog  and  stick,  if  not  to  be  had, 
such  leadership  might  come  to  good  end  enough  ;  but  now  a 
worse  disorder  has  come  upon  you,  that  the  squinting  should 
lead  the  squinting.  Now  the  nature  of  bat,  or  mole,  or  owl, 
may  be  undesirable,  at  least  in  the  day-time,  but  worse  may 
be  imagined.  The  modern  liberal  politico-economist  of  the 
Stuart  Mill  school  is  essentially  of  the  type  of  a  flat-fish — 
one  eyeless  side  of  him  always  in  the  mud,  and  one  eye,  on 
the  side  that  has  eyes,  down  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth, — not  a 
desirable  guide  for  man  or  beast.  There  was  an  article — I  be- 
lieve it  got  in  by  mistake,  but  the  Editor,  of  course,  won't  say 
so — in  the  Contemporary  Meview^  two  months  back,  on  Mr. 
Morley's  Essays,  by  a  Mr.  Buchanan  ;  with  an  incidental  page 
on  Carlyle  in  it,  unmatchable  (to  the  length  of  my  poor  knowl- 
edge) for  obliquitous  platitude,  in  the  mud-walks  of  literature. 


F^ORS  CLAVIGEEA. 


141 


Read  your  Carlyle,  then,  with  all  your  heart,  and  with  tho 
best  of  brain  you  can  give  ;  and  you  will  learn  from  him  first, 
the  eternity  of  good  law,  and  the  need  of  obedience  to  it  : 
then,  concerning  your  own  immediate  business,  you  will  leari^ 
farther  this,  that  the  beginning  of  all  good  law,  and  nearly 
the  end  of  it,  is  in  these  two  ordinances, — That  every  man 
shall  do  good  work  for  his  bread  ;  and  secondly.  That  every 
man  shall  have  good  bread  for  his  work.  But  the  first  of 
these  is  the  only  one  you  have  to  think  of.  If  you  are  re- 
solved that  the  work  shall  be  good,  the  bread  will  be  sure  ; 
if  not, — believe  me,  tliere  is  neither  steam  plough  nor  steam 
mill,  go  they  never  so  glibly,  that  will  win  it  from  the  earth 
long,  either  for  you,  or  the  Ideal  Landed  Proprietor. 

Faithfully  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


LETTER  XL 

Denmark  Hill, 

My  Friends,  Ibth  October,  1871. 

A  DAY  seldom  passes,  now  that  people  begin  to  notice 
these  letters  a  little,  without  my  receiving  a  remonstrance  on 
the  absurditv  of  WTitinof  "  so  much  above  the  level "  of  those 
whom  I  address. 

I  have  said,  however,  that  eventually  you  shall  under- 
stand, if  you  care  to  understand,  every  word  in  these  pages. 
Through  all  this  year  I  have  only  been  putting  questions  ; 
some  of  them  such  as  have  puzzled  the  wisest,  and  which 
may,  for  a  long  time  yet,  prove  too  hard  for  you  and  me  : 
but,  next  year,  I  will  go  over  all  the  ground  again,  answer- 
ing the  questions,  where  I  know  of  any  answers  ;  or  making 
them  plain  for  your  examination,  when  I  know  of  none. 

But,  in  the  meantime,  be  it  admitted,  for  argument's  sake, 
that  this  way  of  writing,  which  is  easy  to  me,  and  which 
most  educated  persons  can  easily  understand,  is  very  much 
above  your  level.    I  want  to  know  why  it  is  assumed  so 


142 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


quietly  that  your  brains  must  always  be  at  a  lo^y  level  ?  Is 
it  essential  to  the  doing  of  the  work  by  which  England  exists, 
that  its  workmen  should  not  be  able  to  understand  scholar's 
English  (remember,  I  only  assume  mine  to  be  so  for  argu- 
ment's sake),  but  only  newspaper's  English  ?  I  chanced,  iu" 
deed,  to  take  up  a  number  of  Belc/ravia  ihe  other  day,  which 
contained  a  violent  attack  on  an  old  enemy  of  mine — JBlack^ 
woocVs  Magazine — and  I  enjoyed  the  attack  mightily,  until 
Belgravia  declared,  by  way  ol'  coup-de-grace  to  JBlackwood, 
that  something  which  JBlackioood  had  spoken  of  as  settled 
in  one  \vay  had  been  irrevocably  settled  the  other  way, — 
"  settled,"  said  triumphant  JBelgravia^  "  in  seventy-two  news* 
papers." 

Seventy-two  newspapers,  then,  it  seems — or,  with  a  mar- 
gin, eighty-two, — perhaps,  to  be  perfectly  safe,  we  had  better 
say  ninety-two — are  enough  to  settle  anything  in  this  Eng- 
land of  ours,  for  the  present.  But,  irrevocably,  I  doubt.  If, 
perchance,  you  workmen  should  reach  the  level  of  under- 
standing scholar's  English  instead  of  newspaper's  English, 
thino's  miofht  a  little  unsettle  themselves  asrain  :  and,  in  the 
end,  might  even  get  into  positions  uncontemplated  by  the 
ninety-two  newspapers, — contemplated  only  by  the  laws  of 
Heaven,  and  settled  by  them,  some  time  since,  as  positions 
which,  if  things  ever  got  out  of,  they  would  need  to  get 
into  again. 

And,  for  my  own  part,  I  cannot  at  all  understand  why 
well-educated  people  should  still  so  habitually  speak  of  you 
as  beneath  their  level,  and  needing  to  be  written  down  to, 
with  condescending  simplicity,  as  fiat-foreheaded  creatures 
of  another  race,  unredeemable  by  any  Darwinism. 

I  was  waiting  last  Saturday  afternoon  on  the  platform  of 
the  railw^ay  station  at  Furness  Abbey  ;  (the  station  itself  is 
tastefully  placed  so  that  you  can  see  it,  and  nothing  else  but 
it,  through  the  east  window  of  the  Abbot's  Chapel,  over  the 
ruined  altar  ;)  and  a  party  of  the  workmen  employed  on 
another  line,  wanted  for  the  swiftly  progressive  neighbour- 
hood of  Dalton,  were  taking  Sabbatical  refreshment  at  the 
tavern  recently  established  at  the  south  side  of  the  said  Ai> 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


143 


bot's  Chapel.  Presently,  the  train  whistling  for  them,  they 
came  out  in  a  highly  refreshed  state,  and  made  for  it  as  fast 
as  they  could  by  the  tunnel  under  the  line,  taking  very  long 
steps  to  keep  their  balance  in  the  direction  of  motion,  and 
securing  themselves,  laterally,  by  hustling  the  wall  or  anj? 
chance  passengers.  They  were  dressed  universally  in  brown 
rags,  which,  perhaps,  they  felt  to  be  the  comfortablest  kind 
of  dress  ;  they  had,  most  of  them,  pipes,  which  I  really  be- 
lieve to  be  more  enjoyable  than  cigars  ;  they  got  themselves 
adjusted  in  their  carriages  by  tlie  aid  of  snatches  of  vocal 
music,  and  looked  at  us — (I  had  charge  of  a  lady  and  her 
two  young  daughters), — with  supreme  indifference,  as  in- 
deed at  creatures  of  another  race  ;  pitiable,  perhaps, — cer- 
tainly disagreeable  and  objectionable — but,  on  the  whole, 
despicable,  and  not  to  be  minded.  We,  on  our  part,  had  the 
insolence  to  pity  them  for  being  dressed  in  rags,  and  for  be- 
ing packed  so  close  in  the  third-class  carriages  :  the  two 
young  girls  bore  being  run  against  patiently  ;  and  when  a 
thin  boy  of  fourteen  or  fifteen,  the  most  drunk  of  the  com- 
pany, was  sent  back  staggering  to  the  tavern  for  a  forgotten 
pickaxe,  we  would,  any  of  us,  I  am  sure,  have  gone  and 
fetched  it  for  him,  if  he  had  asked  us.  For  we  were  all  in  a 
very  virtuous  and  charitable  temper  :  we  had  had  an  excel- 
lent dinner  at  the  new  inn,  and  had  earned  that  portion  of 
our  daily  bread  by  admiring  the  Abbey  all  the  morning.  So 
we  pitied  the  poor  workmen  doubly — first,  for  being  so  wicked 
as  to  get  drunk  at  four  in  the  afternoon  ;  and  secondly,  for 
being  employed  in  work  so  disgraceful  as  throwing  up  clods 
of  earth  into  an  embankment,  instead  of  spending  the  day, 
like  us,  in  admiring  the  Abbey  :  and  I,  who  am  always 
making  myself  a  nuisance  to  people  with  my  political  econ 
omy,  inquired  timidly  of  my  friend  whether  sh«  thought  it 
all  quite  right.  And  she  said,  certainly  not  ;  but  what  could 
be  done  ?  It  was  of  no  use  trying  to  make  such  men  admire 
the  Abbey,  or  to  keep  them  from  getting  drunk.  They 
wouldn't  do  the  one,  and  they  would  do  the  other — they 
were  quite  an  unmanageable  sort  of  people,  and  had  been  so 
for  generations. 


144 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA, 


Which,  indeed,  I  knew  to  be  partly  the  truth,  but  it  only 
made  the  thing  seem  to  nie  more  wrong  than  it  did  before, 
since  here  were  not  only  the  actual  two  or  three  dozen  of  un- 
manageable persons,  with  much  taste  for  beer,  a!id  none  for 
architecture  :  but  these  implied  the  existence  of  many  un- 
manageable persons  before  and  after  them, — nay,  a  long  an- 
cestral and  filial  unmanageableness.  They  were  a  Fallen 
Race,  every  way  incapable,  as  I  acutely  felt,  of  appreciating 
the  beauty  of  Modern  Painters,  or  fathoming  the  significance 
of  Fors  Clavigera, 

But  what  they  had  done  to  deserve  their  fall,  or  what  I  had 
done  to  deserve  the  privilege  of  being  the  author  of  those 
valuable  books,  remained  obscure  to  me  ;  and  indeed,  what- 
ever the  deservinors  mav  have  been  on  either  side,  in  this  and 
other  cases  of  the  kind,  it  is  always  a  marvel  to  me  that  the 
arrangement  and  its  consequences  are  accepted  so  patiently. 
For  observe  what,  in  brief  terms,  the  arrangement  is.  Virtu- 
ally, the  entire  business  of  the  world  turns  on  the  clear  neces- 
sity of  getting  on  table,  hot  or  cold,  if  possible,  meat — but, 
at  least,  veoretables, — at  some  hour  of  the  dav,  for  all  of  us  : 
for  you  labourers,  we  will  say  at  noon  ;  for  us  sesthetical  per- 
sons, we  will  say  at  eight  in  the  evening  ;  for  we  like  to  have 
done  our  eight  hours'  work  of  admiring  abbeys  before  we 
dine.  But,  at  some  time  of  day,  the  mutton  and  turnips,  or, 
since  mutton  itself  is  only  a  transformed  state  of  turnips,  we 
may  say,  as  sufficiently  typical  of  everything,  turnips  only, 
must  absolutely  be  got  for  us  both.  And  nearly  every  prob- 
lem of  State  policy  and  economy,  as  at  present  understood, 
and  practised,  consists  in  some  device  for  persuading  you 
labourers  to  go  and  dig  up  dinner  for  us  reflective  and  aes- 
thetical  persons,  who  like  to  sit  still,  and  think,  or  admire. 
So  that  when  we  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  matter,  we  find 
the  inhabitants  of  this  earth  broadly  divided  into  two  great 
masses  ; — the  peasant  paymasters — spade  in  hand,  original 
and  imperial  producers  of  turnips  ;  and,  waiting  on  them  all 
round,  a  crowd  of  polite  persons,  modestly  expectant  of  tur- 
nips, for  some — too  often  theoretical — service.  There  is, 
first,  the  clerical  person,  whom  the  peasant  pays  in  turnips 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


145 


for  giving  him  moral  advice  ;  then  the  legal  person,  whom 
the  peasant  pays  in  turnips  for  telling  him,  in  black  letters, 
that  his  house  is  his  own  ;  there  is,  thirdly,  the  courtly  per- 
son, whom  the  peasant  pays  in  turnips  for  presenting  a  celes- 
tial appearance  to  him  ;  there  is,  fourthly,  the  literary  person, 
whom  the  peasant  pays  in  turnips  for  talking  daintily  to  him  ; 
and  there  is,  lastly,  the  military  person,  whom  the  peasant 
pays  in  turnips  for  standing,  with  a  cocked  hat  on,  in  the 
middle  of  the  field,  and  exercising  a  moral  influence  upon  the 
neighbours.  Nor  is  the  peasant  to  be  pitied  if  these  arrange- 
ments are  all  faithfully  carried  out.  If  he  really  gets  moral 
advice  from  his  moral  adviser;  if  his  house  is,  indeed,  main- 
tained to  be  his  own,  by  his  legal  adviser  ;  if  courtly  persons, 
indeed,  present  a  celestial  appearance  to  him  ;  and  literary 
persons,  indeed,  talk  beautiful  words  :  if,  finally,  his  scare- 
crow do,  indeed,  stand  quiet,  as  with  a  stick  through  the  mid- 
dle of  it,  producing,  if  not  always  a  wholesome  terror,  at  least 
a  picturesque  effect,  and  colour-contrast  of  scarlet  with  green, 
— they  are  all  of  them  worth  their  daily  turnips.  But  if,  per- 
chance, it  happen  that  he  get  ^mmoral  advice  from  his  moral- 
ist, or  if  his  lawyer  advise  him  that  his  house  is  7iot  his  own  ; 
and  his  bard,  story-teller,  or  other  literary  charmer,  begin  to 
charm  him  unwisely,  not  with  beautiful  words,  but  with  ob- 
scene and  ugly  words — and  he  be  readier  with  his  response 
in  vegetable  produce  for  these  than  for  any  other  sort  ; — 
finally,  if  his  quiet  scarecrow  become  disquiet,  and  seem  likely 
to  bring  upon  him  a  whole  flight  of  scarecrows  out  of  his 
neighbours'  fields, — the  combined  fleets  of  Russia,  Prussia, 
&c.,  as  my  friend  and  your  trustee,  Mr.  Cowper-Temple,  has  it, 
(see  above.  Letter  II.,  p.  17,)  it  is  time  to  look  into  such 
arrangements  under  their  several  heads. 

Well  looked  after,  however,  all  these  arrangements  have 
their  advantages,  and  a  certain  basis  of  reason  and  propriety. 
But  there  are  two  other  arrangements  which  have  no  basis 
on  either,  and  which  are  very  widely  adopted,  nevertheless, 
among  mankind,  to  their  great  misery. 

I  must  expand  a  little  the  type  of  my  primitive  peasant 
before  defining  thebe.  You  observe,  1  have  not  named  among 
10 


146 


FGRS  CLAVIGERA. 


the  polite  persons  giving  theoretical  servnce  in  exchange  for 
vegetable  diet,  the  large,  and  lately  become  exceedingly  po* 
Jite,  class,  of  artists.  For  a  true  artist  is  only  a  beautiful 
development  of  tailor  or  carpenter.  As  the  peasant  provides 
the  dinner,  so  the  artist  provides  the  clothes  and  house  :  in 
the  tailoring  and  tapestry  producing  function,  the  best  of 
artists  ought  to  be  the  peasant's  wife  herself,  when  properly 
emulative  of  Queens  Penelope,  Bertha,  and  Maude  ;  and  in 
the  house  producing-and-painting  function,  though  conclud- 
ing itself  in  such  painted  chambers  as  those  of  the  Vatican, 
the  artist  is  still  typically  and  essentially  a  carpenter  or  ma- 
son ;  first  carving  wood  and  stone,  then  painting  the  game 
for  preservation  ; — if  ornamentally,  all  the  better.  And,  ac- 
cordino;lv,  vou  see  these  letters  of  mine  are  addressed  to  the 
"  workmen  and  labourers  "  of  England,  that  is  to  say,  to  the 
providers  of  houses  and  dinners,  for  themselves,  and  for  all 
men,  in  this  country,  as  in  all  others. 

Considering  these  two  sorts  of  Providers,  then,  as  one  great 
class,  surrounded  by  the  suppliant  persons  for  whom,  together 
with  themselves,  they  have  to  make  provision,  it  is  evident 
that  they  both  have  need  originally  of  two  things — land,  and 
tools.  Clay  to  be  subdued  ;  and  plough,  or  potter's  wheel, 
wherewith  to  subdue  it. 

Now,  as  aforesaid,  so  long  as  the  polite  surrounding  per- 
sonages are  content  to  offer  their  salutary  advice,  their  legal 
information,  &c.,  to  the  peasant,  for  what  these  articles  are 
verily  worth  in  vegetable  produce,  all  is  perfectly  fair  ;  but 
if  any  of  the  polite  persons  contrive  to  get  hold  of  the  peas- 
ant's land,  or  of  his  tools,  and  put  him  into  the  "  position  of 
William,"  and  make  him  pay  annual  interest,  first  for  the 
wood  that  he  planes,  and  then  for  the  plane  he  planes  it  with  ! 
— my  friends,  polite  or  otherwise,  these  two  arrangements 
cannot  be  considered  as  settled  yet,  even  by  the  ninety-two 
newspapers,  with  all  Belgravia  to  back  them. 

Not  by  the  newspapers,  nor  by  Belgravia,  nor  even  by  the 
Cambridge  Catechism,  or  the  Cambridge  Professor  of  Politi- 
cal Economy. 

Look  to  the  beginning  of  the  second  chapter  in  the  last 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


147 


edition  of  Professor  Fawcett's  Manual  of  Political  Economy^ 
(Macmillan,  1869,  p.  105).  The  chapter  purports  to  treat  of 
the  "  Classes  among  whom  wealth  is  distributed."  And  thus 
is  begins  :  — 

We  have  described  tlie  requisites  of  production  to  be 
three  :  land,  labour,  and  capital.  Since,  therefore,  land, 
labour,  and  capital  are  essential  to  the  production  of  wealth, 
it  is  natural  to  suppose  that  the  wealth  which  is  produced 
ought  to  be  possessed  by  those  who  own  the  land,  labour, 
and  capital  which  have  respectively  contributed  to  its  pro- 
duction. The  share  of  wealth  which  is  thus  allotted  to  the 
possessor  of  the  land  is  termed  rent  ;  the  portion  allotted  to 
the  labourer  is  termed  wages,  and  the  remuneration  of  the 
capitalist  is  termed  profit. 

You  observe  that  in  this  very  meritoriously  clear  sentence 
both  the  possessor  of  the  land  and  the  possessor  of  the  capi- 
tal are  assumed  to  be  absolutely  idle  persons.  If  they  con- 
tributed anv  labour  to  the  business,  and  so  confused  them- 
selves  with  the  labourer,  the  problem  of  triple  division  would 
become  complicated  directly  ; — in  point  of  fact,  they  do  oc- 
casionally employ  themselves  somewhat,  and  become  deserv- 
ing, therefore,  of  a  share,  not  of  rent  only,  nor  of  profit  only, 
but  of  wages  also.  And  every  now  and  then,  as  I  noted  in 
my  last  letter,  there  is  an  outburst  of  admiration  in  some  one 
of  the  ninety-two  newspapers,  at  the  amount  of  ''work" 
done  by  persons  of  the  superior-  classes  ;  respecting  which, 
however,  you  remember  that  I  also  advised  you  that  a  great 
deal  of  it  was  only  a  form  of  competitive  play.  In  the  main, 
therefore,  the  statement  of  the  Cambridge  Professor  may  be 
admitted  to  be  correct  as  to  the  existing  facts  ;  the  Holders 
of  land  and  capital  being  virtually  in  a  state  of  Dignified 
Repose,  as  the  Labourer  is  in  a  state  of — (at  least,  I  hear  it 
always  so  announced  in  the  ninety-two  newspapers) — Digni- 
fied Labour. 

But  Professor  Fawcett's  sentence,  though,  as  I  have  just 
said,  in  comparison  with  most  writings  on  the  subject,  meri- 
toriously clear,  yet  is  not  as  clear  as  it  might  be, — still  less 
as  scientific  as  it  might  be.    It  is,  indeed,  gracefully  orna* 


148 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


mental,  in  the  use,  in  its  last  clause,  of  the  three  words 
"share,"  "portion,"  and  "remuneration,"  for  the  same 
thing  ;  but  this  is  not  the  clearest  imaginable  language. 
The  sentence,  strictly  put,  should  run  thus  : — "  The  portion 
of  wealth  which  is  thus  allotted  to  the  possessor  of  the  land 
is  termed  rent ;  the  portion  allotted  to  the  labourer  is  termed 
wages  ;  and  the  portion  allotted  to  the  capitalist  is  termed 
profit." 

And  you  may  at  once  see  the  advantage  of  reducing  the 
sentence  to  these  more  simple  terms  ;  for  Professor  Fawcett's 
ornamental  language  has  this  danger  in  it,  that  "Remunera- 
tion," being  so  much  grander  a  word  than  "  Portion,"  in  the 
very  roll  of  it  seems  to  imply  rather  a  thousand  pounds  a  day 
than  three-and-sixpence.  And  until  there  be  scientific  reason 
shown  for  anticipating  the  portions  to  be  thus  disproportioned, 
we  have  no  right  to  suggest  their  being  so,  by  ornamental 
variety  of  language. 

Again,  Professor  Fawcett's  sentence  is,  I  said,  not  entirely 
scientific.  He  founds  the  entire  principle  of  allotment  on 
the  phrase  "it  is  natural  to  suppose."  But  I  never  heard  of 
any  other  science  founded  on  what  it  was  natural  to  suppose. 
Do  the  Cambridge  mathematicians,  then,  in  these  advanced 
days,  tell  their  pupils  that  it  is  natural  to  suppose  the  three 
angles  of  a  triangle  are  equal  to  two  right  ones?  Nay,  in 
the  present  case,  I  regret  to  say  it  has  sometimes  been  thought 
wholly  i/^znatural  to  suppose  any  such  thing  ;  and  so  exceed- 
ingly unnatural,  that  to  receive  either  a  "  remuneration,"  or 
a  "  portion,"  or  a  "  share,"  for  the  loan  of  anything,  without 
personally  working,  was  held  by  Dante  and  other  such  simple 
persons  in  the  middle  ages  to  be  one  of  the  worst  of  the  sins 
that  could  be  committed  against  nature  :  and  the  receivers 
of  such  interest  were  put  in  the  same  circle  of  Hell  with  the 
people  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah. 

And  it  is  greatly  to  be  apprehended  that  if  ever  our  work- 
men, under  the  influences  of  Mr.  Scott  and  Mr.  Street,  come 
indeed  to  admire  the  Abbot's  Chapel  at  Furness  more  than 
the  railroad  station,  they  may  become  possessed  of  a  taste 
for  Gothic  opinions  as  well  as  Gothic  arches,  and  think  it 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA, 


149 


natural  to  suppose"  that  a  workman's  tools  should  be  his 
own  property. 

Which  I,  myself,  having  been  always  given  to  Gothic 
opinions,  do  indeed  suppose,  very  strongly  ;  and  intend  to 
try  with  all  my  might  to  bring  about  that  arrangement  wher- 
ever I  have  any  influence  ; — the  arrangement  itself  being 
feasible  enough,  if  we  can  only  begin  by  not  leaving  our 
pickaxes  behind  us  after  taking  Sabbatical  refreshment. 

But  let  me  again,  and  yet  again  warn  you,  that  onl}^  by 
beginning  so, — -that  is  to  say,  by  doing  what  is  in  your  own 
power  to  achieve  of  plain  right, — can  you  ever  bring  about 
any  of  your  wishes  ;  or,  indeed,  can  you,  to  any  practical 
purpose,  begin  to  wish.  Only  by  quiet  and  decent  exalta- 
tion of  your  own  habits  can  you  qualify  yourselves  to  dis- 
cern what  is  just,  or  to  define  even  what  is  possible.  I  hear 
you  are,  at  last,  beginning  to  draw  up  your  wishes  in  a  defi- 
nite manner  ;  (I  challenged  you  to  do  so,  in  lime  and  Tlde^ 
four  years  ago,  in  vain),  and  you  mean  to  have  them  at  last 

represented  in  Parliament  :  "  but  I  hear  of  small  question 
yet  among  you,  whether  they  be  just  wishes,  and  can  be 
represented  to  the  power  of  everlasting  Justice,  as  things 
not  only  natural  to  be  supposed,  but  necessary  to  be  done. 
For  she  accepts  no  representation  of  things  in  beautiful  lan- 
guage, but  takes  her  own  view  of  them,  with  her  own  eyes. 

I  did,  indeed,  cut  out  a  slip  from  the  Birmingham  Morn^ 
i7ig  News,  last  September  (12tli),  containing  a  letter  written 
by  a  gentleman  signing  himself  Justice"  in  person,  and 
professing  himself  an  engineer,  who  talked  very  grandly 
about  the  "  individual  and  social  laws  of  our  nature  :  "  but 
he  had  arrived  at  the  inconvenient  conclusions  that  no  in- 
dividual has  a  natural  right  to  hold  property  in  land,"  and 
that  "all  land  sooner  or  later  must  become  public  property." 
I  call  this  an  inconvenient  conclusion,  because  I  reallv  think 
you  would  find  yourselves  greatly  inconvenienced  if  your 
wives  couldn't  go  into  the  garden  to  cut  a  cabbage,  without 
getting  leave  from  the  Lord  Mayor  and  Corporation  ;  and  if 
the  same  principle  is  to  be  carried  out  as  regards  tools,  T  beg 
to  state  to  Mr.  Justice-in-Person,  that  if  anybody  and  every- 


150 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


body  is  to  use  my  own  particular  palette  and  brushes,  I  re» 
sign  my  office  of  Professor  of  Fine  Art.  Perhaps,  when  we 
become  really  acquainted  with  the  true  Justice  in  Person, 
not  professing  herself  an  engineer,  she  may  suggest  to  us,  as 
a  Natural  Supposition  : — '^That  land  should  be  given  to  those 
who  can  use  it^  and  tools  to  those  who  can  use  them;'^''  and 
I  have  a  notion  you  will  find  this  a  very  tenable  supposition 
also. 

I  have  given  you,  this  month,  the  last  of  the  pictures  I 
want  you  to  see  from  Padua  ; — Giotto's  Image  of  Justice, 
which,  as  you  observe,  differs  somewhat  from  the  Image  of 
Justice  we  used  to  set  up  in  England,  above  insurance  offices, 
and  the  like.  Bandaged  close  about  the  eyes,  our  English 
Justice  was  wont  to  be,  with  a  pair  of  grocers'  scales  in  her 
hand,  wherewith,  doubtless,  she  was  accustomed  to  weigh 
out  accurately  their  shares  to  the  landlords,  and  portions  to 
the  labourers,  and  remunerations  to  the  capitalists.  But 
Giotto's  Justice  has  no  bandage  about  her  eyes,  (Albert 
Durer's  has  them  roimJopen,  and  flames  flashing  from  them), 
and  weighs,  not  with  scales,  but  with  her  own  hands  ;  and 
weighs,  not  merely  the  shares  or  remunerations  of  men,  but 
the  w^orth  of  them  ;  and  finding  them  worth  this  or  that, 
gives  them  what  they  deserve — death,  or  honour.  Those  are 
her  forms  of  Remuneration." 

Are  you  sure  that  you  are  ready  to.  accept  the  decrees  of 
this  true  goddess,  and  to  be  chastised  or  rewarded  by  her,  as 
is  your  due,  being  seen  through  and  through  to  your  hearts' 
core  ?  Or  will  you  still  abide  by  the  level  balance  of  the 
blind  Justice  of  old  time  ;  or  rather,  by  the  oblique  balance 
of  the  squinting  Justice  of  our  modern  geological  Mud- 
Period  ? — the  mud  at  present,  becoming  also  more  slippery 
under  the  feet — I  beg  pardon — the  belly,  of  squinting  Jus- 
tice, than  was  once  expected  ;  becoming,  indeed,  (as  it  is  an 
nounced,  even  by  Mr.  W.  P.  Price,  M.P.,  chairman  at  the 
last  half-yearly  meeting  of  the  Midland  Railway  Company,) 
quite     delicate  ground." 

The  said  chairman,  you  will  find,  by  referring  to  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette  of  August  17th,  1871,  having  received  a  letter 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


151 


from  Mr.  Bass  on  the  subject  of  the  length  of  time  that  the 
servants  of  the  company  were  engaged  in  labour,  and  their 
inadequate  remuneration,  made  the  following  remarks  : — 
"  He  (Mr.  Bass)  is  treading  on  very  delicate  ground.  The 
remuneration  of  labour,  the  value  of  which,  like  the  value  of 
gold  itself,  depends  altogether  on  the  one  great  universal 
law  of  supply  and  demand,  is  a  question  on  which  there  is 
very  little  room  for  sentiment.  He,  as  a  very  successful 
tradesman,  knows  very  well  how  much  the  success  of  com- 
mercial operations  depends  on  the  observance  of  that  law  ; 
and  we,  sitting  here  as  your  representatives,  cannot  altogether 
close  our  eyes  to  it." 

Now  it  is  quite  worth  your  while  to  hunt  out  that  number 
of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  in  any  of  your  free  libraries,  be- 
cause a  quaint  chance  in  the  placing  of  the  type  has  pro- 
duced a  lateral  comment  on  these  remarks  of  Mr.  W.  P. 
Price,  M.P. 

Take  your  carpenter's  rule,  apply  it  level  under  the  words, 
"  Great  Universal  Law  of  Supply  and  Demand,"  and  read 
the  line  it  marks  off  in  the  other  column  of  the  same  page.  It 
marks  off  this,  "  In  Khorassan  one-third  of  the  whole  popu- 
lation has  perished  from  starvation,  and  at  Ispahan  no  less 
than  27,000  souls." 

Of  course  you  will  think  it  no  business  of  yours  if  people 
are  starved  in  Persia.  But  the  Great  Universal  "  Law  of 
Supply  and  Demand  may  some  day  operate  in  the  same  man- 
ner over  here  ;  and  even  in  the  Mud-and-Flat-fish  period, 
John  Bull  may  not  like  to  have  his  belly  flattened  for  him  to 
that  extent. 

You  have  heard  it  said  occasionally  that  I  am  not  a  prac- 
tical person.  It  may  be  satisfactory  to  you  to  know^  on  the 
contrary,  that  this  whole  plan  of  mine  is  founded  on  the  very 
practical  notion  of  making  you  round  persons  instead  of  flat. 
Round  and  merry,  instead  of  flat  and  sulky.  And  my  beau- 
ideal  is  not  taken  from  a  mechanical  point  of  view,"  but'is 
one  already  realized.  I  saw  last  summer,  in  the  flesh,  as 
round  and  merry  a  person  as  I  ever  desire  to  see.  He  was 
tidily  dressed — not  in  brown  rags,  but  in  green  velveteen  ; 


152 


FOES  CLAVIGEJRA. 


he  wore  a  jaunty  hat,  with  a  feather  in  it,  a  little  on  one 
side  ;  he  was  not  drunk,  but  tlie  effervescence  of  his  shrewd 
good-humour  filled  the  room  all  about  him  ;  and  he  could 
sing  like  a  robin.  You  may  say  like  a  nightingale/'  if  you 
like,  but  I  think  robin's  singing  the  best,  myself  ;  only  I 
hardly  ever  hear  it  now,  for  the  young  ladies  of  England 
have  had  nearly  all  the  robins  shot,  to  wear  in  their  hats,  and 
the  bird-stuffers  are  exporting  the  few  remaining  to  America, 

This  merry  round  person  was  a  Tyrolese  peasant  ;  and  I 
hold  it  an  entirely  practical  proceeding,  since  I  find  my  ideal 
of  felicity  actually  produced  in  the  Tyrol,  to  set  about  the 
production  of  it,  here,  on  Tyrolese  principles  ;  which,  you 
will  find,  on  inquiry,  have  not  hitherto  implied  the  employ- 
ment of  steam,  nor  submission  to  the  great  Universal  Law  of 
Supply  and  Demand,  nor  even  Demand  for  the  local  Supply 
of  a  Liberal  "  government.  But  they  do  imply  labour  of 
all  hands  on  pure  earth  and  in  fresh  air.  They  do  imply 
obedience  to  government  which  endeavours  to  be  just,  and 
faith  in  a  religion  which  endeavours  to  be  moral.  And  they 
result  in  strength  of  limbs,  clearness  of  throats,  roundness  of 
waists,  and  pretty  jackets,  and  still  prettier  corsets,  to  fit  them. 

I  must  pass,  disjointedly,  to  matters  whicii,  in  a  written 
letter,  would  have  been  in  a  postcript  ;  but  I  do  not  care,  in 
a  printed  one,  to  leave  a  useless  gap  in  the  type.  First,  the 
reference  in  p.  135  of  last  number  to  the  works  of  Mr.  Zion 
Ward,  is  incorrect.  The  passage  I  quoted  is  not  in  the 
"Letter  to  a  Friend,"  price  twopence,  but  in  the  Origin  of 
Evil  Discovered,"  price  fourpence.  (John  Bolton,  Steel- 
house  Lane,  Birmingham.)  And,  by  the  way,  I  wish  that 
booksellers  would  save  themselves,  and  me,  some  (now 
steadily  enlarging)  trouble,  by  noting  that  the  price  of  these 
Letters  to  friends  of  mine,  as  supplied  by  me,  the  original 
inditer,  to  all  and  sundry,  through  my  only  shopman,  Mr. 
Allen,  is  sevenpence  per  epistle,  and  not  fivepence  halfpennj^; 
and  that  the  trade  profit  on  the  sain  of  them  is  intended  to 
be,  and  must  eventually  be,  as  I  intend,  a  quite  honestly  con- 
fessed profit,  charged  to  the  customer,  not  compressed  out  of 
the  author  ;  which  object  may  be  easily  achieved  by  the  re« 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA, 


153 


tail  bookseller,  if  he  will  resolvedly  charge  the  cyniinetrical 
sum  of  Tenpence  per  epistle  over  his  counter,  as  it  is  my  pur- 
pose he  should.  But  to  return  to  Mr.  Ward  ;  the  correction 
of  my  reference  was  sent  me  by  one  of  his  disciples,  in  a 
very  earnest  and  courteous  letter,  written  chiefly  to  complain 
that  my  quotation  totally  misrepresented  Mr.  Ward's  opin- 
ions. I  regret  that  it  should  have  done  so,  but  gave  the 
quotation  neither  to  represent  nor  misrepresent  Mr.  Ward's 
opinions  ;  but  to  show,  which  tlie  sentence,  though  brief, 
quite  sufficiently  shows,  that  he  had  no  right  to  have  any. 

I  have  before  noted  to  you,  indeed,  that,  in  a  broad  sense, 
nohody  has  a  right  to  have  opinions  ;  but  only  knowledges  : 
and,  in  a  practical  and  large  sense,  nobody  has  a  right 
even  to  make  experiments,  but  only  to  act  in  a  way  which 
they  certainly  know  will  be  productive  of  good.  And  this  I 
ask  you  to  observe  again,  because  I  begin  now  to  receive 
some  earnest  inquiries  respecting  the  jilan  I  have  in  hand,  the 
inquirers  very  naturally  assuming  it  to  bo  an  ''experiment,'' 
wliich  may  possibly  be  successful,  and  mucli  more  possibly 
may  fail.  But  it  is  not  an  experiment  at  all.  It  will  be 
merely  the  carrying  out  of  what  has  been  done  already  in 
some  places,  to  the  best  of  my  narrow  power,  in  other  places: 
and  so  far  as  it  can  be  carried,  it  must  be  productive  of 
some  kind  of  good. 

For  example  ;  I  have  round  me  here  at  Denmark  Hill 
seven  acres  of  leasehold  ground.  I  pay  50^.  a-ycar  ground  rent, 
and  250/.  a-year  in  wages  to  my  gardeners  ;  besides  expenses 
in  fuel  for  hot-houses,  and  the  like.  And  for  this  sum  of 
three  hundred  odd  pounds  a-year  I  have  some  pease  and 
strawberries  in  summer;  some  camellias  and  azaleas  in  winter; 
and  good  cream,  and  a  quiet  place  to  walk  in,  all  the  year 
round.  Of  the  strawberries,  cream,  and  pease,  I  eat  more 
than  is  good  for  me  ;  sometimes,  of  course,  obliging  my 
friends  with  a  superfluous  pottle  or  pint.  The  camellias  and 
azaleas  stand  in  the  anteroom  of  my  library;  and  everybody 
says,  when  they  come  in,  how  pretty:"  and  my  young  lady 
friends  have  leave  to  gather  what  they  like  to  put  in  theii 
hair,  when  they  are  going  to  balls*  Meantime,  outside  of  my 


154 


F0R8  GLAVIGERA, 


fenced  seven  acres — owing  to  the  operation  of  the  great  uni- 
versal law  of  supply  and  demand — numbers  of  people  are 
starving  ;  many  more,  dying  of  too  much  gin  ;  and  many  of 
their  children  dying'  of  too  little  milk  :  and,  as  I  told  you  in 
my  first  Letter,  for  my  own  part,  I  won't  stand  this  sort  of 
thing  any  longer. 

Now  it  is  evidently  open  to  me  to  say  to  my  gardeners, 
want  no  more  azaleas  or  camellias;  and  no  more  straw- 
berries and  pease  than  are  good  for  me.  Make  these  seven 
acres  everywhere  as  productive  of  good  corn,  vegetables,  or 
milk,  as  you  can  ;  I  will  have  no  steam  used  upon  them,  for 
nobody  on  my  ground  shall  be  blown  to  pieces  ;  nor  any  fuel 
wasted  in  making  plants  blossom  in  winter,  for  I  believ^e  we 
shall,  without  such  unseasonable  blossoms,  enjoy  the  spring 
twice  as  much  as  now;  but,  in  any  part  of  the  ground  that  is 
not  good  for  eatable  vegetables,  you  are  to  sow  such  wild 
flowers  as  it  seems  to  like,  and  you  are  to  keep  all  trim  and 
orderly.  The  produce  of  the  land,  after  I  have  had  my  limited 
and  salutary  portion  of  pease,  shall  be  your  own  ;  but  if  you 
sell  any  of  it,  part  of  the  price  you  get  for  it  shall  be  de- 
ducted from  your  wages. 

Now  observe,  there  would  be  no  experiment  whatever  in 
in  any  one  feature  of  this  proceeding.  My  gardeners  might 
be  stimulated  to  some  extra  exertion  by  it;  but  in  any  event, 
I  should  retain  exactly  the  same  command  over  them  that  I 
liad  before.  I  might  save  something  out  of  my  250t  of 
wages,  but  I  should  pay  no  more  than  I  do  now,  and  in  re- 
turn for  the  gift  of  the  produce,  I  should  certainly  be  able  to 
exact  compliance  from  my  people  with  any  such  capricious 
fancies  of  mine  as  that  they  should  wear  velveteen  jackets, 
or  send  their  children  to  learn  to  sing  ;  and,  indeed,  I  could 
grind  them,  generally,  under  the  iron  heel  of  Despotism, 
as  the  ninety-two  newspapers  would  declare,  to  an  extent 
unheard  of  before  in  this  free  country.  And,  assuredly, 
some  children  would  get  milk,  strawberries,  and  wild  flowers 
who  do  not  get  them  now;  and  my  young  lady  friends  would 
still,  I  am  firm  in  my  belief,  look  pretty  enough  at  their  balls 
even  without  the  camellias  or  azaleas. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


T  am  not  going  to  do  this  with  niy  seven  acres  here;  first, 
because  they  are  only  leasehold  ;  secondly,  because  they  are 
too  near  London  for  wild  flowers  to  grow  brightly  in.  But  1 
have  bought,  instead,  twice  as  many  freehold  acres,  where 
wild  flowers  are  growing  now,  and  shall  continue  to  grow  ; 
and  there  I  mean  to  live  :  and,  with  the  tenth  part  of  my 
available  fortune,  I  will  buy  other  bits  of  freehold  land,  and 
employ  gardeners  on  them  in  this  above-stated  manner.  I  may 
as  well  tell  you  at  once  that  my  tithe  will  be,  roughly,  about 
seven  thousand  pounds  altogether,  (a  little  less  rather  than 
more).  If  I  get  no  help,  I  can  show  what  I  mean,  even  with 
this  ;  but  if  any  one  cares  to  help  me  with  gifts  of  either 
money  or  land,  they  will  And  that  what  they  give  is  applied 
honestly,  and  does  a  perfectly  definite  service  :  they  might, 
for  aught  I  know,  do  more  good  with  it  in  other  ways  ;  but 
some  good  in  this  way — and  that  is  all  I  assert — they  will  do, 
certainly,  and  not  experimentally.  And  the  longer  they 
take  to  think  of  the  matter  the  better  I  shall  like  it,  for  my 
work  at  Oxford  is  more  than  enough  for  me  just  now,  and  I 
shall  not  practically  bestir  myself  in  this  land-scheme  for  a 
year  to  come,  at  least  ;  nor  then,  except  as  a  rest  from 
my  main  business  :  but  the  money  and  land  will  always 
be  safe  in  the  hands  of  your  trustees  for  you,  and  you  need 
not  doubt,  though  1  show  no  petulant  haste  about  the  matter, 
that  1  remain, 

Faithfully  yours, 

J.  RUSKIxV. 


LETTER  XIL 

Denmark  Hill, 

My  Friends,  'ZM  December,  1871. 

You  will  scarcely  care  to  read  anything  I  have  to  say  to 
you  this  evening — having  much  to  think  of,  wholly  pleasant, 
as  I  hope  ;  and  prospect  of  delightful  days  to  come,  next 
week.  At  least,  however,  you  will  be  glad  to  know  that  I 
have  really  made  you  the  Christmas  gift  I  promised — IfiOOl 


156 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


consols,  in  all,  clear  ;  a  fair  tithe  of  what  I  had  :  and  to  as 
much  perpetuity  as  the  law  will  allow  me.  It  will  not  allow 
the  dead  to  have  their  own  way,  long,  whatever  license  it 
grants  the  living  in  their  humours  ;  and  this  seems  to  me 
unkind  to  those  helpless  ones  ; — very  certainly  it  is  inex- 
pedient for  the  survivors.  For  the  wisest  men  are  wise  to 
the  full  in  death  ;  and  if  you  would  give  them,  instead  of 
stately  tombs,  only  so  much  honour  as  to  do  their  will,  when 
they  themselves  can  no  more  contend  for  it,  you  will  find  it 
a  good  memorial  of  them,  such  as  the  best  of  them  would 
desire,  and  full  of  blessings  to  all  men  for  all  time. 

English  law  needs  mending  in  many  respects  ;  in  none 
more  than  in  this.  As  it  stands,  I  can  only  vest  my  gift  in 
trustees,  desiring  them,  in  the  case  of  my  death,  immediately 
to  appoint  their  own  successors,  and  in  such  continued  suc- 
cession, to  apply  the  proceeds  of  the  St.  George's  Fund  to 
the  purchase  of  land  in  England  and  Scotland,  which  shall 
be  cultivated  to  the  utmost  attainable  fruitfulness  and 
beauty  by  the  labour  of  man  and  beasts  thereon,  such  men 
and  beasts  receiving  at  the  same  time  the  best  education  at- 
tainable by  the  trustees  for  labouring  creatures,  according  to 
the  terms  stated  in  this  book,  "  Fors  Clavigera." 

These  terms,  and  the  arrangement  of  the  whole  matter, 
will  become  clearer  to  you  as  you  read  on  with  me,  and  can- 
not be  clear  at  all,  till  you  do  ; — here  is  the  money,  at  any 
rate,  to  help  you,  one  day,  to  make  merry  v*^ith  :  only,  if 
you  care  to  give  me  any  thanks,  will  you  pause  now  for  a 
moment  from  your  merrymaking,  to  tell  me, — to  whom,  as 
Fortune  has  ordered  it,  no  merrymaking  is  possible  at  this 
time,  (nor,  indeed,  much  at  any  time  ;) — to  me,  therefore, 
standing  as  it  were  astonished  in  the  midst  of  this  gaiety  of 
yours,  will  you  tell — what  it  is  all  about  ? 

Your  little  children  would  answer,  doubtless,  fearlessly, 

Because  the  Child  Christ  was  born  to-day  ; "  but  you,  wiser 
than  your  children,  it  may  be, — at  least,  it  should  be, — are 
you  also  sure  that  He  was  ? 

And  if  He  was,  what  is  that  to  you  ? 

I  repeat,  are  you  indeed  mi^e  He  was  ?    I  mean,  with  reai 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


happening  of  the  strange  things  you  have  been  told,  that  the 
Heavens  opened  near  Him.  showing  their  hosts,  and  that  one 
of  their  stars  stood  still  over  His  head  ?  You  are  sure  of 
that,  you  say  ?  I  am  glad  ;  and  wish  it  were  so  with  me  ; 
but  I  have  been  so  puzzled  lately  by  many  matters  that 
once  seemed  clear  to  me,  that  I  seldom  now  feel  sure  of  any- 
thing. Still  seldomer,  however,  do  1  feel  sure  of  the  con- 
trary of  anything.  That  people  say  they  saw  it,  may  not 
prove  that  it  was  visible  ;  but  that  I  never  saw  it  cannot 
prove  that  it  was  invisible  :  and  this  is  a  story  which  I  more 
envy  the  people  who  believe,  on  the  weakest  grounds,  than 
who  deny,  on  the  strongest.  The  people  whom  I  envy  not 
at  all  are  those  who  imagine  they  believe  it,  and  do  not. 

For  one  of  two  things  this  story  of  the  Nativity  is  cer- 
tainly, and  without  any  manner  of  doubt.  It  relates  either 
a  fact  full  of  power,  or  a  dream  full  of  meaning.  It  is,  at  the 
least,  not  a  cunningly  devised  fable,  but  tlie  record  of  an 
impression  made,  by  some  strange  spiritual  cause,  on  the 
minds  of  the  human  race,  at  the  most  critical  period  of  their 
existence  ; — an  impression  which  has  produced,  in  past  ages, 
the  greatest  effect  on  mankind  ever  yet  achieved  by  an  in- 
tellectual conception  ;  and  which  is  yet  to  guide,  by  the  de- 
termination of  its  truth  or  falsehood,  the  absolute  destiny  of 
ages  to  come. 

Will  you  give  some  little  time,  therefore,  to  think  of  it 
with  me  to-day,  being,  as  you  tell  me,  sure  of  its  truth  ? 
What,  then,  let  me  ask  you,  is  its  truth  to  yoii?  The 
Child  for  whose  birth  you  are  rejoicing  was  born,  you 
are  told,  to  save  His  people  from  their  sins  ;  but  I  have 
never  noticed  that  you  were  particularly  conscious  of  any 
sins  to  be  saved  from.  If  I  were  to  tax  you  with  any  one  in 
particular — lying,  or  thieving,  or  the  like — my  belief  is  you 
would  say  directly  I  had  no  business  to  do  anything  of  the 
kind. 

Nay,  but,  you  may  perhaps  answer  me — "That  is  because  . 
v/e  have  been  saved  from  our  sins;  and  we  are  making 
merry,  because  we  are  so  perfectly  good." 

Well ;  there  would  be  some  reason  in  such  an  answer. 


158 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA, 


There  is  much  goodness  in  you  to  be  thankful  for  :  far  more 
than  you  know,  or  have  learned  to  trust.  Still,  I  don't  be- 
lieve you  will  tell  me  seriously  that  you  eat  your  pudding  and 
go  to  your  pantomimes  only  to  express  your  satisfaction  that 
you  are  so  very  good. 

What  is,  or  may  be,  this  Nativity,  to  you,  then,  I  repeat  ? 
Shall  we  consider,  a  little,  what,  at  all  events,  it  was  to  the 
people  of  its  time  ;  and  so  make  ourselves  more  clear  as  to 
what  it  might  be  to  us  ?    We  will  read  slowly. 

"  And  there  were,  in  that  country,  shepherds,  staying  out 
in  the  field,  keeping  watch  over  their  flocks  by  night." 

Watching  night  and  day,  that  means  ;  not  going  home. 
The  staying  out  in  the  field  is  the  translation  of  a  word  from 
which  a  Greek  nymph  has  her  name,  Agraulos,  "the  stayer 
out  in  fields,"  of  whom  I  shall  have  something  to  tell  you, 
soon. 

"  And  behold,  the  Messenger  of  the  Lord  stood  above 
them,  and  the  glory  of  the  Lord  lightened  round  them,  and 
they  feared  a  great  fear." 

"Messenger."  You  must  remember  that,  when  this  was 
written,  the  word  "  angel "  had  only  the  effect  of  our  word — 
"messenger" — on  men's  minds.  Our  translators  say  "angel" 
when  they  like,  and  "  messenger  "  when  they  like  ;  but  the 
Bible,  messenger  only,  or  angel  only,  as  you  please.  For 
instance,  "  Was  not  Rahab  the  harlot  justified  by  works, 
when  she  had  received  the  angels,  and  sent  them  forth 
another  way  ?  " 

Would  not  vou  fain  know  what  this  ano^el  looked  like  ? 
I  have  always  grievously  wanted,  from  childhood  upwards, 
to  know  that  ;  and  gleaned  diligently  every  word  v/ritten 
by  people  who  said  they  had  seen  angels  :  but  none  of  them 
ever  tell  me  what  their  eyes  are  like,  or  hair,  or  even  what 
dress  they  have  on.  We  dress  them,  in  pictures,  conjectur- 
ally,  in  long  robes,  falling  gracefully  ;  but  we  onW  continue 
to  think  that  kind  of  dress  angelic,  because  religious  young 
girls,  in  their  modesty,  and  wish  to  look  only  human,  give 
their  dresses  flounces.  When  I  was  a  child,  I  used  to  be 
satisfied  by  hearing  that  angels  had  always  two  wings,  and 


FOBS  CLA  VIGERA. 


159 


Bometimes  six  ;  but  now  nothing  dissatisfies  me  so  much  as 
hearing  that  ;  for  m}'  business  compels  me  continually  into 
close  drawing  of  wings  ;  and  now  they  never  give  me  the 
notion  of  anything  but  a  swift  or  a  gannet.  And,  worse 
still,  when  I  see  a  picture  of  an  angel,  I  know  positively 
where  he  got  his  wings  from — not  at  all  from  any  heavenly 
vision,  but  from  the  worshipped  hawk  and  ibis,  down  through 
Assyrian  flying  bulls,  and  Greek  f'ying  horses,  and  Byzantine 
flying  evangelists,  till  we  get  a  brass  eagle  (of  all  creatures 
in  the  world,  to  choose  !)  to  have  tiie  gospel  of  peace  read 
from  the  back  of  it. 

Therefore,  do  the  best  I  can,  no  idea  of  an  angel  is  possible 
to  me.  And  when  I  ask  my  religious  friends,  they  tell  me 
not  to  wish  to  be  wise  above  that  which  is  written.  Mv  re- 
ligious  friends,  let  me  write  a  few  words  of  this  letter,  not  to 
my  poor  puzzled  workmen,  but  to  you,  who  will  all  be  going 
serenely  to  church  to-morrow.  This  messenger,  formed  as 
we  know  not,  stood  above  the  shepherds,  and  the  glory  of 
the  Lord  lightened  round  them. 

You  would  have  liked  to  have  seen  it,  you  think  !  Brighter 
than  the  sun  ;  perhaps  twenty-one  coloured,  instead  of  seven- 
coloured,  and  as  bright  as  the  lime-light  :  doubtless  you 
would  have  liked  to  see  it,  at  midnight,  in  Jud{ra. 

You  tell  me  not  to  be  wise  above  that  which  is  written  ; 
why,  therefore,  should  you  be  desirous,  above  that  which  is 
given  ?  You  cannot  see  the  glory  of  God  as  bright  as  the 
lime-light  at  midnight  ;  but  you  may  see  it  as  l^right  as  the 
sun,  at  eight  in  the  morning  ;  if  you  choose.  You  might,  at 
least,  forty  Christmases  since  :  but  not  now. 

You  know  I  must  antedate  my  letters  for  special  da3^s.  I 
am  actually  writini2:  this  sentence  on  the  second  December, 
at  ten  in  the  morning,  with  the  feeblest  possible  gleam  of 
sun  on  my  paper  ;  and  for  the  last  three  weeks  the  days  ha-ve 
been  one  long  drift  of  ragged  gloom,  with  only  sometimes 
five  minutes'  gleam  of  the  glory  of  God,  between  the  gusts, 
which  no  one  regarded. 

I  am  taking  the  name  of  God  in  vain,  j^ou  think  ?  No, 
my  religious  friends,  not  L    For  completed  forty  years,  I 


160 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


have  been  striving  to  consider  the  blue  heavens,  the  work  of 
His  fingers,  and  the  moon  and  the  stars  which  He  hath  or- 
dained ;  but  you  have  left  me  nothing  now  to  consider  here 
at  Denmark  Hill,  but  these  black  heavens,  the  work  of  your 
fingers,  and  the  blotting  of  moon  and  stars  which  you  have 
ordained  ;  you, — taking  the  name  of  God  in  vain  every 
Sunday,  and  His  work  and  His  mercy  in  vain  all  the  week, 
through. 

You  have  nothing  to  do  with  it — you  are  very  sorry  for  it 
— and  Baron  Liebig  says  that  the  power  of  England  is  coal  ?  " 

You  have  everything  to  do  with  it.  Were  you  not  told 
to  come  out  and  be  separate  from  all  evil  ?  You  take 
whatever  advantage  you  can  of  the  evil  work  and  gain  of 
this  world,  and  yet  expect  the  people  you  share  with,  to  be 
damned,  out  of  your  way,  in  the  next.  If  you  would  begin 
by  23utting  them  out  of  your  way  here,  you  would  perhaps 
carry  some  of  them  with  you  there.  But  return  to  your 
night  vision,  and  explain  to  me,  if  not  what  the  angel  was 
like,  at  least  what  you  understand  him  to  have  said, — he, 
and  those  with  him.  With  his  own  lips  he  told  the  shep- 
herds there  was  born  a  Saviour  for  them  ;  but  more  was  to 
be  told  ;  And  suddenly  there  was  v/ith  him  a  multitude  of 
the  heavenly  host." 

People  generally  think  that  this  verse  means  only  that  af- 
ter one  angel  had  spoken,  there  came  more  to  sing,  in  the 
manner  of  a  chorus  ;  but  it  means  far  another  thing  than 
that.  If  you  look  back  to  Genesis  you  find  creation  summed 
thus  : — "  So  the  heavens  and  earth  were  finished,  and  all  the 
host  of  them."  Whatever  living  powers  of  any  order,  great 
or  small,  were  to  inhabit  either,  are  included  in  the  wonL 
The  host  of  earth  includes  the  ants  and  the  worms  of  it  ;  the 
host  of  heaven  includes, — we  know  not  what  ; — how  should 
we  ? — the  creatures  that  are  in  the  stars  which  we  cannot 
count,— in  the  space  which  we  cannot  imagine  ;  some  of  them 
60  little  and  so  low  that  they  can  become  flying  poursuivants 
to  this  grain  of  sand  we  live  on  ;  others  having  missions, 
doubtless,  to  larger  grains  of  sand,  and  wiser  creatures  on 
them. 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


161 


But  the  vision  of  their  multitude  means  at  least  this  ;  that 
all  the  powers  of  the  outer  world  which  have  any  concern 
with  ours  became  in  some  way  visible  now  :  having  interest 
— they,  in  the  praise, — as  all  the  hosts  of  earth  in  the  life, 
of  this  Child,  born  in  David's  town.  And  their  hymn  was 
of  peace  to  the  lowest  of  the  two  hosts — peace  on  earth  ; — 
and  praise  in  the  highest  of  the  two  hosts  ;  and,  better  than 
peace,  and  sweeter  than  praise,  Love,  among  men. 

The  men  in  question,  ambitious  of  praising  God  after  the 
manner  of  the  hosts  of  heaven,  have  written  something  which 
they  suppose  this  Song  of  Peace  to  have  been  like  ;  and  sing 
it  themselves,  in  state,  after  successful  battles.  But  you 
hear  it,  those  of  you  who  go  to  church  in  orthodox  quarters, 
every  Sunday  ;  and  will  understand  the  terms  of  it  better  by 
recollecting  that  the  Lordship,  which  you  begin  the  7fe  Deum 
by  ascribing  to  God,  is  this,  over  all  creatures,  or  over  the 
two  Hosts.  Li  the  Apocalypse  it  is  "Lord,  All  governing" 
— Pantocrator — which  we  weakly  translate  "  Almighty  ;  " 
but  the  Americans  still  understand  the  original  sense,  and 
apply  it  so  to  their  god,  the  dollar,  praying  that  the  will  may 
be  done  of  their  Father  which  is  in  Earth.  P^arther  on  in 
the  hymn,  the  word  Sabaoth  "  again  means  all  "  hosts  "  or 
creatures  ;  and  it  is  an  important  word  for  workmen  to  rec- 
ollect, because  the  saying  of  St.  James  is  coming  true,  and 
that  fast,  that  the  cries  of  the  reapers  whose  wages  have 
been  kept  back  by  fraud,  have  entered  into  the  ears  of  the 
Lord  of  Sabaoth  ;  that  is  to  say,  I^ord  of  all  creatures,  as 
much  of  the  men  at  St.  Catherine's  Docks  as  of  St.  Cather- 
ine herself,  though  they  live  only  under  Tower-Hill,  and  she 
lived  close  under  Sinai. 

You  see,  farther,  I  have  written  above,  not  "  good  will 
towards  men,"  but  "  love  among  men."  It  is  nearer  right 
so  ;  but  the  word  is  not  easy  to  translate  at  all.  What  it 
means  precisely,  you  may  conjecture  best  from  its  use  at 
Christ's  baptism — "  This  is  my  beloved  Son,  in  whom  I  am 
well-pleased,''^  For,  in  precisely  the  same  words,  the  angels 
say,  there  is  to  be  "  well-pleasing  in  men." 

Now,  my  religious  friends,  I  continually  hear  you  talk  of 
11 


162 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


acting  for  God's  glory,  and  giving  God  praise.  Might  yoxx 
not,  for  the  present,  think  less  of  praising,  and  more  of  pleas- 
ing him  ?  lie  can,  perhaps,  dispense  with  your  praise  ;  your 
opinions  of  His  character,  even  when  they  come  to  be  held 
by  a  large  body  of  the  religious  press,  are  not  of  material  im- 
portance to  Him.  He  has  the  hosts  of  heaven  to  praise  Hima 
who  see  more  of  His  ways,  it  is  likely,  than  you  ;  but  you 
hear  that  you  may  be  pleasing  to  Him  if  you  try  : — that  He 
expected,  then,  to  have  some  satisfaction  in  you  ;  and  might 
have  even  great  satisfaction — well-pleasing,  as  in  His  own 
Son,  if  you  tried.  The  sparrows  and  the  robins,  if  you  give 
them  leave  to  nest  as  they  choose  about  your  garden,  will 
have  their  own  opinions  about  your  garden  ;  some  of  them 
will  think  it  well  laid  out, — others  ill.  You  are  not  solicitous 
about  their  opinions  ;  but  you  like  them  to  love  each  other  ; 
to  build  their  nests  without  stealing  each  other's  sticks,  and 
to  trust  you  to  take  care  of  them. 

Perhaps,  in  like  manner,  if  in  this  garden  of  the  world,  you 
would  leave  off  telling  its  Master  your  opinions  of  him,  and, 
much  more,  your  quarrelling  about  your  opinions  of  him  ; 
but  would  simply  trust  him,  and  mind  your  own  business 
modestly,  he  might  have  more  satisfaction  in  you  than  he  has 
had  yet  these  eighteen  hundred  and  seventy-one  years,  or 
than  he  seems  likely  to  have  in  the  eighteen  hundred  and 
seventy-second.  For  first,  instead  of  behaving  like  sparrows 
and  robins,  you  want  to  behave  like  those  birds  you  read  the 
Gospel  from  the  backs  of, — eagles.  Now  the  Lord  of  the 
garden  made  the  claws  of  eagles  for  them,  and  your  fingers 
for  you  ;  and  if  you  would  do  the  work  of  fingers,  with  the 
fingers  he  made,  would,  without  doubt,  have  satisfaction  in 
you.  But,  instead  of  fingers,  you  want  to  have  claws — -not 
mere  short  claws,  at  the  finger-ends,  as  Giotto's  Injustice 
has  them  ;  but  long  clav/s  that  will  reach  leagues  away  ;  so 
vou  set  to  work  to  make  yourselves  manifold  claws — far- 
scratching  ; — and  this  smoke,  which  hides  the  sun  and  chokes 
the  sky — this  Egyptian  darkness  that  may  be  felt, — manu- 
factured by  you,  singular  modern  children  of  Israel,  that  you 
may  have  7io  light  in  your  dwellings,  is  none  the  fairer,  be- 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


163 


cause  cast  forth  by  the  furnaces  in  which  you  forge  youf 
weapons  of  war. 

A  very  singular  children  of  Israel  !  Your  father,  Abraham, 
indeed,  once  saw  the  smoke  of  a  country  go  up  as  the  smoke 
of  a  furnace  ;  but  not  with  envy  of  the  country. 

Your  English  power  is  coal  ?  Well ;  also  the  power  of 
the  Vale  of  Siddim  was  in  slime, — petroleum  of  the  best  ; 
yet  the  Kings  of  the  five  cities  fell  there  ;  and  the  end  was 
no  well-pleasing  of  God  among  men. 

Emmanuel  !  God  with  us  I — how  often,  you  tenderly- 
minded  Christians,  have  you  desired  to  see  this  great  sight, — 
this  Babe  lying  in  a  manger  ?  Yet,  you  have  so  contrived 
it,  once  more,  this  year,  for  many  a  farm  in  France,  that  if 
He  were  born  again,  in  that  neighbourhood,  there  would  be 
found  no  manger  for  Him  to  lie  in  ;  only  ashes  of  mangers. 
Our  clergy  and  lawyers  dispute,  indeed,  whether  He  may  not 
be  yet  among  us  ;  if  not  in  mangers,  in  the  straw  of  them, 
or  the  corn.  An  English  lawyer  spoke  twenty-six  hours  but 
the  other  day — the  other  four  days,  I  mean — before  the  Lords 
of  her  Majesty's  most  Honourable  Privy  Council,  to  prove 
that  an  English  clergyman  had  used  a  proper  quantity  of 
equivocation  in  his  statement  that  Christ  was  in  Bread.  Yet 
there  is  no  harm  in  anybody  thinking  that  He  is  in  Bread, — 
or  even  in  Flour  !  The  harm  is,  in  their  expectation  ot  His 
Presence  in  gunpowder. 

Present,  however,  you  believe  He  was,  that  night,  in  flesh, 
to  any  one  who  might  be  warned  to  go  and  see  Him.  The 
inn  was  quite  full  ;  but  we  do  not  hear  that  any  traveller 
chanced  to  look  into  the  cow-house  ;  and  most  likely,  even  if 
they  had,  none  of  them  would  have  been  much  interested  in 
the  workman's  young  wife,  lying  there.  They  probably 
would  have  thought  of  the  Madonna,  with  Mr.  John  Stuart 
Mill,  {P)nnciples  of  Political  Economy,  octavo,  Parker,  1848, 
Vol.  ii.  page  321),  that  there  was  scarcely  "any  means  open 
to  her  of  gaining  a  livelihood,  except  as  a  wife  and  mother  ;  " 
and  that  "women  who  prefer  that  occupation  might  justifi- 
ably adopt  it — but,  that  there  should  be  no  option,  no  other 
carriere  possible,  for  the  great  majority  of  women,  except  in 


164 


FOES  CLA  VIGERA. 


the  humbler  departments  of  life,  is  one  of  those  social  injus* 
tices  which  call  loudest  for  remedy." 

The  poor  girl  of  Nazareth  had  less  option  than  most  ;  and 
with  her  weak  be  it  unto  me  as  Thou  wilt,"  fell  so  far  be- 
low the  modern  type  of  independent  womanhood,  that  one 
cannot  wonder  at  any  degree  of  contempt  felt  for  her  by 
British  Protestants.  Some  few  people,  nevertheless,  were 
meant,  at  the  time,  to  think  otherwise  of  her.  And  now,  my 
working  friends,  I  would  ask  you  to  read  with  me,  carefully, 
for  however  often  you  may  have  read  this  before,  I  know 
there  are  points  in  the  story  which  you  have  not  thought  of. 

The  shepherds  were  told  that  their  Saviour  was  that  day 
born  to  them  "  in  David's  village."  We  are  apt  to  think 
that  this  was  told,  as  of  special  interest  to  them,  because 
David  was  a  King. 

Not  so.  It  was  told  them  because  David  was  in  youth  not 
a  King  ;  but  a  Shepherd  like  themselves.  "  To  you,  shep- 
herds, is  born  this  day  a  Saviour  in  the  shepherd's  town  ;" 
that  would  be  the  deep  sound  of  the  message  in  tlieir  ears. 
For  the  great  interest  to  them  in  the  story  of  David  himself 
must  have  been  always,  not  that  he  had  saved  the  monarchy, 
or  subdued  Syria,  or  written  Psalms,  but  that  he  had  kept 
sheep  in  those  very  fields  they  were  watching  in  ;  and  that 
his  grandmother*  Ruth  had  gone  gleaning,  hard  by. 

And  they  said  hastil}^  "  Let  us  go  and  see." 

Will  you  note  carefully  that  they  only  think  of  seeing^  not 
of  worshipping.  Even  when  they  do  see  the  Child,  it  is  not 
said  that  they  worshipped.  They  were  simple  people,  and 
had  not  much  faculty  of  worship  ;  even  though  the  heavens 
had  opened  for  them,  and  the  hosts  of  heaven  had  sung. 
They  had  been  at  first  only  frightened  ;  then  curious,  and 
communicative  to  the  by-standers  :  they  do  not  think  even 
of  making  any  offering,  which  would  have  been  a  natural 
thought  enough,  as  it  was  to  the  first  of  shepherds  :  but  they 
brought  no  firstlings  of  their  flock — (it  is  only  in  pictures, 
and  those  chiefly  painted  for  the  sake  of  the  picturesque, 
that  the  shepherds  are  seen  bringing  lambs,  and  baskets  of 
*  Great ; — father's  father's  mother. 


FORS  CLAVIOBRA. 


165 


eggs.)  It  is  not  said  here  that  they  brought  anything,  but 
they  looked,  and  talked,  and  went  away  praising  God,  as 
simple  people, — yet  taking  nothing  to  heart ;  only  the  mother 
did  that. 

They  went  away  : — "  returned,"  it  is  said, — to  their  busi- 
ness, and  never  seem  to  have  left  it  again.  Which  is  strange, 
if  you  think  of  it.  It  is  a  good  business,  truly,  and  one 
mucli  to  be  commended,  not  only  in  itself,  but  as  having 
great  chances  of  advancement" — as  in  the  case  of  Jethro 
the  Midianite's  Jew  shepherd  ;  and  the  herdsman  of  Tekoa  ; 
besides  that  keeper  of  the  few  sheep  in  the  wilderness,  when 
his  brethren  were  under  arms  afield.  But  why  are  they  not 
seeking  for  some  advancement  now,  after  opening  of  the 
heavens  to  them  ?  or,  at  least,  why  not  called  to  it  after- 
wards, being,  one  would  have  thought,  as  fit  for  ministry 
under  a  shepherd  king,  as  fishermen,  or  custom-takers  ? 

Can  it  be  that  the  work  is  itself  the  best  that  can  be  done 
by  simple  men  ;  that  the  shepherd  Lord  Clifford,  or  Michael  of 
the  Green-head  ghyll,  are  ministering  better  in  the  wilderness 
than  any  lords  or  commoners  are  likely  to  do  in  Parliament, 
or  other  apostleship  ;  so  that  even  tiie  professed  Fishers  of 
Men  are  wise  in  calling  themselves  Pastors  rather  than  Pis- 
cators?  Yet  it  seems  not  less  strange  that  one  never  hears 
of  any  of  these  shepherds  any  more.  The  boy  who  made  the 
pictures  in  this  book  for  you  could  only  fancy  the  Nativity, 
yet  left  his  sheep,  that  he  might  preach  of  it,  in  iiis  way,  all 
his  life.    But  they,  who  saw  it,  went  back  to  their  sheep. 

Some  days  later,  another  kind  of  persons  came.  On  that 
first  day,  the  simplest  people  of  his  own  land  ; — twelve  days 
after,  the  wisest  people  of  other  lands,  far  away  :  persons 
who  had  received,  what  you  are  all  so  exceedingly  desir- 
ous to  receive,  a  good  education  ;  the  result  of  which,  to 
you, — according  to  Mr.  John  Stuart  Mill,  in  the  page  of  the 
chapter  on  the  probable  future  of  the  labouring  classes,  op- 
posite to  that  from  which  I  have  just  quoted  his  opinions 
about  the  Madonna's  line  of  life — will  be  as  follows  ; — '^From 
this  increase  of  intelligence,  several  effects  may  be  confi- 
dently anticipated.    First :  that  they  will  become  even  less 


166 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


willing  than  at  present  to  be  led,  and  governed,  and  directed 
into  the  way  they  should  go,  by  the  mere  authority  and  pres- 
tige of  superiors.  If  they  have  not  now,  still  less  will  they 
have  hereafter,  any  deferential  awe,  or  religious  principle  of 
obedience,  holding  them  in  mental  subjection  to  a  class  above 
-  them." 

It  is  curious  that,  in  this  old  story  of  the  Nativity,  the 
greater  wisdom  of  these  educated  persons  appears  to  have  pro- 
duced upon  them  an  effect  exactly  contrary  to  that  which  you 
liear  Mr.  Stuart  Mill  would  have  "confidently  anticipated." 
The  uneducated  people  came  only  to  see,  but  these  highly 
trained  ones  to  worship  ;  and  they  have  allowed  themselves 
to  be  led,  and  governed,  and  directed  into  the  way  which 
they  should  go,  (and  that  a  long  one,)  by  the  mere  authority 
and  prestig'e  of  a  superior  person,  whom  they  clearly  recog- 
nize as  a  born  king,  though  not  of  their  people.  "  Tell  us, 
where  is  he  that  is  born  King  of  the  Jews,  for  we  have  come 
to  worship  him." 

You  may  perhaps,  however,  think  that  these  Magi  had  re- 
ceived a  different  kind  of  education  from  that  which  Mr.  Mill 
would  recommend,  or  even  the  book  which  I  observe  is  the 
favourite  of  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer — "  Cassell's 
Educator."  It  is  possible  ;  for  they  were  looked  on  in  their 
own  country  as  themselves  the  best  sort  of  Educators  which 
the  Cassell  of  their  day  could  provide,  even  for  Kings.  And 
as  you  are  so  much  interested  in  education,  you  will,  perhaps, 
have  patience  with  me  while  I  translate  for  you  a  wise  Greek's 
account  of  the  education  of  the  princes  of  Persia  ;  account 
given  three  hundred  years,  and  more,  before  these  Magi 
came  to  Bethlehem. 

When  the  boy  is  seven  years  old  he  has  to  go  and  learn 
all  about  horses,  and  is  tauor-ht  bv  the  masters  of  horseman- 
ship,  and  begins  to  go  against  wild  beasts  ;  and  when  he  is 
fourteen  years  old,  they  give  him  the  masters  whom  they 
call  the  Kingly  Child-Guiders  :  and  these  are  four,  chosen 
the  best  out  of  all  the  Persians  who  are  then  in  the  prime  of 
life — to  wit,  the  most  wise  man  they  can  find,  and  the  most 
just,  and  the  most  temperate,  and  the  most  brave  ;  of  whom 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


167 


the  first,  the  wisest,  teaches  the  prince  the  magic  of  Zoroas- 
ter ;  and  that  magic  is  the  service  of  the  Gods  ;  also,  he 
teaches  him  the  duties  that  belong  to  a  king.  Then  the 
second,  the  justest,  teaches  him  to  speak  truth  all  his  life 
througli.  Then  the  third,  the  most  temperate,  teaches  him 
not  to  be  conquered  by  even  so  much  as  a  single  one  of  the 
pleasures,  that  he  may  be  exercised  in  freedom,  and  verily  a 
king,  master  of  all  things  within  himself,  not  slave  to  them. 
And  the  fourth,  the  bravest,  teaches  him  to  be  dreadless  of 
all  things,  as  knowing  that  whenever  he  fears,  he  is  a  slave." 

Three  hundred  and  some  odd  years  before  that  carpenter, 
with  his  tired  wife,  asked  for  room  in  the  inn,  and  found 
none,  these  words  had  been  written,  my  enlightened  friends  ; 
and  much  longer  than  that,  these  things  had  been  done.  And 
the  three  hundred  and  odd  years  (more  than  from  Elizabeth's 
time  till  now)  })assed  by,  and  much  fine  philosophy  was  talked 
in  the  interval,  and  manv  fine  thin^rs  found  out  :  but  it  seems 
that  when  God  wanted  tutors  for  his  little  Prince, — at  least, 
persons  who  would  have  been  tutors  to  any  other  little  prince, 
but  could  only  worship  this  one, — lie  could  find  nothing  bet- 
ter than  those  quaint-minded  masters  of  the  old  Persian  school. 
And  since  then,  six  times  over,  three  hundred  years  have  gone 
by,  and  we  have  had  a  good  deal  of  theology  talked  in  them; 
— not  a  little  popular  preaching  administered  ;  sundry  Acad- 
emies of  studious  persons  assembled, — Paduan,  Parisian,  Ox- 
onian, and  the  like  ;  persons  of  erroneous  views  carefully 
collected  and  burnt  ;  Eton,  and  other  grammars,  diligently 
digested  ;  and  the  most  exquisite  and  indubitable  physical 
science  obtained, — able,  tiiere  is  now  no  doubt,  to  distinguish 
gases  of  every  sort,  and  explain  the  reasons  of  their  smell. 
And  here  we  are,  at  last,  finding  it  still  necessary  to  treat 
ourselves  by  Cassell's  Educator, — patent  filter  of  human  fac- 
ulty. Pass  yourselves  through  that,  my  intelligent  working 
friends,  and  see  how  clear  you  will  come  out  on  the  other 
side. 

Have  a  moment's  patience  yet  with  me,  first,  while  I  note 
for  you  one  or  two  of  the  ways  of  that  older  tutorship.  Four 
masters,  you  see,  there  were  for  the  Persian  Prince.  On© 


168 


FOIiS  CLAVIGERA. 


had  no  other  business  than  to  teach  him  to  speak  truth  ;  so 
difficult  a  matter  the  Persians  thought  it.  We  know  better, 
— we.  You  heard  how  perfectly  the  French  gazettes  did  it 
last  year,  without  any  tutor,  by  their  Holy  Republican  in- 
stincts. Then  the  second  tutor  had  to  teach  the  Prince  to 
be  free.  That  tutor  both  the  French  and  you  have  had  for 
some  time  back  ;  but  the  Persian  and  Parisian  dialects  are 
not  similar  in  their  use  of  the  word  "  freedom  ;  "  of  that 
hereafter.  Then  another  master  has  to  teach  the  Prince  to 
fear  nothing  ;  him,  I  admit,  you  want  little  teaching  from, 
for  your  modern  Republicans  fear  even  the  devil  little,  and 
God,  less  ;  but  may  I  observe  that  you  are  occasionally  still 
afraid  of  thieves,  though  as  I  said  sometime  since,  I  never 
can  make  out  what  you  have  got  to  be  stolen. 

For  instance,  much  as  we  suppose  ourselves  desirous  of  be- 
holding this  Bethlehem  Nativity,  or  getting  any  idea  of  it, 
I  know  an  English  gentleman  who  was  offered  the  other  day 
a  picture  of  it,  by  a  good  master, — Raphael, — for  five  and 
twenty  pounds  ;  and  said  it  was  too  dear  :  yet  had  paid, 
only  a  day  or  two  before,  five  hundred  pounds  for  a  pocket- 
pistol  that  shot  people  out  of  both  ends,  so  afraid  of  thieves 
was  he.* 

None  of  these  three  masters,  however,  the  masters  of  jus- 
tice, temperance,  or  fortitude,  were  sent  to  the  little  Prince 
at  Bethlehem.  Young  as  he  was,  he  had  already  been  in 
some  practice  of  these  ;  but  there  was  yet  the  fourth  cardi- 
nal virtue,  of  which,  as  far  as  we  can  understand,  he  had  to 
learn  a  new  manner  for  his  new  reign  :  and  the  masters  of 
that  were  sent  to  him — the  masters  of  Obedience.  For  he 
had  to  become  obedient  unto  death. 

And  the  most  wise — says  the  Greek — the  most  wise  master 
of  all,  teaches  the  boy  magic  ;  and  this  magic  is  the  service 
of  the  gods. 

My  skilled  working  friends,  I  have  heard  much  of  youi 

*  The  papers  had  it  that  several  gentlemen  concurred  in  this  piece  of 
business ;  but  they  put  the  Nativity  at  five  and  twenty  thousand,  and 
the  Agincourt,  or  whatever  the  explosive  protector  was  called,  at  fivo 
hundred  thousand. 


FORS  GLAVIGERA, 


169 


tnagic  lately.  Sleight  of  hand,  and  better  than  that,  (you 
say,)  sleight  of  machine.  Leger-de-main,  improved  into 
leger-de-inecanique.  From  the  West,  as  from  the  East^ 
now,  your  American,  and  Arabian  magicians  attend  you  ; 
vociferously  crying  their  new  lamps  for  the  old  stable  lan- 
tern of  scapegoat's  horn.  And  for  the  oil  of  the  trees  or 
Gethsemane,  vour  American  friends  have  struck  oil  more 
finely  inflammable.  Let  Aaron  look  to  it,  how  he  lets  any 
run  down  his  beard  ;  and  the  wise  virgins  trim  their  wicka 
cautiously,  and  Madelaine  la  Petroleuse,  with  her  improved 
spikenard,  take  good  heed  how  she  breaks  her  alabaster,  and 
completes  the  worship  of  her  Christ. 

Christmas,  the  mass  of  the  Lord's  anointed  ; — you  will  hear 
of  devices  enough  to  make  it  merry  to  you  this  year,  I  doubt 
\iot.  The  increase  in  tiie  quantity  of  disposable  malt  liquor 
and  tobacco  is  one  great  fact,  better  than  all  devices.  Mr. 
Lowe  has,  indeed,  says  the  Times  of  June  5th,  "done  the 
country  good  service,  by  placing  before  it,  in  a  compendious 
form,  the  statistics  of  its  own  prosperity.  .  .  .  The 
twenty-two  millions  of  people  of  1825  drank  barely  nine 
millions  of  barrels  of  beer  in  the  twelve  months  :  our  thirty* 
two  millions  now  livinix  drink  all  but  twenty-six  millio;is  of 
barrels.  Tlie  consumption  of  spirits  has  increased  also, 
though  in  nothing  like  the  same  proportion  ;  but  whereas 
sixteen  million  pounds  of  tobacco  sufficed  for  us  in  1825,  as 
many  as  forty-one  million  pounds  are  wanted  now.  By 
every  kind  of  measure,  tiierefore,  and  on  every  principle  of 
calculation,  the  growth  of  our  prosperity  is  established."  * 

Beer,  spirits,  and  tobacco,  are  thus  more  than  ever  at  your 
command  ;  and  magic  besides,  of  lantern,  and  harlequin's 
wand  ;  nay,  necromancy  if  you  will,  the  Witch  of  Endor  at 
number  so  and  so  round  the  corner,  and  raising  of  the  dead, 

*  This  last  clause  does  not.  you  are  however  to  observe,  refer  in  the' 
great  Temporal  Mind,  merely  to  the  merciful  Dispensation  of  beer  and 
tobacco,  but  to  the  general  state  of  things,  afterwards  thus  summed 
with  exultation :  ''We  doubt  if  there  is  a  household  in  the  kinj^dom 
which  would  now  be  contented  with  the  conditions  of  living  cheerfully 
accepted  in  185^5." 


170 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


if  you  roll  away  the  tables  from  off  them.  But  of  this  one 
sort  of  magic,  this  magic  of  Zoroaster,  which  is  the  service 
of  God,  you  are  not  likely  to  hear.  In  one  sense,  indeed, 
you  have  heard  enough  of  becoming  God's  servants  ;  to  wit, 
servants  dressed  in  His  court  livery,  to  stand  behind  His 
chariot,  with  gold-headed  sticks.  Plenty  of  jjeople  will  ad-= 
vise  you  to  apply  to  Him  for  that  sort  of  position  :  and 
many  will  urge  you  to  assist  Him  in  carrying  out  His  inten- 
tions, and  be  what  the  Americans  call  helps,  instead  of  ser- 
vants. 

Well  !  that  may  be,  some  day,  truly  enough  ;  but  before 
you  can  be  allowed  to  help  Him,  you  must  be  quite  sure  that 
you  can  see  him.  It  is  a  question  now,  whether  you  can  even 
see  any  creature  of  His — or  the  least  thing  that  He  has  made, 
— see  it, — so  as  to  ascribe  due  worth,  or  worship,  to  it, — how 
much  less  to  its  Maker  ? 

You  have  felt,  doubtless,  at  least  those  of  you  who  have 
been  brought  up  in  any  habit  of  reverence,  that  every  time 
when  in  this  letter  I  have  used  an  American  expression,  or 
aught  like  one,  there  came  upon  you  a  sense  of  sudden  w^rong 
— the  darting  through  you  of  acute  cold.  I  meant  you  to  feel 
that  :  for  it  is  the  essential  function  of  America  to  make  us 
all  feel  tiiat.  It  is  the  new  skill  they  have  found  there  ; — 
this  skill  of  degradation  ;  others  they  have,  which  other  na- 
tions had  before  them,  from  whom  they  have  learned  all  they 
know,  and  among  whom  they  must  travel,  still,  to  see  any 
human  work  worth  seeing.  But  this  is  their  speciality,  this 
their  one  gift  to  their  race, — to  show  men  how^  not  to  wor- 
ship,— how  never  to  be  ashamed  in  the  presence  of  any- 
thing. But  the  magic  of  Zoroaster  is  the  exact  reverse  of 
this,  to  find  out  the  worth  of  all  things,  and  do  them 
reverence. 

Therefore,  the  Magi  bring  treasures,  as  being  discerners  of 
treasures,  knowing  what  is  intrinsically  worthy,  and  worth- 
less ;  what  is  best  in  brightness,  best  in  sweetness,  best  in 
bitterness — gold,  and  frankincense,  and  myrrh.  Finders  of 
treasure  hid  in  fields,  and  goodliness  in  strange  pearls,  such 
as  produce  no  effect  whatever  on  the  public  mind,  bent 


FOltH  OLA  riGERA. 


171 


passionately  on  its  own  fashion  of  pearl-diving  at  Gen* 
nesaret. 

And  you  will  find  that  the  essence  of  the  mis- teaching,  of 
your  day,  concerning  wealth  of  any  kind,  is  in  this  denial  of 
intrinsic  value.  What  anything  is  wortli,  or  not  worth,  it 
cannot  tell  you  :  all  that  it  can  tell  is  the  exchange  value^ 
What  Judas,  in  the  present  state  of  Demand  and  Supply, 
can  get  for  the  article  he  has  to  sell,  in  a  given  market,  that 
is  tlie  value  of  his  article  : — Yet  you  do  not  find  that  Judas 
had  joy  of  his  bargain.  No  Christmas,  still  less  Easter, 
holidays,  coming  to  him  with  merrymaking.  Whereas,  the 
Zoroastrians,  who  "  take  stars  for  money,"  rejoice  with  ex- 
ceeding great  joy  at  seeing  something,  whicii — they  cannot 
put  in  their  pockets.  For,  "  the  vital  principle  of  their  re- 
ligion is  the  recognition  of  one  supreme  power  ;  the  God 
of  Light — in  every  sense  of  the  word — the  Spirit  who 
creates  the  world,  and  rules  it,  and  defends  it  against  the 
power  of  Evil."  * 

I  repeat  to  you,  now,  the  question  T  put  at  the  beginning 
of  my  letter.  What  is  this  Christmas  to  you?  What  Light 
is  there,  for  your  eyes,  also,  pausing  yet  over  the  place  where 
the  Child  lay  ? 

I  will  tell  you,  briefly,  what  Light  there  should  be  ; — 
what  lessons  and  promise  are  in  this  story,  at  the  least. 
There  may  be  infinitely  more  than  I  know  ;  but  there  is  cer- 
tainly, this. 

The  Child  is  born  to  bring  you  the  promise  of  new  life. 
Eternal  or  not,  is  no  matter ;  pure  and  redeemed,  at  least. 

He  is  born  twice  on  your  earth  ;  first,  from  the  womb,  to 
the  life  of  toil,  then,  from  the  grave,  to  that  of  rest. 

To  his  first  life,  he  is  born  in  a  cattle-shed,  the  supposed 
son  of  a  carpenter  ;  and  afterwards  brought  up  to  a  car- 
penter's craft. 

But  the  circumstances  of  his  second  life  are,  in  great  part, 
hidden  from  us  :  only  note  this  much  of  it.     The  three 
principal  appearances  to  his  disciples  are  accompanied  by 
giving  or  receiving  of  food.    He  is  known  at  Emmaus  in 
*  M\x  MiTLLEU  :  Genesis  and  tht  Zend-Avesta, 


172 


FORS  CLAVIGEBA. 


breaking  of  bread  ;  at  Jerusalem  he  himself  eats  fish  and 
honey  to  show  that  he  is  not  a  spirit  ;  and  his  charge  to 
Peter  is  "  when  they  had  dined,"  the  food  having  been  ob- 
tained under  his  direction. 

But  in  his  first  showing  himself  to  the  person  who  loved 
him  best,  and  to  whom  he  had  forgiven  most,  there  is  a  cir 
cumstance  more  sino-ular  and  si^riificant  still.  Observe — 
assuming  the  accepted  belief  to  be  true, — this  was  the  first 
time  when  the  Maker  of  men  showed  Himself  to  human  eyes, 
risen  from  the  dead,  to  assure  them  of  immortality.  You 
might  have  thought  He  would  liave  shown  Himself  in  some 
brightly  glorified  form, — in  some  sacred  and  before  unimagi- 
nable beauty. 

He  shows  himself  in  so  simple  aspect,  and  dress,  that  she, 
who,  of  all  people  on  the  earth,  should  have  known  him  best, 
glancing  quickly  back  through  her  tears,  does  not  know  him. 
Takes  him  for  "  the  gardener." 

Now,  unless  absolute  orders  had  been  given  to  us,  such  as 
would  have  rendered  error  impossible  (which  would  have 
altered  the  entire  temper  of  Christian  probation)  ;  could  we 
possibly  have  had  more  distinct  indication  of  the  purpose  of 
the  Master — born  first  by  witness  of  shepherds,  in  a  cattle- 
shed,  then  by  witness  of  the  person  for  whom  he  had  done 
most,  and  who  loved  him  best,  in  a  garden,  and  in  gar- 
dener's guise,  and  not  known  even  by  his  familiar  friends 
till  he  gave  them  bread, — could  it  be  told  us,  I  repeat, 
more  definitely  by  any  sign  or  indication  whatsoever,  that 
the  noblest  human  life  was  appointed  to  be  by  the  cattle- 
fold  and  in  the  garden  ;  and  to  be  known  as  noble  in  break- 
ino^  of  bread  ? 

Now,  but  a  few  words  more.  You  will  constantly  hear 
foolish  and  ignoble  persons  conceitedly  proclaiming  the 
text,  that  "  not  many  wise  and  not  many  noble  are  called." 

Nevertheless,  of  those  who  are  trul}''  wise,  and  truly  noble, 
all  are  called  that  exist.  And  to  sight  of  this  Nativity,  you 
find  that,  together  with  the  simple  persons,  near  at  hand, 
there  were  called  precisely  the  Wisest  men  that  could  be 
found  on  earth  at  that  moment. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


173 


And  these  men,  for  their  own  part,  came — I  beg  }ou  very 
earnestly  again  to  note  this — not  to  see,  nor  talk — but  to  da 
Reverence.  They  are  neither  curious  nor  talkative,  but  sub- 
missive. 

And,  so  far  as  they  came  to  teach,  they  came  as  teachers 
of  one  virtue  only  :  Obedience.  For  of  this  Child,  at  once 
Prince  and  Servant,  Shepherd  and  Lamb,  it  was  written  : 
See,  mine  elect,  in  whom  my  soul  delighteth.  He  shall 
not  strive,  nor  cry,  till  he  shall  bring  forth  Judgment  unto 
Victory." 

My  friends,  of  the  Black  country,  you  may  have  wondered 
at  my  telling  you  so  often, — I  tell  you,  nevertheless,  once 
more,  in  bidding  you  farewell  this  year, — that  one  main  pur- 
pose of  the  education  I  want  you  to  seek  is,  that  you  may 
see  the  sky,  with  the  stars  of  it  again  ;  and  be  enabled,  in 
their  material  light — "riveder  le  stelle." 

But,  much  more,  out  of  this  blackness  of  the  smoke  of  the 
Pit,  the  blindness  of  heart,  in  which  the  children  of  Dis- 
obedience  blaspheme  God  and  each  other,  heaven  grant  to 
you  the  vision  of  that  sacred  light,  at  pause  over  the  place 
where  the  young  child  was  laid  ;  and  ordain  that  more  and 
more  in  each  coming  Christmas  it  may  be  said  of  you,  "  When 
they  saw  the  Star,  they  rejoiced  with  exceeding  great  joy." 

Believe  me  your  faithful  servant, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


LETTER  XHL 

Ist  Januai^y^  1872. 

My  Friends, 

I  WOULD  wish  you  a  happy  New  Year,  if  I  thought  my 
wishes  likely  to  be  of  the  least  use.  Perhaps,  indeed,  if  your 
cap  of  liberty  were  what  you  always  take  it  for,  a  wishing 
*cap,  I  might  borrow  it  of  you,  for  once  ;  and  be  so  much 
cheered  by  the  chime  of  iis  bells,  as  to  wish  you  a  happy 
New  Year,  whether  you  deserved  one  or  not  :  which  would 
be  the  worst  thing  T  could  possibly  bring  to  pass  for  you. 


174 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


But  wishing  cap,  belled  or  silent,  you  can  lend  me  none  ;  and 
my  wishes  having  proved,  for  the  most  part,  vain  for  myself, 
except  in  making  me  w^retched  till  I  got  rid  of  them,  I  will 
not  present  you  with  anything  which  I  have  found  to  be  of 
so  little  worth.  But  if  you  trust  more  to  anyone  else's  than 
mine,  let  me  advise  your  requesting  them  to  wish  that  you 
may  deserve  a  happ}^  New  Year,  whether  you  get  one  or  not. 

To  some  extent,  indeed,  that  way,  you  are  sure  to  get  it  : 
and  it  will  much  help  you  towards  the  seeing  such  way  if  you 
would  make  it  a  practice  in  your  talk  always  to  say  you  "  de- 
serve "  things,  instead  of  that  you  "  have  a  right "  to  them. 
Say  that  you  "  deserve  "  a  vote, — "  deserve  "  so  much  a  day, 
instead  of  that  you  have  ^'a  right  to  "  a  vote,  &c.  The  ex- 
pression is  both  more  accurate  and  more  general  ;  for  if  it 
chanced,  which  heaven  forbid, — but  it  might  be, — that  you 
deserved  a  whipping,  you  would  never  think  of  expressing 
that  fact  by  saying  you  "  had  a  right  to  "  a  whipping  ;  and 
if  you  deserve  anything  better  than  that,  why  conceal  your 
deserving  under  the  neutral  term,  "  rights  ; "  as  if  you  never 
meant  to  claim  more  than  might  be  claimed  also  by  entirely 
nugatory  and  worthless  persons.  Besides,  such  accurate  use 
ot  language  will  lead  you  sometimes  into  reflection  on  the 
fact,  that  what  you  deserve,  it  is  not  only  well  for  you  to 
get,  but  certain  that  you  ultimately  will  get  ;  and  neither 
less  nor  more. 

Ever  since  Carlyle  wrote  that  sentence  about  rights  and 
mights,  in  his  "  French  Revolution,"  all  blockheads  of  a  be- 
nevolent class  have  been  declaiming  against  him,  as  a  wor- 
shipper of  force.  What  else,  in  the  name  of  the  three  Magi, 
is  to  be  worshipped  ?  Force  of  brains,  Force  of  heart.  Force 
of  hand  ; — will  you  dethrone  these,  and  worship  apoplexy  ? 
— despite  the  spirit  of  Heaven,  and  worship  phthisis  ?  Every 
condition  of  idolatry  is  summed  in  the  one  broad  wickedness 
of  refusing  to  worship  Force,  and  resolving  to  worship  No- 
Force  ; — denying  the  Almighty,  and  bowing  down  to  four-* 
and-twopence  with  a  stamo  on  it. 

But  Carlyle  never  meant  in  that  place  to  refer  you  to  such 
final  truth.    He  meant  but  to  tell  you  that  before  yo\x  dis. 


FOES  GLAVIGEIiA. 


175 


pute  about  what  you  should  get,  you  would  do  well  to  find 
out  first  what  is  to  be  gotten.  Which  briefly  is,  for  every- 
body, at  last,  their  deserts,  and  no  more. 

I  did  not  choose,  in  beginning  this  book  a  year  since,  to 
tell  you  what  I  meant  it  to  become.  This,  for  one  of  several 
things,  I  mean,  that  it  shall  put  before  you  so  much  of  the 
past  history  of  the  world,  in  an  intelligible  manner,  as  may 
enable  you  to  see  the  laws  of  Fortune  or  Destiny,  "  Clavigera," 
Nail  bearing  or,  in  the  full  idea,  nail-and-hammer  bearing  ; 
driving  the  iron  home  with  hammer-stroke,  so  that  nothing 
shall  be  moved  ;  and  fastening  each  of  us  at  last  to  the  Cross 
we  have  chosen  to  csirry.  Nor  do  I  doubt  being  able  to  show 
you  that  this  irresistible  power  is  also  just  ;  appointing  meas- 
ured return  for  every  act  and  thought,  such  as  men  deserve. 

And  that  being  so,  foolish  moral  writers  will  tell  you  that 
whenever  you  do  wrong  you  will  be  punished,  and  whenever 
you  do  right  rewarded  :  which  is  true,  but  only  half  the 
truth.  And  foolish  immoral  writers  will  tell  vou  that  if 
you  do  right,  you  will  get  no  good  ;  and  if  you  do  wrong 
dexterously,  no  harm.  Which,  in  their  sense  af  good  and 
harm,  is  true  also,  but,  even  in  that  sense,  only  half  the 
truth.  The  joined  and  four-square  truth  is,  that  every  right 
is  exactly  rewarded,  and  every  wrong  exactly  punished  ;  but 
that,  in  the  midst  of  this  subtle,  and,  to  our  impatience,  slow, 
retribution,  there  is  a  startlingly  separate  or  counter  ordi- 
nance of  good  and  evil, — one  to  this  man,  and  the  other  to 
that, — one  at  this  hour  of  our  lives,  and  the  other  at  that, — 
ordinance  which  is  entirely  beyond  our  control  ;  and  of  wliich 
the  providential  law,  hitherto,  defies  investigation. 

To  take  an  example  near  at  hand,  which  I  can  answer  for. 
Throughout  the  year  which  ended  this  morning,  1  have  been 
endeavouring,  more  than  hitherto  in  any  equal  period,  to  act 
for  others  more  than  for  myself  :  and  looking  back  on  the 
twelve  montlis,  am  satisfied  that  in  some  measure  T  have  done 
right.  So  far  as  I  am  sure  of  that,  1  see  also,  even  already, 
definitely  proportioned  fruit,  and  clear  results  following  from 
that  course  ; — consequences  simply  in  accordance  with  the 
unfailing  and  undeceivable  Law  of  Nature. 


176 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


That  it  has  chanced  to  me,  in  the  course  of  the  same  year 
to  have  to  sustain  the  most  acute  mental  pain  yet  inflicted  on 
my  life  ; — to  pass  through  the  most  nearly  mortal  illness  ; — > 
and  to  write  your  Christmas  letter  beside  my  mother's  dead 
body,  are  appointments  merely  of  the  hidden  Fors,  or  Des- 
tiny, whose  power  I  mean  to  trace  for  you  in  past  history, 
being  hitherto,  in  the  reasons  of  it,  indecipherable,  yet  pal- 
pably following  certain  laws  of  storm,  which  are  in  the  last 
degree  wonderful  and  majestic. 

Setting  this  Destiny,  over  which  you  have  no  control  what- 
soever, for  the  time,  out  of  your  thoughts,  tliero  remains  the 
symmetrical  destiny,  over  which  you  have  control  absolute— 
namely,  that  you  are  ultimately  to  get — exactly  what  you 
are  worth. 

And  your  control  over  this  destiny  consists,  therefore, 
simply  in  being  worth  more  or  less,  and  not  at  all  in  voting 
that  you  are  worth  more  or  less.  Nay,  though  you  should 
leave  voting,  and  come  to  fighting,  which  I  see  is  next  pro- 
posed, you  will  not,  even  that  way,  arrive  any  nearer  to  your 
object — admitting  that  you  have  an  object,  which  is  much  to 
be  doubted.  I  hear,  indeed,  that  you  mean  to  fight  for  a 
Republic,  in  consequence  of  having  been  informed  by  Mr. 
John  Stuart  Mill,  and  others,  that  a  number  of  utilities  are 
embodied  in  that  object.  We  will  inquire  into  the  nature  of 
this  object  presently,  going  over  the  ground  of  my  last  Jan- 
uary's letter  again  ;  but  first,  may  I  suggest  to  you  that  it 
would  be  more  prudent,  instead  of  fighting  to  make  us  all 
republicans  against  our  will, — to  make  the  most  of  the  re- 
publicans you  have  got.  There  are  many,  you  tell  me,  in 
England, — more  in  France,  a  sprinkling  in  Italy, — and  no- 
bod}^  else  in  the  United  States.  What  should  you  fight  for, 
being  already  in  such  prevalence  ?  Fighting  is  unpleasant, 
now-a-days,  however  glorious,  what  with  mitrailleuses,  tor* 
pedoes,  and  mismanaged  commissariat.  And  what,  I  repeat, 
should  you  fight  for?  All  the  fighting  in  the  w^orld  cannot 
make  us  Tories  change  our  old  opinions,  any  more  than  it 
will  make  you  change  your  new  ones.  It  cannot  make  us 
leave  off  calling  each  other  names  if  we  like — Lord  this,  and 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


177 


the  Duke  of  that,  whether  3^ou  republicans  like  it  or  not. 
After  a  great  deal  of  trouble  on  both  sides,  it  might,  indeed, 
end  in  abolishing  our  property  ;  but  without  any  trouble  on 
either  side,  why  cannot  your  friends  begin  by  abolishing  their 
own  ?  Or  even  abolishing  a  tithe  of  their  own.  Ask  them 
to  do  merely  as  much  as  I,  an  objectionable  old  Tory,  have 
done  for  ^^ou.  Make  them  send  you  in  an  account  of  their  little 
properties,  and  strike  you  off  a  tenth,  for  what  purposes  you 
see  good  ;  and  for  the  remaining  nine-tenths,  you  will  find 
clue  to  what  should  be  done  in  the  Republican  of  last  No- 
vember, wlierein  Mr.  W.  Riddle,  C.E.,  "  fearlessly  states  "  that 
all  property  must  be  taken  under  control  ;  which  is,  indeed, 
precisely  what  Mr.  Carlyle  has  been  telling  you  these  last 
thirty  years,  only  he  seems  to  have  been  under  an  impression, 
which  I  certainly  shared  with  him,  tliat  you  republicans  ob- 
jected to  control  of  any  description.  Whereas  if  you  let 
anybody  put  your  property  under  control,  you  will  find  prac- 
tically he  has  a  good  deal  of  hold  upon  you  also. 

You  are  not  all  agreed  upon  that  point  perhaps  ?  But 
you  are  all  agreed  that  you  want  a  Republic.  Though  Eng- 
land is  a  rich  country,  having  worked  herself  literally  black 
in  the  face  to  become  so,  she  finds  she  cannot  afford  to  keep 
a  Queen  any  longer  ; — is  doubtful  even  whether  she  would 
not  get  on  better  Queenless  ;  and  I  see  with  consternation 
that  even  one  of  my  own  personal  friends,  Mr.  Auberoii  Her- 
bert, rising  the  other  day  at  Nottingham,  in  the  midst  of 
great  cheering,  declares  that,  though  he  is  not  in  favour  of 
anv  immediate  chano-e,  vet,  if  we  asked  ourselves  what  form 
of  government  was  the  most  reasonable,  the  most  in  harmony 
with  ideas  of  self-government  and  self-responsibility,  and 
what  Government  was  most  likely  to  save  us  from  unneces- 
sary divisions  of  party,  and  to  weld  us  into  one  compact  mass, 
he  had  no  hesitation  in  savinsr  the  wei<xht  of  ar<i:ument  was 
in  favour  of  a  Republic."  * 

Well,  suppose  we  were  all  welded  into  a  compact  mass. 
Might  it  not  still  be  questionable  what  sort  of  a  mass  we 
were  ?    After  any  quantity  of  puddling,  iron  is  still  nothing 
•  See  Fall  Mall  Gazette,  Dec.  5th,  1871. 
12 


178 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


better  than  iron  ; — in  any  rarity  of  dispersion,  gold-dust  13 
still  gold.  Mr.  Auberon  Herbert  thinks  it  desirable  that  you 
should  be  stuck  together.  Be  it  so  ;  but  what  is  there  to 
stick  ?  At  this  time  of  year,  doubtless,  some  of  your  chil- 
dren, interested  generally  in  production  of  puddings,  delight 
themselves,  to  your  great  annoyance,  with  speculative  pud- 
ding in  the  gutter  ;  and  enclose,  between  unctuous  tops  and 
bottoms,  imaginary  mince.  But  none  of  them,  I  suppose, 
deliberately  come  into  their  mothers,  at  cooking-time,  with 
materials  for  a  treat  on  Republican  principles.  Mud  for  suet 
— gravel  for  plums — droppings  of  what  heaven  may  send  for 
flavour  ; — "Please,  mother,  a  towel,  to  knot  it  tight — (or,  to 
use  Mr.  Herbert's  expression,  "  weld  it  into  a  compact  mass  ") 
— Now  for  the  old  saucepan,  mother  ;  and  you  just  lay  the 
cloth  !  " 

My  friends,  I  quoted  to  you  last  year  the  foolishest  thing, 
yet  said,  according  to  extant  history,  by  lips  of  mankind — 
namely,  that  the  cause  of  starvation  is  quantity  of  meat.* 
But  one  can  yet  see  what  the  course  of  foolish  thought  was 
which  achieved  that  saying  :  whereas,  though  it  is  not  absurd 
to  quite  the  same  extent  to  believe  that  a  nation  depends  for 
happiness  and  virtue  on  the  form  of  its  government,  it  is 
more  difficult  to  understand  how  so  large  a  number  of  other- 
wise rational  persons  have  been  beguiled  into  thinking  so. 
The  stuff  of  which  the  nation  is  made  is  developed  by  the 
effort  and  the  fate  of  ages  :  according  to  that  material,  such 
and  such  government  becomes  possible  to  it,  or  impossible. 
What  other  form  of  government  you  try  upon  it  than  the  one 
it  is  fit  for,  necessarily  comes  to  nothing  ;  and  a  nation 
wholly  worthless  is  capable  of  none. 

Notice,  therefore,  carefully  Mr.  Herbert's  expression 
"  welded  into  a  compact  mass."  The  phrase  would  be  likely 
enough  to  occur  to  anyone's  mind,  in  a  midland  district  ;  and 
meant,  perhaps,  no  more  than  if   the  speaker  had  said 

melted,"  or  "blended"  into  a  mass.  But  whether  Mr. 
Herbert  meant  more  or  not,  his  words  mean  more.  You  may 

*  Letter  IV.  p.  55.  Compare  Letter  V.  p.  59  ;  and  observe,  in  future 
references  of  this  kind  I  shall  merely  say,  IV.  55 ;  V.  59,  &c. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


179 


melt  glass  or  glue  into  a  mass,  but  you  can  only  weld,  or 
wield,  metal.  And  are  you  sure  that,  if  you  would  have  a 
Republic,  you  are  capable  of  being  welded  into  one  ?  Granted 
that  vou  are  no  better  than  iron,  are  vou  as  ofood  ?  Have 
you  the  toughness  in  you  ?  and  can  3'ou  bear  the  hammer- 
ing ?  Or,  would  your  fusion  together, — your  literal  con- 
fusion— be  as  of  glass  only,  blown  thin  with  nitrogtiii,  and 
shattered  before  it  irot  cold  ? 

Welded  Republics  there  indeed  have  been,  ere  now,  but 
they  ask  first  for  bronze,  then  for  a  hammerer,  and  mainly, 
for  patience  on  the  anvil.  Have  you  any  of  the  three  at 
command, — patience,  above  all  things,  the  most  needed,  yet 
not  one  of  your  prominent  virtues?  And,  finally,  for  the 
cost  of  such  smith's  work, — My  good  friends,  let  me  recom- 
mend you,  in  that  point  of  view,  to  keep  your  Queen. 

Therefore,  for  your  first  bit  of  history  this  year,  1  will  give 
you  one  pertinent  to  the  matter,  wliich  will  show  you  how  a 
monarchy,  and  such  a  Republic  as  you  are  now  capable  of 
producing,  have  verily  acted  on  special  occasion,  so  that  you 
may  compare  their  function  accurately. 

The  special  occasion  that  1  choose  shall  be  the  most  solemn 
of  all  conceivable  acts  of  Government  ;  the  adjudging  and 
execution  of  the  punishment  of  Death.  The  two  examples 
of  it  shall  be,  one  under  an  absolutely  despotic  Monarchy, 
acting  through  ministers  trained  in  principles  of  absolute 
despotism  ;  and  the  other,  in  a  completely  free  Republic, 
acting  by  its  collective  wisdom,  and  in  association  of  its 
practical  energies. 

The  example  of  despotism  shall  be  taken  from  the  book 
which  Mr.  Froude  most  justly  calls  ^*  the  prose  epic  of  the 
English  nation,"  the  records  compiled  by  Richard  Hakluyt, 
Preacher,  and  sometime  Student  of  Christchurch  in  Oxford, 
imprinted  at  London  by  Ralph  Newherie,  anno  1599,  and 
then  in  five  volumes,  quarto,  in  1811,  two  hundred  and  sev- 
enty copies  only  of  this  last  edition  being  printed. 

These  volumes  contain  the  original — usually  personal, — • 
narratives  of  the  earliest  voyages  of  tlie  great  seamen  of  all 
countries, — the  chief  part  of  them  English  ;  who  "  first  went 


180 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


out  across  the  unknown  seas,  fighting,  discovering,  coloniz- 
ing ;  and  graved  out  the  channels,  paving  them  at  last  with 
their  bones,  through  which  the  commerce  and  enterprise  of 
Eno-land  has  flowed  out  over  all  the  world."  I  mean  to 
give  you  many  pieces  to  read  out  of  this  book,  which  Mr. 
Froude  tells  you  truly  is  your  English  Homer  ;  this  piece,  to 
our  present  purpose,  is  already  quoted  by  him  in  his  essay  on 
England's  forgotten  worthies  ;  am.ong  whom,  far-forgotten 
though  they  be,  most  of  you  must  have  heard  named  Sir 
Francis  Drake.  And  of  him,  it  now  imports  you  to  know 
this  much  ;  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  clergyman,  who  fled 
into  Devonshire  to  escape  the  persecution  of  Henry  YIH. 
(abetted  by  our  old  friend,  Sir  Thomas  of  Utopia) — that  the 
little  Frank  was  apprenticed  by  his  father  to  the  master  of  a 
small  vessel  trading  to  the  Low  Countries  ;  and  that  as  ap- 
prentice,  he  behaved  so  well  that  his  master,  dying,  left  him 
his  vessel,  and  he  begins  his  independent  life  with  that  capi- 
tal. Tiring  of  affairs  with  the  Low  Countries,  he  sells  his 
little  ship,  and  invests  his  substance  in  the  new  trade  to  the 
West  Indies.  In  the  course  of  his  business  there,  the  Span- 
iards attack  him,  and  carry  off  his  goods.  Whereupon, 
Master  Francis  Drake,  making  his  way  back  to  England,  and 
getting  his  brother  John  to  join  with  him,  after  due  deliber- 
ation, fits  out  two  ships,  to  wit,  the  Passover  of  70  tons,  and 
the  Swan  of  24,  with  73  men  and  boys  (both  crews,  all  told), 
and  a  year's  provision  ;  and,  thus  appointed.  Master  Frank 
in  command  of  the  Passover^  and  Master  John  in  command 
of  the  SioaUy  weigh  anchor  from  Plymouth  on  the  24th  of 
May,  1572,  to  make  reprisals  on  the  most  powerful  nation  of 
the  then  world.  And  making  his  way  in  this  manner  over 
the  Atlantic,  and  walking  with  his  men  across  the  Isthmus 
of  Panama,  he  beholds  "  from  the  top  of  a  very  high  hill,  the 
great  South  Sea,  on  which  no  English  ship  had  ever  sailed. 
Whereupon,  he  lifted  up  his  hands  to  God,  and  implored  his 
blessing  on  the  resolution  which  he  then  formed,  of  sailing 
in  an  English  ship  on  that  sea."    In  the  meantime,  building 

*  J.  A.  Froude,  Short  Studies  on  Great  Subjects.    Longmans,  1867 
p.  297. 


FORS  a  L  AVI  a  ERA. 


m 


some  light  fighting  pinnaces,  of  which  he  had  brought  out 
the  material  in  the  Passover^  and  boarding  what  Spanish 
ships  he  can,  transferring  his  men  to  such  as  he  finds  most 
convenient  to  fight  in,  he  keeps  the  entire  coast  of  Spanish 
America  in  hot  water  for  several  months  ;  and  having  taken 
and  rifled,  between  Carthagena  and  Nombre  de  Dios  (Name 
of  God)  more  than  two  hundred  ships  of  all  sizes,  sets  sail 
cheerfully  for  England,  arriving  at  Plymouth  on  the  9th  of 
August,  1573,  on  Sunday,  in  the •  afternoon  ;  and  so  mucli 
were  the  people  delighted  with  the  news  of  their  arrival,  that 
they  left  the  preacher,  and  ran  in  crowds  to  the  quay,  with 
shouts  and  congratulations. 

He  passes  four  years  in  England,  explaining  American 
affairs  to  Queen  Elizabeth  and  various  persons  at  court  ;  and 
at  last  in  mid-life,  in  the  year  1577,  he  obtains  a  commission 
from  the  Queen,  by  which  he  is  constituted  Captain-general 
of  a  fleet  of  five  ships  :  the  Pelican,  admiral,  100  tons,  his 
owm  ship  ;  the  Elizaheth,  vice-admiral,  80  tons  ;  the  Sioan, 
50  tons  ;  Marigold,  30  ;  and  Christopher  (Christbearer)  15; 
the  collective  burden  of  the  entire  fleet  being  thus  275  tons  ; 
its  united  crew^s  164  men,  all  told  :  and  it  carries  whatever 
Sir  Francis  thought  ''might  contribute  to  raise  in  those 
nations,  with  whom  he  should  have  any  intercourse,  the 
highest  ideas  of  the  politeness  and  magnificence  of  his 
native  country.  lie,  therefore,  not  only  procured  a  complete 
service  of  silver  for  his  own  table,  and  furnished  the  cook- 
room  with  many  vessels  of  the  same  metal,  but  engaged 
several  musicians  to  accompany  him." 

I  quote  from  Johnson's  life  of  him, — you  do  not  know  if 
in  jest  or  earnest?  Always  in  earnest,  believe  me,  good 
friends.  If  there  be  jest  in  the  nature  of  things,  or  of  men, 
it  is  no  fault  of  mine.  I  try  to  set  them  before  you  as  they 
truly  are.  And  Sir  Francis  and  his  crew,  musicians  and  all, 
were  in  uttermost  earnest,  as  in  the  quiet  course  of  their 
narrative  you  will  find.  For  arriving  on  the  20th  of  June, 
1578,  "in  a  very  good  harborough,  called  by  Magellan  Port 
St.  Julian,  where  we  found  a  gibbet  standing  upon  the  maine, 
which  we  supposed  to  be  the  place  where  Magellan  did  ex- 


X82 


FORS  CLAVIGEBA. 


ecution  upon  his  disobedient  and  rebellious  company 
in  this  port  our  Generall  began  to  inquire  diligently  of  the 
actions  of  M.  Thomas  Doughtie,  and  found  them  not  to  be 
such  as  he  looked  for,  but  tending  rather  to  contention  or 
mutinie,  or  some  other  disorder,  whereby  (without  redresse) 
the  successe  of  the  voyage  might  greatly  have  bene  liazarded; 
whereupon  the  company  was  called  together  and  made  ac- 
quainted with  the  particulars  of  the  cause,  which  were  found, 
partly  by  Master  Doughtie's  owne  confession,  and  partly  by 
the  evidence  of  the  fact,  to  be  true  ;  w^hich  when  our  Gen- 
erall saw,  although  his  private  affection  to  M.  Doughtie  (as 
hee  then  in  the  presence  of  us  all  sacredly  protested)  was 
great,  yet  the  care  he  had  of  the  state  of  the  voyage,  of  the 
expectation  of  her  Maiestie,  and  of  the  honour  of  his  coun- 
trey,  did  more  touch  him  (as,  indeede,  it  ought)  than  the 
private  respect  of  one  man  :  so  that,  the  cause  being 
thoroughly  heard,  and  all  things  done  in  good  order,  as 
neere  as  might  be  to  the  course  of  our  lawes  in  England,  it 
was  concluded  that  M.  Doughtie  should  receive  punishment 
according  to  the  qualitie  of  the  offence  :  and  he,  seeing  no 
remedie  but  patience  for  himselfe,  desired  before  his  death 
to  receive  the  Communion,  which  he  did  at  the  hands  of  M» 
Fletcher,  our  Minister,  and  our  Generall  himselfe  accom- 
panied him  in  that  holy  action  :  which  being  done,  and  the 
place  of  execution  made  ready,  hee  having  embraced  our 
Generall,  and  taken  his  leave  of  all  the  companie,  with  pray- 
ers for  the  Queen's  Maiestie  and  our  realme,  in  quiet  sort 
laid  his  head  to  the  blocke,  where  he  ended  his  life.  This 
being  done,  our  Generall  made  divers  speaches  to  the  whole 
company,  persuading  us  to  unitie,  obedience,  love,  and  regard 
of  our  voyage  ;  and  for  the  better  confirmation  thereof,  willed 
evry  man  the  next  Sunday  following  to  prepare  himselfe  to 
receive  the  Communion,  as  Christian  brethren  and  friends 
ought  to  doe,  which  was  done  in  ver}^  reverent  sort,  and  so 
with  good  contentment  every  man  went  about  his  businesse.'* 
Thus  pass  judgment  and  execution,  under  a  despotic 
Government  and  despotic  Admiral,  by  religious,  or,  it  may 
be,  superstitious,  laws. 


FOllS  CLAVIGEEA. 


183 


Toil  shall  next  see  how  judgment  acd  execution  pass  on 
the  purest  republican  principles  ;  every  man's  opinion  being 
held  as  good  as  his  neighbour's  ;  and  no  superstitious  belief 
whatsoever  interfering  with  the  wisdom  of  popular  decision, 
or  the  liberty  of  popular  action.  The  republicanism  shall  also 
be  that  of  this  enliohtened  nineteenth  centurv  :  in  other  re- 
Bpects  the  circumstances  are  similar  ;  for  the  event  takes 
place  during  an  expedition  of  British — not  subjects,  indeed, 
but  quite  unsubjected  persons,  —  acknowledging  neither 
Queen  nor  Admiral, — in  search,  nevertheless,  of  gold  and 
silver,  in  America,  like  Sir  Francis  himself.  And  to  make  all 
more  precisely  illustrative,  I  am  able  to  take  the  account  of 
the  matter  from  the  very  paper  which  contained  Mr.  Auberon 
Herbert's  speech,  the  JPall  Mail  Gazette  of  5th  December 
last.  In  another  column,  a  little  before  the  addresses  of  the 
members  for  Nottingham,  you  will  therein  find,  quoted  from 
the  New  York  Tribune^  the  following  account  of  some  execu- 
tions which  took  place  at  ''the  Angels"  (Los  Angeles),  Cali« 
fornia,  on  tlie  24th  October. 

*'The  victims  were  some  unoffending  Chinamen,  the  execu- 
tioners were  some  'warm-hearted  and  impulsive'  Irishmen, 
assisted  by  some  Mexicans.  It  seems  that  owing  to  an  im- 
pression that  the  houses  inhabited  by  the  Chinamen  were 
filled  with  gold,  a  mob  collected  in  front  of  a  store  belonging 
to  one  of  them  named  Yo  Hing  with  the  object  of  plunder- 
ing it.  The  Chinamen  barricaded  the  building,  shots  were 
fired,  and  an  American  was  killed.  Then  commenced  the 
"work  of  pillage  and  murder.  The  mob  forced  an  entrance, 
four  Chinamen  were  shot  dead,  seven  or  eight  were  wounded, 
and  seventeen  were  taken  and  hanged.  The  following  de- 
scription of  the  hanging  of  the  first  victim  will  show  how  the 
executions  were  conducted  : — 

'' Weng  Chin,  a  merchant,  was  the  first  victim  of  hanging. 
He  was  led  through  the  streets  by  two  lusty  Irishmen,  who 
were  cheered  on  by  a  crowd  of  men  and  boys,  most  of  Irish 
and  Mexican  birth.  Several  times  the  unfortunate  Chinaman 
faltered  or  attempted  to  extricate  himself  from  the  two  brutes 
who  were  leading  him,  when  a  half-drunken  Mexican  in  his 


184 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


immediate  rear  would  plunge  the  point  of  a  large  dirk  knife 
into  his  back.  This,  of  course,  accelerated  his  speed,  but  never 
a  syllable  fell  from  his  mouth.  Arriving  at  the  eastern  gate 
of  Tomlinson's  old  lumber  yard,  just  out  of  Temple  Street, 
hasty  preparations  lor  launching  the  inoffensive  man  into 
eternity  were  followed  by  his  being  pulled  up  to  the  beam 
\w\ih  a  rope  round  his  neck.  He  didn't  seem  to  hang  right,' 
and  one  of  the  Irishmen  got  upon  his  shoulders  and  jumped 
upon  them,  breaking  his  collar-bone.  What  with  shots,  stabs^ 
and  strangulation,  and  other  modes  of  civilized  torture,  the 
victim  was  '  hitched  up '  for  dead,  and  the  crowd  gave  vent 
to  their  savage  delight  in  demoniac  yells  and  a  jargon  which 
too  plainly  denoted  their  Hibernian  nationality. 

"One  victim,  a  Chinese  physician  of  some  celebrity,  Dr. 
Gnee  Sing,  offered  his  tormentors  4,000  dollars  in  gold  to  let 
him  go.  His  pockets  were  immediately  cut  and  ransacked,  a 
pistol-shot  mutilated  one  side  of  his  face  'dreadfully,'  and  he 
too  was  'stretched  up'  with  cheers.  Another  wretched  man 
was  jerked  up  with  great  force  against  the  beam,  and  the 
operation  repeated  until  his  head  was  broken  in  a  way  we 
cannot  describe.  Three  Chinese,  one  a  youth  of  about  fifteen 
years  old,  picked  up  at  random,  and  innocent  of  even  a 
knowledo-e  of  the  disturbance,  were  hano^ed  in  the  same  brutal 
manner.  Hardly  a  word  escaped  them,  but  the  younger  one 
said,  as  the  rope  was  being  placed  round  his  neck,  'Me  no 
'fraid  to  die  ;  me  velly  good  China  boy  ;  me  no  hurt  no  man.' 
Three  Chinese  boys  who  were  hanged  'on  the  side  of  a 
wagon '  struggled  hard  for  their  lives.  One  managed  to  lay 
hold  of  the  rope,  upon  which  two  Irishmen  beat  his  hands 
with  clubs  and  pistols  till  he  released  his  hold  and  fell  into  a 
'  hanging  position.'  The  Irishmen  then  blazed  away  at  him 
with  bullets,  and  so  put  an  end  to  his  existence." 

My  republican  friends — or  otherwise  than  friends,  as  you 
choose  to  have  it — you  will  say,  I  presume,  that  this  com- 
parison of  methods  of  magistracy  is  partial  and  unfair?  It  is 
so.  All  comparisons — as  all  experiments — are  unfair  till  you 
have  made  more.  More  you  shall  make  with  me  ;  and  as 
many  as  you  like,  on  your  own  side.  I  will  tell  you,  in  due 
time,  some  tales  of  Tory  gentlemen  who  lived,  and  would 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


185 


scarcely  let  anybody  else  live,  at  Padua  and  Milan,  which 
will  do  }'our  hearts  good.  Meantime,  meditate  a  little  over 
these  two  instances  of  capital  justice,  as  done  severally  by 
monarchists  and  republicans  in  the  sixteenth  and  nineteenth 
centuries  ;  and  meditate,  not  a  little,  on  the  capital  justice 
which  you  have  lately  accomplished  yourselves  in  France. 
You  have  had  it  all  your  own  way  there,  since  Sedan.  No 
Emperor  to  paralyze  your  hands  any  more,  or  impede  the  flow 
of  your  conversation.  Anything,  since  that  fortunate  hour, 
to  be  done, — anything  to  be  said,  that  you  liked  ;  and  in  the 
midst  of  you,  found  by  sudden  good  fortune,  two  quite  hon- 
est and  brave  men  ;  one  old  and  one  young,  ready  to  serve 
you  with  all  their  strength,  and  evidently  of  supreme  gifts  in 
the  way  of  service, — Generals  Trochu  and  Rossel.  You  have 
exiled  one,  shot  the  other,*  and,  but  that,  as  1  told  you,  my 
wishes  are  of  no  account  that  1  know  of,  I  should  wish  vou 
joy  of  your  "situation." 

Believe  me,  faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


LETTER  XIV. 

Denmark  Hill, 

Mv  Friends,  February,  1872. 

In  going  steadily  over  our  ground  again,  roughly  broken 
.'•ast  year,  you  see  that,  after  endeavouring,  as  I  did  last 
month,  to  make  you  see  somewhat  more  clearly  the  absurdity 
of  fighting  for  a  Holy  Republic  before  you  are  sure  of  hav- 
ing got  so  mucli  as  a  single  saint  to  make  it  of,  1  have  now 
to  illustrate  farther  the  admission  made  in  page  6  of  my  first 
Letter,  tliat  even  the  most  courteous  and  perfect  Monarchy 
cannot  make  an  uiisaintly  life  into  a  saintly  one,  nor  consti- 
tute thieving,  for  instance,  ati  absolutely  praiseworthy  pro- 
fession, however  glorious  or  delightful.    It  is  indeed  more 

*  *^You  did  not  shoot  him?'*  No  ;  my  expression  was  hasty;  you 
only  stood  by,  in  a  social  manner,  to  soe  him  shot;  bow  many  of  jouf 
—and  80  finely  organized  as  you  say  you  ace  ! 


186 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


difficult  to  show  this  in  the  course  of  past  history  than  any 
other  moral  truth  whatsoever.  For,  v/ithout  doubt  or  excep- 
tion, thieving  has  not  only  hitherto  been  the  most  respected 
of  professions,  but  the  most  healthy,  cheerful,  and  in  the 
practical  outcome  of  it,  though  not  in  theory,  even  the  hon% 
estest,  followed  by  men.  Putting  the  higher  traditional  and 
romantic  ideals,  such  as  that  of  our  Robin  Hood,  and  the 
Scottish  Red  Robin,  for  the  time,  aside,  and  keeping  to  mea- 
gre historical  facts,  could  any  of  3^ou  help  giving  your  hearti- 
est sympathy  to  Master  Francis  Drake,  setting  out  in  his 
little  Paschal  Lamh  to  seek  his  fortune  on  the  Spanish  seas, 
and  coming  home,  on  that  happy  Sunday  morning,  to  the 
unspeakable  delight  of  the  Cornish  congregation  ?  Would 
vou  like  to  efface  the  stories  of  Edward  IIL,  and  his  lion's 
whelp,  from  English  history  ;  and  do  you  wish  that  instead 
of  pillaging  the  northern  half  of  France,  as  you  read  of  them 
in  the  passages  quoted  in  my  fourth  Letter,  and  fighting  the 
Battle  of  Crecy  to  get  home  again,  they  had  stayed  at  home 
all  the  time  ;  and  practised,  shall  we  say,  upon  the  flute,  as 
I  find  my  moral  friends  think  Frederick  of  Prussia  should 
have  done  ?  Or  would  you  have  chosen  that  your  Prince 
Harry  should  never  have  played  that  set  with  his  French 
tennis-balls,  which  won  him  Harfleur,  and  Rouen,  and  Or- 
leans, and  other  such  counters,  which  we  might  have  kept, 
to  this  day  perhaps,  in  our  pockets,  but  for  the  wood  maid 
of  Domremy  ?  Are  you  ready,  even  now,  in  the  height  of 
3^our  morality,  to  give  back  India  to  the  Brahmins  and  their 
cows,  and  Australia  to  her  aborigines  and  their  apes  ?  You 
are  ready  ?  Well,  my  Christian  friends,  it  does  one's  heart 
good  to  hear  it,  providing  only  you  are  quite  sure  you  knoiv^ 
what  you  are  about.  "  Let  him  that  stole  steal  no  more  ; 
but  rather  let  him  labour."  You  are  verily  willing  to  accept 
that  alternative  ?  I  inquire  anxiously,  because  I  see  that 
your  Under  Secretary  of  State  for  India,  Mr.  Grant  Duff, 
proposes  to  you,  in  his  speech  at  Elgin,  not  at  all  as  the  first 
object  of  your  lives  to  be  honest ;  but,  as  the  first,  to  be  rich, 
and  the  second  to  be  intelligent  ;  now  when  you  have  all  be- 
come rich  and  intelligent,  how  do  you  mean  to  live?  B^r, 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


187 


Grant  Duff,  of  course,  means  by  being  rich  that  you  are  each 
to  have  two  powdered  footmen  ;  but  then  who  are  to  be  the 
footmen,  now  that  we  mustn't  have  blacks?  And  granting 
you  all  the  intelligence  in  the  world  on  the  most  important 
subjects, — the  spots  in  the  sun,  or  the  nodes  of  the  moon,  as 
aforesaid — will  that  help  you  to  get  your  dinner,  unless  you 
steal  it  in  the  old  fashion  ?  The  subject  is  indeed  discussed 
with  closer  definition  than  by  Mr.  Grant  Duff,  by  Mr.  William 
Riddle,  C.  E.,  the  authority  I  quoted  to  you  for  taking  prop- 
erty "  under  control."  You  had  better  perhaps  be  put  in 
complete  possession  of  his  views,  as  stated  by  himself  in  the 
Hepublican^  of  December  last  ;  the  rather,  as  that  periodical 
has  not  had,  according  to  Mr.  Riddle,  hitherto  a  world-wide 
circulation  : — 


"the  simple  and  only  remedy  for  the  wants  of 

NATIONS. 

"  It  is  with  great  grief  that  I  hear  that  your  periodical 
finds  but  a  limited  sale.  I  ask  you  to  insert  a  few  words  from 
me,  which  may  strike  some  of  your  readers  as  being  inipor- 
tant.  These  are  all  171  all.  What  all  nations  want,  Sir,  are 
— 1,  Shelter  ;  2,  Food  ;  3,  Clothes  ;  4,  Warmth  ;  5,  Cleanli- 
ness ;  6,  Health  ;  7,  Love  ;  8,  Beauty.  These  are  only  to  be  got 
in  one  way.  I  will  state  it.  An  International  Congress  must 
make  a  number  of  steam  engines,  or  use  those  now  made,  and 
taking  all  property  under  its  control  (I  fearlessly  state  it) 
must  roll  off  iron  and  glass  for  buildings  to  shelter  hundreds 
of  millions  of  people.  2. — Must,  by  such  engines,  make 
steam  apparatus  to  plough  immense  plains  of  wheat,  where 
steam  has  elbow-room  abroad  ;  must  make  engines  to  grind 
it  on  an  enormous  scale,  first  fetching  it  in  flat-bottomecf 
ships,  made  of  simple  form,  larger  than  the  Great  l^aGterny 
and  of  simple  form  of  plates,  machine  fastened  ;  must  bake 
it  by  machine  ovens  commensurate.  3. — Machine  looms  must 
v/ork  unattended  night  and  day,  rolling  off  textile  yarns  and 
fabrics,  and  machines  must  make  clothes,  just  as  envelopes 
are  knocked  off.    4, — Machinery  must  do  laundress  work. 


188 


FOBS  CLAVIGEJIA, 


iron  and  mangling,  and,  in  a  word,  our  labour  must  give  place 
to  machinery,  laid  down  in  gigantic  factories  on  common- 
sense  pinciples  by  an  International  leverage.  This  is  the 
education  vou  must  inculcate.  Then  man  will  be  at  last 
emancipated.  All  else  is  utter  bosh,  and  I  v/ill  prove  it  so 
when  and  wherever  I  can  get  the  means  to  lecture. 

"Wm.  Riddle,  C.E. 

South  Lambeth,  Nov.  2." 

Unfortunately,  till  those  means  can  be  obtained  (may  it 
be  soon),  it  remains  unriddled  to  us  on  what  principles  of 
^^international  leverage  "  the  love  and  beauty  are  to  be  pro- 
vided. But  the  point  I  wish  you  m.ainly  to  notice  is,  that 
for  this  general  emancipation,  and  elbow-room  for  men  and 
steam,  you  are  still  required  to  find  "  immense  plains  of  wheat 
abroad."  Is  it  not  probable  that  these  immense  plains  may 
belong  to  somebody  "  abroad  "  already  ?  And  if  not,  in- 
stead of  bringing  home  their  produce  in  flat-bottomed  ships, 
why  not  establish,  on  the  plains  themselves,  your  own  flat- 
bottomed — I  beg  pardon, — flat-bellied,  persons,  instead  of 
living  here  in  glass  cases,  which  surely,  even  at  the  British 
Museum,  cannot  be  associated  in  \^our  minds  with  the  perfect 
manifestation  of  love  and  beauty  ?  It  is  true  that  love  is  to 
be  measured,  in  your  perfected  political  economy,  by  rectan- 
gular area,  as  you  will  find  on  reference  to  the  ingenious 
treatise  of  Mr.  W.  Stanley  Jevons,  M.A.,  Professor  of  Logic 
and  Political  Economy  in  Owen's  College,  Manchester,  who 
informs  you,  among  other  interesting  facts,  that  pleasure  and 
pain  "  are  the  ultimate  objects  of  the  calculus  of  economy," 
and  that  a  feeling,  whether  of  pleasure  or  pain,  may  be  re- 
garded as  having  two  dimensions — namely,  in  duration  and 
intensity,  so  that  the  feeling,  say  of  a  minute,  may  be  rep- 
resented by  a  rectangle  whose  base  corresponds  to  the  dura- 
tion of  a  minute,  and  whose  height  is  proportioned  to  the 
intensity,"  *  The  collective  area  of  the  series  of  rectangles 
v/ill  mark  the  "  aggregate  of  feeling  generated." 

*  I  quote  from  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  of  January  16th.  In  the  more 
elaborate  review  given  in  the  Fortnightly^  I  am  glad  to  see  that  Pro- 


F0R8  CLAVIGEEA. 


189 


But  the  Professor  appears  unconscious  that  there  Is  a  third 
dimension  of  pleasure  and  pain  to  be  considered,  besides  theii 
duration  and  intensity  ;  and  that  this  third  dimension  is 
to  some  persons,  the  most  important  of  all — namely,  their 
quality.  It  is  possible  to  die  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain  ; 
and,  on  the  contrary,  for  flies  and  rats,  even  pleasure  may 
be  the  reverse  of  aromatic.  There  is  swine's  pleasure,  and 
dove's  ;  villain's  pleasure,  and  gentleman's,  to  be  arranged, 
the  Professor  will  find,  by  higher  analysis,  in  eternally  dis- 
similar rectangles. 

My  friends,  the  follies  of  modern  Liberalism,  many  and 
great  though  they  be,  are  practically  summed  in  this  denial 
or  neglect  of  the  quality  and  intrinsic  value  of  things.  Its 
rectangular  beatitudes,  and  spherical  benevolences, — theol- 
ogy of  universal  indulgence,  and  jurisprudence  which  will 
hang  no  rogues,  mean,  one  and  all  of  them,  in  the  root,  inca- 
pacity of  discerning,  or  refusal  to  discern,  worth  and  unworth 
in  anything,  and  least  of  all  in  nuin  ;  whereas  Nature  and 
Heaven  command  you,  at  your  peril,  to  discern  worth  from 
unworth  in  evervthins",  and  most  of  all  in  man.  Your  main 
problem  is  tliat  ancient  and  trite  one,  "  Who  is  best  man  ?  '^ 
and  the  Fates  forgive  much, — forgive  the  wildest,  fiercest, 
crudest  experiments, — if  fairly  made  for  the  determination 
of  that.  Theft  and  blood-guiltiness  are  not  pleasing  in  their 
sight  ;  yet  the  favouring  powers  of  the  spiritual  and  material 
world  will  confirm  to  you  your  stolen  goods  ;  and  their 
noblest  voices  applaud  the  lifting  of  your  spear,  and  rehearse 
the  sculpture  of  your  shield,  if  only  your  robbing  and  slay- 
ing have  been  in  fair  arbitrament  of  that  question,  ^'  Who  is 
best  man  ?"  But  if  you  refuse  such  inquiry,  and  maintain 
every  man  for  his  neighbour's  match,* — if  you  give  vote  to 

fcssor  C.aird  is  beginning  to  perceive  the  necessity  of  deUning  the  word 
*'  useful;  "  and,  though  greatly  puzzled,  is  making  way  towards  a  defi- 
nition; but  would  it  not  be  wiser  to  abstain  from  exhibiting  himself  in 
his  state  of  puzzlement  to  the  public  ? 

*  Every  man  as  good  as  his  neighbour !  you  extremely  sagacious 
English  persons  ;  and  forthwith  you  establish  competitive  examination, 
which  drives  your  boys  into  idiotcy,  before  you  v,  ill  give  them  a  bit  of 


190 


F0R8  CLAVIGEBA. 


the  simple,  and  liberty  to  the  vile,  the  powers  of  those  spirt 
itual  and  material  worlds  in  due  time  present  you  inevitably 
with  the  same  problem,  soluble  now  only  wrong  side  up- 
wards ;  and  your  robbing  and  slaying  must  be  done  then  to 
find  out  "  Who  is  worst  man  ?"  Which,  in  so  wide  an  or- 
der of  merit,  is,  indeed,  not  easy  ;  but  a  complete  Tammany 
Ring,  and  lowest  circle  in  the  Inferno  of  Worst,  you  are  sure 
to  find,  and  to  be  governed  by. 

And  you  may  note  that  the  wars  of  men,  in  this  winnow- 
ing or  sifting  function,  separate  themselves  into  three  dis- 
tinct stages.  In  healthy  times  of  early  national  development, 
the  best  men  go  out  to  battle,  and  divide  the  spoil  ;  in  rare 
generosity,  perhaps,  giving  as  much  to  those  who  tarry  by 
the  stuff,  as  to  those  who  have  followed  to  the  field.  In  the 
second,  and  more  ingenious  stage,  which  is  the  one  we  have 
reached  now  in  England  and  America,  the  best  men  still  go 
out  to  battle,  and  get  themselves  killed, — or,  at  all  events, 
well  withdrawn  from  public  affairs, — and  the  worst  stop  at 
home,  manage  the  government,  and  make  money  out  of  the 
commissariat.  (See  §  124  of  Munera  Piilveris,  and  my  note 
tliere,  on  the  last  American  War.)  Then  the  third  and  last 
stage,  immediately  preceding  the  dissolution  of  any  nation, 
is  when  its  best  men  (such  as  they  are) — stop  at  home  too  ! 
— and  pay  other  people  to  fight  for  them.  And  this  last 
stage,  not  wholly  reached  in  England  yet,  is,  however,  within 
near  prospect  ;  at  least,  if  we  may  again  on  this  point  refer 
to,  and  trust,  the  anticipations  of  Mr.  Grant  Duff,  "  who 
racks  his  brains,  without  success,  to  think  of  any  probable 
combination  of  European  events  in  which  the  assistance  of 
our  English  force  would  be  half  so  useful  to  our  allies  as 
money. 

Next  month  I  w411  give  you  some  farther  account  of  the 
operations  in  favour  of  their  Italian  allies  in  the  fourteenth 

bread  to  make  their  young  muscles  of !  Every  man  as  good  as  hia 
neighbour  !  and  when  I  told  you,  seven  years  ago,  that  at  least  you 
should  give  every  man  his  penny  of  wages,  whether  he  was  good  or  not, 
so  only  that  he  gave  you  the  best  that  was  in  him,  what  did  you  answer 
to  me 


FORS  CLAVIGEBA. 


191 


century,  effected  by  the  White  company  under  Sir  John 
Havvkwood  ; — (they  first  crossed  the  Alps  with  a  German 
captain,  however,) — not  at  all  consisting  in  disbursements  of 
money  ;  but  such,  on  the  contrary,  as  to  obtain  for  them 
(as  you  read  in  my  first  Letter)  the  reputation,  with  good 
Italian  judges,  of  being  the  best  thieves  known  at  the  time. 
It  is  in  many  waya  important  for  you  to  understand  the 
origin  and  various  tendencies  of  mercenary  warfare  ;  the 
essential  power  of  which,  in  Christendom,  dates,  singularly 
enough,  from  the  struggle  of  the  free  burghers  of  Italy  with 
a  Tory  gentleman,  a  friend  of  Frederick  II.  of  Germany  ; 
the  quarrel,  of  which  you  shall  hear  the  prettiest  parts,  being 
one  of  the  most  dramatic  and  vital  passages  of  mediaeval  his- 
tory. Afterwards  we  shall  be  able  to  examine,  more  intelli- 
gently, the  prospects  in  store  for  us  according  to  the — I 
trust  not  too  painfully  racked. — brains  of  our  Under  Secre- 
tary of  State.  But  I  am  tired  to-day  of  following  modern 
thought  in  these  unexpectedly  attenuated  conditions  ;  and 
I  believe  you  will  also  be  glad  to  rest,  with  me,  by  reading  a 
few  words  of  true  history  of  such  life  as,  in  here  and  there  a 
hollow  of  the  rocks  of  Europe,  just  persons  have  sometimes 
lived,  untracked  by  the  hounds  of  war.  And  in  laying  them 
before  you,  I  begin  to  give  these  letters  tlie  completed  char- 
acter I  intend  for  them  ;  first,  as  it  may  seem  to  me  needful, 
commenting  on  what  is  passing  at  the  time,  with  reference 
always  to  the  principles  and  plans  of  economy  I  have  to  set 
before  you  ;  and  then  collecting  out  of  past  literature,  and 
in  occasional  frontispieces  or  woodcuts,  out  of  past  art,  what 
may  confirm  or  illustrate  things  that  are  for  ever  true  : 
choosing  the  pieces  of  the  series  so  that,  both  in  art  and 
literature,  they  may  become  to  you  in  the  strictest  sense, 
educational,  and  familiarise  you  with  the  look  and  manner 
of  fine  work. 

I  want  you,  accordingly,  now  to  read  attentively  some 
pieces  of  agricultural  economy,  out  of  Marmonters  C antes 
Moraiix^'^ — (we  too  grandly  translate  the  title  into  ''Moral 
Tales^'^  for  the  French  word  Moeurs  does  not  in  accuracy 
correspond  to  our  "  Morals  "  );  and  I  think  it  first  desirable 


192 


FOBS  GLAVIGEBA, 


that  you  should  know  something  about  Marmontel  himself. 
He  was  a  French  gentleman  of  the  old  school  ;  not  noble, 
nor,  in  French  sense,  even  gentilhomme  ; but  a  peasant's 
son,  who  made  his  way  into  Parisian  society  by  gentleness, 
wit,  and  a  dainty  and  candid  literary  power.  He  became  one 
of  the  humblest,  yet  honestest,  placed  scholars  at  the  court 
of  Louis  XV.,  and  wrote  pretty,  yet  wise,  sentimental 
stories,  in  finished  French,  which  I  must  render  as  I  can  in 
broken  English  ;  but,  however  rudely  translated,  the  sayings 
and  thoughts  in  them  deserve  your  extreme  attention,  for  in 
their  fine,  tremulous  way,  like  the  blossoming  heads  of  grass 
in  May,  they  are  perfect.  For  introduction  then,  you  shall 
have,  to-day,  his  own  description  of  his  native  place,  Bort, 
in  central  south  France,  and  of  the  circumstances  of  his 
child-life.  You  must  take  it  without  further  preamble — my 
pages  running  short. 

"  Bort,  situated  on  the  river  Dordogne,  between  Auvergne 
and  the  province  of  Limoges,  is  a  frightful  place  enough, 
seen  by  the  traveller  descending  suddenly  on  it  ;  lying,  as  it 
does,  at  the  bottom  of  a  precipice,  and  looking  as  if  the  storm 
torrents  would  sweep  it  away,  or  as  if,  some  day,  it  must  be 
crushed  under  a  chain  of  volcanic  rocks,  some  planted  like 
towers  on  the  height  which  commands  the  town,  and  others 
already  overhanging,  or  half  uprooted  :  but,  once  in  the 
valley,  and  with  the  eye  free  to  wander  there,  Bort  becomes 
full  of  smiles.  Above  the  town,  in  a  green  island  which  the 
river  embraces  with  equal  streams,  there  is  a  thicket  peopled 
with  birds,  and  animated  also  with  the  motion  and  noise  of 
a  mill.  On  each  side  of  the  river  are  orchards  and  fields, 
cultivated  with  laborious  care.  Below  the  village  the  valley 
opens,  on  one  side  of  the  river,  into  a  broad,  flat  meadow, 
watered  by  springs  ;  on  the  other,  into  sloping  fields,  crowned 
by  a  belt  of  hills  whose  soft  slope  contrasts  with  the  oppos- 
ing rocks,  and  is  divided,  farther  on,  by  a  torrent  which  rolls 
and  leaps  through  the  forest,  and  falls  into  the  Dordogne  in 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  cataracts  on  the  Continent.  Near 
that  spot  is  situated  the  little  farm  of  St.  Thomas,  where  I 
used  to  read  Virgil  under  the  blossoming  trees  that  sur- 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


193 


rounded  our  bee-hives,  and  where  I  made  delicious  lunches 
of  their  honey.  On  the  other  side  of  the  town,  above  the 
mill,  and  on  the  slope  to  the  river,  was  the  enclosure  where, 
on  fete  days,  my  father  took  me  to  gather  grapes  from  the 
vines  he  had  himself  planted,  or  cherries,  plums,  and  apples 
from  the  trees  he  had  grafted. 

"  But  what  in  my  memory  is  the  chief  charm  of  my  native 
place  is  the  impression  of  the  affection  which  my  family  had 
for  me,  and  with  which  my  soul  was  penetrated  in  earliest 
infancy.  If  there  is  any  goodness  in  my  character,  it  is  to 
these  sweet  emotions,  and  the  perpetual  iiappiness  of  loving 
and  being  loved  that  1  believe  it  is  owing.  What  a  gift  does 
Heaven  bestow  on  us  in  the  virtue  of  parents? 

^'  I  owed  much  also  to  a  certain  gentleness  of  manners 
which  reigned  then  in  my  native  town  ;  and  truly  the  sweet 
and  simple  life  that  one  led  there  must  have  had  a  strange 
attraction,  for  nothing  was  more  unusual  than  that  the 
children  of  Bort  should  ever  go  away  from  it.  In  their 
youth  they  were  well  educated,  and  in  the  neighbouring  col- 
leges their  colony  distinguished  itself  ;  but  they  came  back 
to  their  homes  as  a  swarm  of  bees  comes  back  to  the  hive 
with  its  spoil. 

"  I  learned  to  read  in  a  little  convent  where  the  nuns  were 
friends  of  my  mother.  Thence  I  passed  to  the  school  of  a 
priest  of  the  town,  who  gratuitously,  and  for  his  own  pleas- 
ure, devoted  himself  to  the  instruction  of  children  ;  he  was 
the  only  son  of  a  shoemaker,  one  of  the  honestest  fellows  in 
the  world  ;  and  this  churchman  was  a  true  model  of  filial 
piety.  I  can  yet  remember,  as  if  I  had  seen  it  but  a  moment 
since,  the  air  of  quiet  courtesy  and  mutual  regard  which  the 
old  man  and  his  son  maintained  to  each  other  ;  the  one  never 
losing  sight  of  the  dignity  of  the  priesthood,  nor  the  other 
of  the  sanctity  of  the  paternal  character." 

I  interrupt  my  translation  for  a  moment  to  ask  you  to 
notice  how  this  finished  scholar  applies  his  words.  A  vulgar 
svriter  would  most  probably  have  said  *'  the  sanctity  of  the 
priesthood"  and  the  dignity  of  the  paternal  character." 
But  it  is  quite  possible  that  a  priest  may  not  be  a  saint,  yet 
13 


194 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


(admitting  the  theory  of  priesthood  at  all)  his  authority  and 
office  are  not,  therefore,  invalidated.  On  the  other  hand,  a 
father  may  be  entirely  inferior  to  his  son,  incapable  of  ad- 
vising him,  and,  if  he  be  wise,  claiming  no  strict  authority 
over  him.  But  the  relation  between  the  two  is  always 
sacred. 

"  The  Abbe  Vaissiere  "  (that  was  his  name),  "  after  he  had 
fulfilled  his  duty  at  the  church,  divided  the  rest  of  his  time 
between  reading,  and  the  lessons  he  gave  to  us.  In  fine 
weather,  a  little  walk,  and  sometimes  for  exercise  a  game  at 
mall  in  the  meadow,  were  his  only  amusements.  For  all 
society  he  had  two  friends,  people  of  esteem,  in  our  town. 
They  lived  together  in  the  most  peaceful  intimacy,  seeing 
each  other  every  day,  and  every  day  with  the  same  pleas- 
ure in  their  meeting  ;  and  for  fulfilment  of  good  fortune, 
they  died  within  a  very  little  while  of  each  other.  I  have 
scarcely  ever  seen  an  example  of  so  sweet  and  constant 
equality  in  the  course  of  human  life. 

^'At  this  school  I  had  a  comrade,  who  was  from  my  in- 
fancy an  object  of  emulation  to  me.  His  deliberate  and 
rational  bearing,  his  industry  in  study,  the  care  he  took  of 
his  books,  on  which  I  never  saw  a  stain  ;  his  fair  hair  always 
so  well  combed,  his  dress  always  fresh  in  its  simplicity,  his 
linen  always  white,  were  to  me  a  constantly  visible  example; 
and  it  is  rard  that  a  child  inspires  another  child  with  such 
esteem  as  I  had  for  him.  His  father  was  a  labourer  in  a 
neighbouring  village,  and  well  known  to  mine.  I  used  to 
walk  with  his  son  to  see  him  in  his  home.  How  he  used  to 
receive  us,  the  white-haired  old  man — the  good  cream  !  the 
good  brown  bread  that  he  gave  us  !  and  what  happy  pres- 
ages did  he  not  please  himself  in  making  for  my  future  life, 
because  of  my  respect  for  his  old  age  !  Twenty  years  after- 
wards, his  son  and  I  met  at  Paris  ;  I  recognized  in  him  the 
same  character  of  prudence  and  kindness  which  I  had  known 
in  him  at  school,  and  it  has  been  to  me  no  slight  pleasure  to 
name  one  of  his  children  at  baptism, 

"When  I  was  eleven  years  old,  just  past,  my  master 
judged  me  fit  to  enter  the  fourth  class  of  students  ;  and  mv 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


195 


father  consented,  though  unwillingly,  to  take  me  to  the  Col- 
lege of  Mauriac.  His  reluctance  was  wise.  I  must  justify 
it  by  giving  some  account  of  our  household. 

"  I  w^as  the  eldest  of  many  children  ;  my  father,  a  little 
rigid,  but  entirely  good  under  his  severe  manner,  loved  his 
wife  to  idolatry  ;  and  well  he  might !  I  have  never  been 
able  to  understand  how,  with  the  simple  education  of  our 
little  convent  at  Bort,  she  had  attained  so  much  pleasantness 
in  wit,  so  much  elevation  in  heart,  and  a  sentiment  of  pro- 
priety so  just,  pure,  and  subtle.  My  good  Bishop  of  Limoges 
has  often  spoken  to  mc  since,  at  Paris,  with  most  tender  in- 
terest, of  the  letters  that  my  mother  wrote  in  recommending 
me  to  him. 

"  My  father  revered  iier  as  much  as  he  loved  ;  and  blamed 
her  onlv  for  her  too  o^reat  tenderness  for  me  :  but  mv  ofrand- 

I/O  x>  o 

mother  loved  me  no  less.  I  think  I  see  her  yet — the  good 
little  old  woman  !  the  bright  nature  that  she  had  !  the  gentle 
gaiety  !  Economist  of  the  house,  she  presided  over  its  man- 
agement, and  was  an  example  to  us  all  of  filial  tenderness, 
for  she  had  also  her  own  mother  and  her  husband's  mother 
to  take  care  of.  I  am  now  dating  far  back,  being  just  able 
to  remember  my  great-grandmother  drinking  her  little  cup 
of  wine  at  the  corner  of  the  hearth  ;  but,  during  the  whole 
of  my  childhood  my  grandmother  and  her  three  sisters  lived 
with  us,  and  among  all  these  women,  and  a  swarm  of  chil- 
dren, my  father  stood  alone,  tlieir  support.  With  little 
means  enough,  all  could  live.  Order,  economy,  and  labour, 
— a  little  commerce,  but  above  all  things,  frugality."  (Note 
again  the  good  scholar's  accuracy  of  language.  *'  Economy  " 
the  right  arrangement  of  things,  "Frugality"  the  careful 
and  fitting  use  of  them) — "  these  maintained  us  all  in  com- 
fort. The  little  garden  produced  vegetables  enough  for  the 
need  of  the  house  ;  the  orchard  gave  us  fruit,  and  our  quinces, 
apples,  and  pears,  preserved  in  the  honey  of  our  bees,  made, 
during  the  winter,  for  the  children  and  old  women,  the  most 
exquisite  breakfasts." 

I  interrupt  again  to  explain  to  you,  once  for  all,  a  chief 
principle  with  me  in  translation.    Marmontel  says,  "  for  the 


196 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


children  and  good  old  women."  Were  I  quoting  the  French 
1  would  give  his  exact  words,  but  in  translating  I  miss  the 
word  "good,"  of  which  1  know  you  are  not  likely  to  see  the 
application  at  the  moment.  You  would  not  see  why  the  old 
women  should  be  called  good,  when  the  question  is  only  what 
they  had  for  breakfast.  Marmontel  means  that  if  they  had 
been  bad  old  women  they  would  have  wanted  gin  and  bitters 
for  breakfast,  instead  of  honey-candied  quinces  ;  but  I  can't 
always  stop  to  tell  you  Marmontel's  meaning,  or  other  peo- 
ple's, and  therefore  if  I  think  it  not  likely  to  strike  you,  and 
the  word  weakens  the  sentence  in  the  direction  T  want  you 
to  follow,  I  omit  it  in  translating,  as  I  do  also  entire  sen- 
ten.ces,  here  and  there  ;  but  never,  as  aforesaid,  in  actual 
quotation. 

''The  flock  of  the  fold  of  St.  Thomas,  clothed,  with  its 
wool,  now  the  women  and  now  the  children  ;  my  aunt  spun 
it,  and  spun  also  the  hemp  which  made  our  under-dress  ;  the 
children  of  our  neio^libours  came  to  beat  it  with  us  in  the 
evening  by  lamp-light,  (our  own  walnut  trees  giving  us  the 
oil,)  and  formed  a  ravishing  picture.  The  harvest  of  our 
little  farm  assured  our  subsistence  ;  the  wax  and  honey  of 
our  bees,  of  which  one  of  my  aunts  took  extreme  care,  were 
a  revenue,  with  little  capital.  The  oil  of  our  fresh  walnuts 
had  flavour  and  smell,  which  we  liked  better  than  those  of 
the  oil-olive,  and  our  cakes  of  buckwheat,  hot,  with  the  sweet 
butter  of  Mont  Dor,  were  for  us  the  most  inviting  of  feasts. 
By  the  fire-side,  in  the  evening,  while  we  heard  the  pot  boil- 
ing with  sweet  chestnuts  in  it,  our  grandmother  would  roast 
a  quince  under  the  ashes  and  divide  it  among  us  children. 
The  most  sober  of  women  made  us  all  gourmands.  Thus,  in 
a  household,  where  nothing  was  ever  lost,  very  little  expense 
supplied  all  our  further  wants  ;  the  dead  wood  of  the  neigh- 
bouring forests  was  in  abundance,  the  fresh  mountain  butter 
and  most  delicate  cheese  cost  little  ;  even  wine  was  not  dear, 
and  my  father  used  it  soberly." 

That  is  as  much,  1  suppose,  as  you  will  care  for  at  once. 
Insipid  enough,  you  think? — or  perhaps,  in  one  way,  too 
sapid  ;  one's  soul  and  affections  mixed  up  so  curiously  with 


F0R8  GLAVIOERA. 


197 


quince-marmalade?  It  is  true,  the  French  have  a  trick  ot 
doing  that  ;  but  ^vhy  not  take  it  the  other  way,  and  sa}^, 
one's  quince-marmalade  mixed  up  with  affection  ?  We  adul- 
terate our  affections  in  England,  now-a-days,  with  a  yellower, 
harder,  baser  thing  than  that  ;  and  there  would  surely  be  no 
harm  in  our  confectioners  putting  a  little  soul  into  their  su- 
gar,— if  they  put  in  nothing  worse? 

But  as  to  the  simplicity — or,  shall  we  say,  wateriness, — of 
the  style,  I  can  answer  you  more  confidentK'.  Milkiness  would 
be  a  better  word,  only  one  does  not  use  it  of  styles.  This 
writing  of  Marmontel's  is  different  from  the  writing  you  are 
accustomed  to,  in  that  there  is  never  an  exaggerating  phrase 
in  it — never  a  needlessly  strained  or  metaphorical  word,  and 
never  a  misapplied  one.  Nothing  is  said  pithily  to  show 
the  author's  power,  diffusely,  to  show  his  observation,  nor 
quaintly,  to  show  his  fancy.  He  is  not  thinking  of  himself 
as  an  author  at  all  ;  but  of  liimself  as  a  boy.  He  is  not  re- 
membering his  native  valley  as  a  subject  for  fine  writing,  but 
as  a  beloved  real  place,  about  which  he  may  be  garrulous,  per- 
haps, but  not  rhetorical.  But  is  it,  or  was  it,  or  could  it  ever 
be,  a  real  place,  indeed  ? — you  will  ask  next.  Yes,  real  in  the 
severest  sense  ;  with  realities  that  are  to  last  for  ever,  when 
this  London  and  Manchester  life  of  3^ours  shall  have  become  a 
horrible,  and,  but  on  evidence,  incredible,  romance  of  the  past. 

Real,  but  only  partially  seen  ;  still  more  partially  told. 
The  rightnesses  only  perceived  ;  the  felicities  only  remem- 
bered ;  the  landscape  seen  as  if  spring  lasted  always  :  the 
trees  in  blossom  or  fruitacre  evermore  :  no  sheddin^r  of  leaf  : 
of  winter,  nothing  remembered  but  its  fireside. 

Yet  not  untrue.  The  landscape  is  indeed  there,  and  the 
life,  seen  through  glass  that  dims  them,  but  not  distorts  ;  and 
w^hich  is  only  dim  to  Evil. 

But  now  supply,  with  your  own  undimmed  insight,  and 
better  knowledge  of  human  nature  ;  or  invent,  with  imagi- 
native malice,  what  evil  you  think  necessary  to  make  the 
picture  true.  Still — make  the  worst  of  it  you  will — it  can- 
not but  remain  somewhat  incredible  to  you,  like  the  pasto 
ral  scene  in  a  pantomime,  more  than  a  piece  of  history. 


198 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


Well  ;  but  the  pastoral  scene  in  a  pantomime  itself, — tell 
me, — is  it  meant  to  be  a  bright  or  a  gloomy  part  of  your 
Christmas  spectacle  ?  Do  you  mean  it  to  exhibit,  by  contrast, 
the  blessedness  of  your  own  life,  in  the  streets  outside  ;  or, 
for  one  fond  and  foolish  half  hour,  to  recall  the  ravishing 
picture  "  of  days  long  lost.  "  The  sheepfold  of  St.  Thomas," 
(you  have  at  least,  in  him,  an  incredulous  saint,  and  fit  patron 
of  a  Republic  at  once  holy  and  enlightened,)  the  green  island 
full  of  singing  birds,  the  cascade  in  the  forest,  the  vines  on 
the  steep  river-shore  ; — the  little  Marmontel  reading  his  Vir- 
gil in  the  shade,  with  murmur  of  bees  round  him  in  the  sun- 
shine ; — the  fair-haired  comrade,  so  gentle,  so  reasonable, 
and,  marvel  of  marvels,  beloved  for  being  exemplary  !  Is  all 
this  incredible  to  you  in  its  good,  or  in  its  evil  ?  Those 
children  rolling  on  the  heaps  of  black  and  slimy  ground, 
mixed  with  brickbats  and  broken  plates  and  bottles,  in  the 
midst  of  Preston  or  VVigan,  as  edified  travellers  behold  them 
when  the  station  is  blocked,  and  the  train  stops  anywhere 
outside, — the  children  themselves,  black,  and  in  rags  ever- 
more, and  the  only  water  near  them  either  boiling,  or  gath- 
ered in  unctuous  pools,  covered  with  rancid  clots  of  scum,  in 
the  lowest  holes  of  the  earth-heaps, — why  do  you  not  paint 
these  for  pastime?  Are  they  not  what  your  machine  gods 
have  produced  for  you  ?  The  mighty  iron  arms  are  visibly 
there  at  work  ; — no  St.  Thomas  can  be  incredulous  about  the 
existence  of  gods  such  as  they, — day  and  night  at  work — • 
omnipotent,  if  not  resplendent.  Why  do  you  not  rejoice  in 
these  ;  appoint  a  new  Christmas  for  these,  in  memory  of  the 
Nativity  of  Boilers,  and  put  their  realms  of  black  bliss  into 
new  Arcadias  of  pantomime — the  harlequin,  mask  all  over! 
Tell  me,  my  practical  friends. 

Believe  me,  faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


199 


LETTER  XV. 

Denmakk  Hill, 
MyFkiends,  Ut  March,  \m. 

The  Tory  gentleman  whose  character  I  have  to  sketch 
for  you,  in  due  counterbalance  of  that  story  of  republican 
justice  in  California,  was,  as  I  told  you,  the  friend  of  Fried- 
rich  II.  of  Germany,  another  great  Friedrich  preceding  the 
Prussian  one  by  some  centuries,  and  living  quite  as  hard  a 
life  of  it.  But  before  I  can  explain  to  you  anything  either 
about  him,  or  his  friend,  I  must  develop  the  statement  made 
above  (XL  144),  of  the  complex  modes  of  injustice  respecting 
the  means  of  maintenance,  which  have  hitherto  held  in  all 
ages  among  the  three  great  classes  of  soldiers,  clergy,  and 
peasants.  I  mean,  by  '  peasants  '  the  producers  of  food,  out 
of  land  or  water  ;  by  ^clergy,'  men  who  live  by  teaching  or 
exhibition  of  behaviour  ;  and  by  '  soldiers,'  those  who  live 
by  fighting,  either  by  robbing  wise  peasants,  or  getting  them- 
selves paid  by  foolish  ones.  Into  these  three  classes  the 
world's  multitudes  are  essentially  hitherto  divided.  The  le- 
gitimate merchant  of  course  exists,  and  can  exist,  only  on 
the  small  percentage  of  pay  obtainable  foi  the  transfer  of 
goods  ;  and  the  manufacturer  and  artist  are,  in  healthy  so- 
ciety, developed  states  of  the  peasant.  The  morbid  power 
of  manufacture  and  commerce  in  our  own  age  is  an  accidental 
condition  of  national  decrepitude  ;  the  injustices  connected 
with  it  are  mainly  those  of  the  gam))ling-house,  and  quite  un- 
worthy of  analytical  inquiry  ;  but  the  unjust  relations  of  the 
soldier,  clergyman,  and  peasant  have  hitlierto  been  constant 
in  all  great  nations  ;  they  are  full  of  mystery  and  beauty  in 
their  iniquity  ; — they  require  the  most  subtle,  and  deserve 
the  most  reverent,  analvsis. 

The  first  root  of  distinction  between  the  soldier  and  peas- 
ant is  in  barrenness  and  fruitfulness  of  possessed  ground  j 


200 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


the  inhabitant  of  sands  and  rocks  redeeming  his  share  "  (see 
speech  of  Roderick  in  the  Lady  of  the  Lake)  from  the  in- 
habitant of  corn-bearing"  ground.  The  second  root  of  it  is 
delight  in  athletic  exercise,  resulting  in  beauty  of  person  and 
perfectness  of  race,  and  causing  men  to  be  content,  or  even 
triumphant,  in  accepting  continual  risk  of  deatli,  if  by  such 
risk  they  can  escape  the  injury  of  servile  toil. 

Again,  the  first  root  of  distinction  between  clergyman  and 
peasant  is  the  greater  intelligence,  which  instinctively  desires 
both  to  learn  and  teach,  and  is  content  to  accept  the  smallest 
maintenance,  if  it  may  remain  so  occupied.  (Look  back  to 
Marmontel's  account  of  his  tutor.) 

The  second  root  of  distinction  is  that  which  gives  rise  to 
the  word  '  clergy,'  properly  signifying  persons  chosen  by  lot, 
or  in  a  manner  elect,  for  the  practice  and  exhibition  of  good 
behaviour  ;  the  visionary  or  passionate  anchorite  being  con- 
tent to  beg  his  bread,  so  only  that  he  may  have  leave  by  un- 
disturbed prayer,  or  meditation,  to  bring  himself  into  closer 
union  with  the  spiritual  world  ;  and  the  peasant  being  always 
content  to  feed  him,  on  condition  of  his  becoming  venerable 
in  that  higher  state,  and,  as  a  peculiarly  blessed  person,  a 
communicator  of  blessing. 

Now,  both  these  classes  of  men  remain  noble,  as  long  as 
they  are  content  with  daily  bread,  if  they  may  be  allowed  to 
live  in  their  own  way  ;  but  the  moment  the  one  of  them  uses 
his  strength,  and  the  other  his  sanctity,  to  get  riches  with,  or 
pride  of  elevation  over  other  men,  both  of  them  become  t}^- 
rants,  and  capable  of  any  degree  of  evil.  Of  the  clerk's  re- 
lation to  the  peasant,  I  will  only  tell  you,  now,  that,  as  you 
learn  more  of  the  history  of  Germany  and  Italy,  in  the  Mid- 
dle Ages,  and,  indeed,  almost  to  this  day,  you  will  find  the 
soldiers  of  Germany  are  always  trying  to  get  mastery  over 
the  body  of  Italy,  and  the  clerks  of  Italy  are  always  trying 
to  get  mastery  over  the  mind  of  Germany  ; — this  main  strug- 
gle between  Emperor  and  Pope,  as  the  respective  heads  of 
the  two  parties,  absorbing  in  its  v^ortex,  or  attracting  to  its 
standards,  all  the  minor  disorders  and  dignities  of  war  ;  and 


FOIiS  OLA  Via  ERA, 


201 


quartering  itself  in  a  quaintly  heraldic  fashion  with  the 
nietliods  of  encroachment  on  the  peasant,  separately  invented 
by  baron  and  priest. 

Tlie  relation  of  the  baron  to  the  peasant,  however,  is  all 
that  I  can  touch  upon  to-day  ;  and  first,  note  that  this  word, 
^  baron '  is  the  purest  English  you  can  use  to  denote  the  sol- 
dier, soldato,  or  '  fighter,'  hired  with  pence,  or  soldi,  as  such. 
Originally  it  meant  the  servant  of  a  soldier,  or  as  a  Roman 
clerk  of  Nero's  time*  tells  us,  (the  literary  antipathy  thus 
early  developing  itself  in  its  future  nest),  "  the  extreme  fool, 
who  is  a  fool's  servant  ;  "  but  soon  it  came  to  be  associated 
with  a  Greek  word  meaning  heavy  ; "  and  so  got  to  sig- 
nify heavy-handed,  or  heavy-armed,  or  generally  prevailing 
in  manhood.  For  some  time  it  was  used  to  signify  the  au- 
thority of  a  husband  ;  a  woman  called  herself  her  husband's  f 
^ancilla,'  (hand-maid),  and  him  her  *  baron.'  Finally  the 
word  got  settled  in  the  meaning  of  a  strong  lighter  receiving 
regular  pay.  "  Mercenaries  are  persons  who  serve  for  a  regu- 
larly received  pay  ;  the  same  are  called  *Barones'  from  the 
Greek,  because  they  are  strong  in  labours."  This  is  the  defini- 
tion given  by  an  excellent  clerk  of  the  seventh  century,  Isi- 
dore, Bishop  of  Seville,  and  I  wish  you  to  recollect  it,  because 
it  perfectly  unites  the  economical  idea  of  a  Baron,  as  a  per- 
son paid  for  fighting,  with  the  physical  idea  of  one,  as  pre- 
vailing in  battle  by  weight,  not  without  some  attached  idea 
of  slight  stupidity  ; — the  notion  holding  so  distinctly  even  to 
this  day  that  Mr.  ]\Iatthew  Arnold  thinks  the  entire  class 
aptly  describable  under  the  term  barbarians." 

At  all  events,  the  word  is  the  best  general  one  for  the 
dominant  rank  of  the  Middle  Aofes,  as  distino^uished  from  the 
pacific  peasant,  and  so  delighting  in  battle  that  one  of  the 
most  courteous  barons  of  the  fourteenth  century  tells  a  young 
knight  who  comes  to  him  for  general  advice,  that  the  moment 
war  fails  in  any  country,  he  must  go  into  another. 

*  Comutus,  quoted  by  Ducange  under  the  word  "  Bare." 
f  I  am  told  in  the  north  such  pleasant  fiction  still  holds  in  the  Tees- 
dale  district;  the  wife  calling  lier  husband  *  my  mastor  man.' 


202 


FOBS  GLAVIGEBA. 


Et  se  la  guerre  est  faillie, 

Departie 
Fay  tost  de  cellui  pais ; 
N'arreste  quoy  que  nul  die. 

And  if  the  war  has  ended. 

Departure 
Make  quickly  from  that  country, 
Do  not  stop,  whatever  anybody  says  to  you."  * 

But  long  before  this  class  distinction  was  clearly  estab* 
iished,  the  more  radical  one  between  pacific  and  warrior 
nations  had  shown  itself  cruelly  in  the  liistory  of  Europe. 

You  will  find  it  greatly  useful  to  fix  in  your  minds  these 
following  elementary  ideas  of  that  history  : — 

The  Roman  Empire  was  already  in  decline  at  the  birth  of 
Christ.  It  was  ended  five  hundred  years  afterwards.  The 
wrecks  of  its  civilization,  mingled  with  the  broken  fury  of 
the  tribes  which  had  destroyed  it,  were  then  gradually  soft- 
ened and  purged  by  Christianity  ;  and  hammered  into  shape 
by  three  great  warrior  nations,  on  the  north,  south  and  west, 
worshippers  of  the  storms,  of  the  sun,  and  of  fate.  Three 
Christian  kings,  Henry  the  Fowler  in  Germany,  Charle- 
magne in  France,  and  Alfred  in  England,  typically  represent 
the  justice  of  humanity,  gradually  forming  the  feudal  system 
out  of  the  ruined  elements  of  Roman  luxury  and  law,  under 
the  disciplining  torment  inflicted  by  the  mountaineers,  of 
Scandinavia,  India,  and  Arabia. 

This  forging  process  takes  another  five  hundred  years. 
Christian  feudalism  may  be  considered  as  definitely  organized 
at  the  end  of  the  tenth  century,  and  its  political  strength 
established,  having  for  tlie  most  part  absorbed  the  soldiers 
of  the  north,  and  soon  to  be  aggressive  on  those  of  Mount 
Imaus  and  Mount  Sinai.  It  lasts  another  five  hundred  years, 
and  then  our  own  epoch,  that  of  atheistic  liberalism,  begins, 
practically  necessitated, — the  liberalism  by  the  two  discover- 
ies of  gunpowder  and  printing, — and  the  atheism  by  the  un- 
fortunate persistence  of  the  clerks  in  teaching  children  what 

*  The  Book  of  a  Hundred  Ballads.   You  shall  hear  more  of  them,  sooa 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


2U3 


they  cannot  understand,  and  employing  young  consecrated 
persons  to  assert  in  pulpits  what  they  do  not  know. 

That  is  enouofh  o^eneralization  for  vou  to-dav.  I  want  now 
to  fix  your  thoughts  on  one  small  point  in  all  this, — the  effect 
of  the  discovery  of  gunpowder  in  promoting  liberalism. 

Its  first  operation  was  to  destroy  tlie  power  of  the  baron^ 
by  rendering  it  impossible  for  him  to  hold  his  castle,  with  a 
few  men,  against  a  mob.  The  fall  of  the  Bastile,  is  a  typical 
fact  in  history  of  this  kind  ;  but,  of  course  long  previously, 
castellated  architecture  had  been  felt  to  be  useless.  Much 
other  buildinof  of  a  noble  kind  vanishes  to^jether  with  it :  nor 
less  (which  is  a  much  greater  loss  than  the  building,)  the 
baronial  habit  of  living  in  the  country. 

Next  to  his  castle,  the  baron's  armour  becomes  useless  to 
him  ;  and  all  the  noble  habits  of  life  vanish  wiiich  depend  on 
the  wearing  of  a  distinctive  dress,  involving  the  constant 
exercise  of  accurately  disciplined  strength,  and  the  public 
assertion  of  an  exclusive  occupation  in  life,  involving  ex- 
posure to  danger. 

Next,  the  baron's  sword  and  spear  become  useless  to  liim  ; 
and  encounter,  no  longer  the  determination  of  who  is  best 
man,  but  of  who  is  best  marksman,  which  is  a  very  different 
question  indeed. 

Lastly,  the  baron  being  no  more  able  to  maintain  his 
authority  by  force,  seeks  to  keep  it  by  form  ;  he  reduces  his 
own  subordinates  to  a  fine  machinery,  and  obtains  the  com- 
mand of  it  by  pjirchase  or  intrigue.  The  necessity  of  dis- 
tinction of  character  is  in  war  so  absolute,  and  the  tests  of  it 
are  so  many,  that,  in  spite  of  every  abuse,  good  officers  get 
sometimes  the  command  of  squadrons  or  of  ships  ;  and  one 
good  officer  in  a  hundred  is  enough  to  save  the  honour  of  an 
army,  and  the  credit  of  a  system  :  but  generally  speaking, 
our  officers  at  this  day  do  not  know  their  business  ;  and  the 
result  is — that,  paying  thirty  millions  a  year  for  our  army, 
we  are  informed  by  Mr.  Grant  Duff  that  the  army  we  have 
bought  is  of  no  use,  and  we  must  pay  still  more  money  to 
produce  any  effect  upon  foreign  affairs.  So,  you  see,  this  is 
the  actual  state  of  things, — and  it  is  the  perfection  of  lib- 


204 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA, 


eralism, — that  first  we  CHiinot  buy  a  Rapliael  for  five  and 
twenty  pounds,  because  we  have  to  pay  five  hundred  for  a 
pocket  pistol  ;  and  next,  vve  are  coolly  told  that  the  pistol 
won't  go  off,  and  that  we  must  still  pay  foreign  constables  to 
keep  the  peace. 

In  old  times,  under  the  pure  baronial  power,  things  used^ 
as  I  told  you,  to  be  differently  managed  by  us.  We  were, 
all  of  us,  in  some  sense  barons  ;  and  paid  ourselves  for  fight- 
ing. We  had  no  pocket  pistols,  nor  Woolwich  Infants — 
nothing  but  bows  and  spears,  good  horses,  (I  hear  after  two- 
thirds  of  our  existing  barons  have  ruined  their  youth  in 
horse-racing,  and  a  good  many  of  them  their  fortunes  also, 
we  are  now  in  irremediable  want  of  horses  for  our  cavalry), 
and  bright  armour.  Its  brightness,  observe,  was  an  essential 
matter  with  us.  Last  autumn  I  saw,  even  in  modern  Enir- 
land,  something  bright  ;  low  sunshine  at  six  o'clock  of  an 
October  morning,  glancing  down  a  long  bank  of  fern  covered 
with  hoar  frost,  in  Yewdale,  at  the  head  of  Coniston  Water. 
I  noted  it  as  more  beautiful  than  anything  I  had  ever  seen, 
to  my  remembrance,  in  gladness  and  infinitude  of  light.  Now, 
Scott  uses  this  very  image  to  describe  the  look  of  the  chain- 
mail  of  a  soldier  in  one  of  thece  free  *  companies  ; — Le 
Balafre,  Quentin  Durward's  uncle  : — "  The  archer's  gorget, 
arm-pieces,  and  gauntlets  were  of  the  finest  steel,  curiously 
inlaid  with  silver,  and  his  hauberk,  or  shirt  of  mail,  was  as 
clear  and  bright  as  the  frost-work  of  a  winter  morning  upon 
fern  or  briar."  And  Sir  John  Hawkwood's  men,  of  whose 
proceedings  in  Italy  I  have  now  to  give  you  some  account, 
were  named  throughout  Italy,  as  I  told  you  in  my  first  letter, 
the  White  Company  of  English,  *  Societas  alba  Anglicorum,' 
or  generally,  the  Great  White  Company,  merely  from  the 

*  This  singular  use  of  the  word  "free"  in  baronial  times,  correspond- 
ing to  our  present  singular  use  of  it  respecting  trade,  we  will  examine 
in  due  time.  A  soldier  who  fights  only  for  his  own  hand,  and  a  mer- 
chant  who  sells  only  for  his  own  hand  are,  of  course,  in  reality,  equally 
the  slaves  of  the  persons  who  employ  them.  Only  the  soldier  is  truly 
free,  and  only  the  merchants,  who  tight  and  sell  as  their  country  needs, 
and  bids  them. 


FOIiS  CLAVIGEBA. 


205 


splendour  of  their  arms.  They  crossed  the  Alps  in  1361,  and 
immediatelv  caused  a  curious  chano^e  in  the  Italian  lanjruaofe. 

t/  CD  O  O 

Azario  lays  great  stress  on  their  tall  spears  with  a  very  long 
iron  point  at  the  extremity  ;  this  formidable  weapon  being 
for  the  most  part  wielded  by  two,  and  sometimes  moreover 
by  three  individuals,  being  so  heavy  and  huge,  that  whatever 
it  came  in  contact  with  was  pierced  thro'  and  thro'."  He 
says,  that*  at  their  backs  the  mounted  bowmen  carried  their 
bows  ;  whilst  those  used  by  the  infantry  archers  were  so 
enormous  that  the  lonor  arrows  discharged  from  them  were 
shot  with  one  end  of  the  bow  resting  on  the  ground  instead 
of  being  drawn  in  the  air." 

Of  the  English  bow  you  have  probably  heard  before, 
though  I  shall  have,  both  of  it,  and  the  much  inferior  Greek 
bow  made  of  two  goats'  horns,  to  tell  you  some  things  that 
may  not  have  come  in  your  way  ;  but  the  change  these 
English  caused  in  the  Italian  language,  and  afterwards  gen- 
erally in  that  of  chivalry,  was  by  their  use  of  the  spear  ;  for 
"  Filippo  Villani  tells  us  that  whereas,  '  until  the  English 
company  crossed  the  Alps,  his  countrymen  numbered  their 
military  forces  by  '  helmets  '  and  colour  companies,  (bandi- 
ere)  ;  thenceforth  armies  were  reckoned  by  the  sjyear,  a 
weapon  which,  when  handled  by  the  White  Company,  proved 
no  less  tremendous  than  the  English  bayonet  of  modern 
times." 

It  is  worth  noting  as  one  of  the  tricks  of  the  third  Fors — 
tlie  giver  of  names  as  well  as  fortunes — that  the  name  of  tlie 
chief  poet  of  passionate  Italy  should  have  been  *  the  bearer 
of  the  wing,'  and  that  of  the  chief  poet  of  practical  England, 
the  bearer  or  shaker  of  the  spear.  Noteworthy  also  that 
Shakespeare  himself  gives  a  name  to  his  type  of  the  false 
soldier  from  the  pistol  ;  but,  in  the  future  doubtless  we  shall 
have  a  hero  of  culminating  soldierly  courage  named  from  the 
torpedo,  and  a  poet  of  the  commercial  period,  singing  the 
wars  directed  by  Mr.  Grant  Duff,  named  Shake-purse. 

The  White  Company  when  they  crossed  the  Alps  were 

*  I  alwa5^s  pive  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown's  translation  from  his  work,  The 
EnglUJi  in  Italy ^  :ilready  quoted. 


206 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


under  a  German  captain.  (Some  years  before,  an  entirely 
German  troop  was  prettily  defeated  by  the  Apennine  peas- 
ants.) Sir  John  Hawk  wood  did  not  take  the  command  until 
1364,  when  the  Pisans  hired  the  company,  five  thousand 
strong,  at  the  rate  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  golden 
florins  for  six  months.  I  think  about  fifty  thousand  pounds 
of  our  money  a  month,  or  ten  pounds  a  man—Sir  John  Ijim- 
self  being  then  described  as  a  "great  general,"  an  English- 
man of  a  vulpine  nature,  "  and  astute  in  their  fashion."  This 
English  fashion  of  astuteness  means,  I  am  happy  to  say,  that 
Sir  John  saw  far,  planned  deeply,  and  was  nunning  in  military 
stratagem  ;  but  would  neither  poison  his  enemies  nor  sell  Ir/s 
friends — the  two  words  of  course  being  always  understood 
as  for  the  time  being  ; — for,  from  this  year  1364  for  thirty 
years  onward,  he  leads  his  gradually  more  and  more  powerful 
soldier's  life,  fighting  first  for  one  town  and  then  for  another  ; 
here  for  bishops,  and  there  for  barons,  but  mainly  for  those 
merchants  of  Florence,  from  whom  that  narrow  street  in 
your  city  is  named  Lombard  Street,  and  interfering  thus  so 
decidedly  with  foreign  affairs,  that,  at  the  end  of  the  thirty 
years,  when  he  put  off  his  armour,  and  had  lain  resting  for  a 
little  while  in  Florence  Cathedral,  Kinof  Richard  the  Second 
begged  his  body  from  the  Florentines,  and  laid  it  in  his  own 
land  ;  the  Florentines  granting  it  in  the  terms  of  this  follow- 
ing letter  : — 

To  THE  King  of  England. 

Most  serene  and  invincible  Sovereign,  most  dread  Lord, 
and  our  very  especial  Benefactor — 

"  Our  devotion  can  deny  nothing  to  your  Highness'  Emi- 
nence :  there  is  nothing  in  our  power  which  we  would  not 
strive  by  all  means  to  accomplish,  should  it  prove  grateful 
to  you. 

"  Wherefore,  although  we  should  consider  it  glorious  for 
us  and  our  people  to  possess  the  dust  and  ashes  of  the  late 
valiant  knight,  nay,  most  renowned  captain.  Sir  John  Hawk- 
wood,  who  fought  most  gloriously  for  us,  as  the  commander 
of  our  armies,  and  whom  at  the  public  expense  we  caused  to 


FORS  CLAVIQERA, 


207 


be  entombed  in  the  Catliedral  Church  of  our  city;  yet,  not- 
withstanding, according-  to  the  form  of  the  demand,  tliat  his 
remains  may  be  taken  back  to  his  country,  we  freely  concede 
the  permission,  lest  it  be  said  that  your  sublimity  asked  any- 
thing in  vain,  or  fruitlessly,  of  our  reverential  humility. 

"  We,  however,  with  due  deference,  and  all  possible  ear- 
nestness, recommend  to  your  Highness'  graciousness,  the  son 
and  posterity  of  said  Sir  John,  who  acquired  no  mean  repute, 
and  glory  for  the  English  name  in  Italy,  as  also  our  mer- 
chants and  citizens." 

It  chanced  by  the  appointment  of  the  third  Fors,^  to 
which,  you  know,  I  am  bound  in  these  letters  uncomplain- 
ingly to  submit,  that,  just  as  I  had  looked  out  this  letter  for 
you,  given  at  Florence  in  the  year  1396,  I  found  in  an  old 
book-shop  two  gazettes,  nearly  three  hundred  years  later, 
namely,  Number  20  of  the  Mercuriics  Publiciis^  and  Number 
50  of  the  Parliamentary  Intelligencer^  the  latter  comprising 
the  same  "  foraign  intelligence,  with  the  affairs  now  in  agi- 
tation in  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  for  information  of 
the  people.  Publish'd  by  order,  from  Monday,  December  3rd, 
to  Monday,  December  10th,  1660."  This  little  gazette  in- 
forms us  in  its  first  advertisement,  that  in  London,  Novem- 
ber 30th,  1660,  was  lost,  in  or  about  this  city,  a  small  paper 
book  of  accounts  and  receipts,  with  a  red  leather  cover,  with 
two  clasps  on  it  ;  and  that  anybody  that  can  give  intelli- 
gence of  it  to  the  city  crier  at  Bread  Street  end  in  Cheapside, 

shall  have  five  shillings  for  their  pains,  and  more  if  they 
desire  it."  And  its  last  i)aragraph  is  as  follows  : — On  Sat- 
urday (December  8),  the  Most  Honourable  House  of  Peers 
concurred  with  the  Commons  in  the  order  for  digging  up  the 
carkasses  of  Oliver  Cromwel,  Henry  Ireton,  John  Bradshaw, 
and  Thomas  Pride,  and  carrying  them  on  an  Hurdle  to  Ty- 
burn, where  they  are  to  be  first  hang'd  up  in  their  Coffins, 
and  then  buried  under  the  Gallows." 

The  Public  Mercury  is  of  date  Thursday,  June  14th,  to 
Thursday,  June  21st,  1660,  and  contains  a  report  of  the  pro- 

*  Remember,  briefly  always,  till  I  can  tell  you  more  about  it,  that 
the  first  Fors  is  Courage,  the  second.  Patience,  the  third,  Fortune. 


208 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


ceedings  at  the  House  of  Commons,  on  Saturday,  the  IGth, 
S)i  which  the  first  sentence  is  : — 

Resolved, — That  his  Majesty  be  humbly  moved  to  call 
in  Milton's  two  books,  and  John  Goodwin's,  and  order  them 
^o  be  burnt  by  the  common  hangman." 

By  the  final  appointment  of  the  third  Fors,  I  chanced,  just 
after  finding  these  gazettes,  to  come  upon  the  following 
j)assage  in  my  Daily  Telegraph  : — 

Every  head  was  uncovered,  and  although  among  those 
who  were  farthest  off  there  was  a  pressing  forward  and  a 
straining-  to  catch  sight  of  the  coffin,  there  was  nothing  un- 
seemly or  rude.  The  Catafalque  was  received  at  the  top  of 
the  stairs  by  Col.  Braine  and  other  officers  of  the  9th,  and 
placed  in  the  centre  of  the  vestibule  on  a  rich  velvet  pall  on 
which  rested  crowns,  crosses,  and  other  devices,  composed  of 
tuberoses  and  camellias,  while  beautiful  lilies  were  scattered 
over  the  corpse,  which  was  clothed  in  full  regimentals,  the 
cap  and  sword  resting  on  the  body.  The  face,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  its  pallor,  was  unchanged,  and  no  one,  unless  know- 
ing the  circumstances,  would  have  believed  that  Fiske  had 
died  a  violent  death.  The  body  was  contained  in  a  handsome 
rosewood  casket,  with  gold-plated  handles,  and  a  splendid 
plate  bearing  the  inscription,  '  James  Fiske,  jun.,  died  January 
7th,  1872,  in  the  37th  year  of  his  age.'" 

In  the  foregoing  passages,  you  see,  there  is  authentic  ac- 
count given  you  of  the  various  honours  rendered  by  the  en- 
lightened public  of  the  fourteenth,  seventeenth,  and  nine- 
teenth centuries  to  the  hero  of  their  day  or  hour;  the  persons 
thus  reverenced  in  their  burial,  or  unburial,  being  all,  by 
profession,  soldiers  ;  and  holding  rank  in  that  profession, 
very  properly  describable  by  the  pretty  modern  English  word 
"  Colonel  " — leader,  that  is  to  say,  of  a  Coronel,  CoroneIJa,  or 
daisy-like  circlet  of  men  ;  as  in  the  last  case  of  the  three  be-' 
fore  us,  of  the  Tammany  "Ring." 

You  are  to  observe,  however,  that  the  first  of  the  three, 
Colonel  Sir  John  Hawkwood,  is  a  soldier  both  in  heart  and 


FOUS  CLAVIOERA. 


209 


deed,  every  inch  of  him  ;  and  that  the  second,  Colonel  Oliver 
Cromwell,  was  a  soldier  in  deed,  but  not  in  heart  ;  being  by 
natural  disposition  and  temper  fitted  rather  for  a  Hunting- 
donshire farmer,  and  not  at  all  caring  to  make  any  money  by 
his  military  business  ;  and  finally,  that  Colonel  James  Fiske, 
jun.,  was  a  soldier  in  heart,  to  the  extent  of  being  willing  to 
receive  any  quantity  of  soldi  from  any  paymaster,  but  no 
more  a  soldier  in  deed  than  you  are  yourselves,  when  you  go 
piping  and  drumming  past  my  gate  at  Denmark  Hill  (I  should 
rather  say — banging,  than  drumming,  for  I  observe  you  hit 
equally  hard  and  straightforward  to  every  tune  ;  so  that 
from  a  distance  it  sounds  just  like  beating  carpets),  under 
the  impression  that  you  are  defending  your  country  as  well 
as  amusing  yourselves. 

Of  the  various  honours,  deserved  or  undeserved,  done  by 
enlightened  public  opinion  to  these  three  soldiers,  I  leave  you 
to  consider  till  next  montli,  merely  adding,  to  put  you  more 
entirely  in  command  of  the  facts,  that  Sir  John  Hawkwood, 
(Acuto,  the  Italians  called  him,  by  happy  adaptation  of  syl- 
lables), whose  entire  subsistence  was  one  of  systematic  mil- 
itary robbery,  had,  when  he  was  first  buried,  the  honour, 
rarely  granted  even  to  the  citizens  of  Florence,  of  having  his 
coffin  laid  on  the  font  of  the  House  of  his  name-saint,  St. 
John  Baptist — that  same  font  which  Dante  was  accused  of 
having  impiously  broken  to  save  a  child  from  drowning,  in 
**mio  bel  San  Giovanni."  I  am  soon  o-oinir  to  Florence  mv- 
self  to  draw  this  beautiful  San  Giovanni  for  the  beirinnini}:  of 
my  lectures  on  Architecture,  at  Oxford  ;  and  you  sliall  have 
a  print  of  the  best  sketch  I  can  make,  to  assist  3'our  medita- 
tions on  the  lionours  of  soldiership,  and  efficacy  of  baptism. 
Meantime,  let  me  ask  you  to  read  an  account  of  one  funeral 
more,  and  to  meditate  also  on  that.  It  is  given  in  the  most 
exquisite  and  finished  piece  which  I  know  of  English  Prose 
literature  in  the  eighteenth  century  ;  and,  however  often 
you  may  have  seen  it  already,  I  beg  of  you  to  read  it  now, 
both  in  connection  with  the  funeral  ceremonies  described 
liitherto,  and  for  the  sake  of  its  educational  effect  on  your 
own  taste  in  writing  : — 
14 


210 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


"  We  last  night  received  a  piece  of  ill  news  at  our  club, 
which  very  sensibly  afflicted  every  one  of  us.  I  question  not 
but  my  readers  themselves  will  be  troubled  at  the  hearing  of 
it.  To  keep  them  no  longer  in  suspense,  Sir  Roger  de 
Coverley  is  dead.  He  departed  this  life  at  his  house  in  the 
country,  after  a  few  weeks  of  sickness.  Sir  i\.ndrew  Freeport 
has  a  letter  from  one  of  his  correspondents  in  those  parts, 
that  informs  him  the  old  man  cauo-ht  a  cold  at  the  countv- 
sessions,  as  he  was  very  warmly  promoting  an  address  of  his 
own  penning,  in  which  he  succeeded  according  to  his  wishes. 
But  this  particular  comes  from  a  whig  justice  of  the  peace, 
who  was  always  Sir  Roger's  enemy  and  antagonist.  I  have 
letters  both  from  the  chaplain  and  captain  Sentr}^,  which 
mention  nothing  of  it,  but  are  filled  with  many  particulars  to 
the  honour  of  the  good  old  man.  I  have  likewise  a  letter  from 
the  butler,  who  took  so  much  care  of  me  last  summer  when 
I  was  at  the  knight's  house.  As  my  friend  the  butler  men- 
tions, in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart,  several  circumstances  the 
others  have  passed  over  in  silence,  I  shall  give  my  reader 
a  copy  of  his  letter,  without  any  alteration  or  diminution. 

"'Honoured  Sir, — Knowing  that  you  was  my  old  mas* 
ter's  good  friend,  I  could  not  forbear  sending  you  the  melan- 
choly news  of  his  death,  which  has  afflicted  the  whole  country, 
as  well  as  his  poor  servants,  who  loved  him,  I  may  say,  bet- 
ter than  we  did  our  lives.  I  am  afraid  he  caught  his  death 
the  last  county-sessions,  where  he  would  go  to  see  justice 
done  to  a  poor  widow  woman,  and  her  fatherless  children, 
that  had  been  wronged  by  a  neighbouring  gentleman  ;  for 
you  know,  Sir,  my  good  master  was  always  the  poor  man's 
friend.  Upon  his  coming  home,  the  first  complaint  he  made 
was,  that  he  had  lost  his  roast-beef  stomach,  not  being  able 
to  touch  a  sirloin,  which  was  served  up  according  to  custom  : 
and  you  know  he  used  to  take  great  delight  in  it.  From 
that  time  forward  he  grew  worse  and  worse,  but  still  kept  a 
good  heart  to  the  last.  Indeed  we  were  once  in  great  hope 
of  his  recovery,  upon  a  kind  message  that  was  sent  him  from 
the  widow  lady  whom  he  had  made  love  to  the  forty  last 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


211 


years  of  his  life  ;  but  this  only  proved  a  lightning  before 
death.  He  has  bequeathed  to  this  lady,  as  a  token  of  his 
love,  a  great  pearl  necklace,  and  a  couple  of  silver  bracelets 
set  with  jev^els,  which  belonged  to  niy  good  old  lady  his 
mother.  He  has  bequeathed  the  fine  white  gelding  that  he 
used  to  ride  a  hunting  upon,  to  his  chaplain,  because  he 
thought  he  would  be  kind  to  him,  and  has  left  you  all  his 
books.  He  has  moreover  bequeathed  to  the  chaplain  a  very 
pretty  tenement  with  good  lands  about  it.  It  being  a  very 
cold  day  when  he  made  his  will,  he  left  for  mourning  to  every 
man  in  the  parish,  a  great  frize-coat,  and  to  every  woman  a 
black  ridinof-hood.  It  was  a  most  movins:  sicrht  to  see  him 
take  leave  of  his  poor  servants,  commending  us  all  for  our 
fidelity,  whilst  we  were  not  able  to  speak  a  word  for  weep- 
ing. As  we  most  of  us  are  grown  grey-headed  in  our  dear 
master's  service,  he  has  left  us  pensions  and  legacies,  which 
we  may  live  very  comfortably  upon  the  remaining  part  of 
our  days.  He  has  bequeathed  a  great  deal  more  in  charity, 
which  is  not  yet  come  to  my  knowledge,  and  it  is  peremp- 
torily said  in  the  parish,  that  he  has  left  money  to  build  a 
steeple  to  the  church  ;  for  lie  was  heard  to  say  some  time 
ago,  that  if  he  lived  two  years  longer,  Coverley  church  should 
have  a  steeple  to  it.  The  chaplain  tells  everybody  that  he 
made  a  very  good  end,  and  never  speaks  of  him  without 
tears.  He  was  buried,  according  to  his  own  directions, 
among  the  family  of  the  Coverleys,  on  the  left  hand  of  his 
father  Sir  Arthur.  The  coffin  was  carried  by  six  of  his  tenants, 
and  the  pall  held  up  by  six  of  the  quorum.  The  whole  par- 
ish followed  the  corpse  with  heavy  hearts,  and  in  their  mourn- 
ing suits  ;  the  men  in  frize,  and  the  women  in  riding-hoods. 
Captain  Sentry,  my  master's  nephew,  has  taken  possession 
of  the  Hall-house,  and  the  whole  estate.  When  my  old 
master  saw  him  a  little  before  his  death,  he  shook  him  by  the 
hand,  and  wished  him  joy  of  the  estate  which  was  falling  to 
him,  desiring  him  only  to  make  a  good  use  of  it,  and  to  pay 
the  several  legacies,  and  the  gifts  of  charity,  which  he  told 
him  lie  had  left  as  quit-rents  upon  the  estate.  The  captain 
truly  seems  &  courteous  man,  though  he  says  but  little.  He 


212 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


makes  much  of  those  whom  my  master  loved,  and  shews 
great  kindness  to  the  old  house-dog,  that  you  know  my  poor 
master  was  so  fond  of.  It  would  have  gone  to  your  heart 
to  have  heard  the  moans  the  dumb  creature  made  on  the  day 
of  my  master's  death.  He  has  never  joyed  himself  since  ; 
no  more  has  any  of  us.  It  was  the  melancholiest  day  for 
the  poor  people  that  ever  happened  in  Worcestershire.  This 
is  all  from.  Honoured  Sir, 

'  Your  most  sorrowful  servant, 

"  '  Edward  Biscuit. 

"'P.S.  My  master  desired,  some  weeks  before  he  died, 
that  a  book,  which  comes  up  to  you  by  the  carrier,  should 
be  given  to  Sir  Andrew  Freeport  in  his  name.' 

"  This  letter,  notwithstanding  the  poor  butler's  manner  of 
writing  it,  gave  us  such  an  idea  of  our  good  old  friend,  that 
upon  the  reading  of  it  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  club. 
Sir  Andrew  opening  the  book,  found  it  to  be  a  collection  of 
acts  of  parliament.  There  was  in  particular  the  Act  of 
Uniformity,  with  some  passages  in  it  marked  by  Sir  Roger's 
own  hand.  Sir  Andrew  found  that  they  related  to  two  or 
three  points  which  he  had  disputed  with  Sir  Roger  the  last 
time  he  appeared  at  the  club.  Sir  Andrew,  who  would  have 
been  merry  at  such  an  incident  on  another  occasion,  at  the 
sight  of  the  old  man's  handwriting  burst  into  tears,  and  put 
the  book  into  his  pocket.  Captain  Sentry  informs  me  that 
the  knight  has  left  rings  and  mourning  for  every  one  in  the 
club." 

I  am  obliged  to  give  you  this  ideal  of  Addison's  because  I 
can  neither  from  my  own  knowledge,  nor,  at  this  moment, 
out  of  any  domestic  chronicles  I  remember,  give  you  so  per- 
fect an  account  of  the  funeral  of  an  English  squire  who  has 
lived  an  honourable  life  in  peace.  But  Addison  is  as  true 
as  truth  itself.  So  now,  meditate  over  these  four  funerals, 
and  the  meaning  and  accuracy  of  the  public  opinions  they 
express,  till  I  can  write  again. 

x\nd  believe  me,  ever  faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


FOES  CLAVIGEKA, 


213 


LETTER  XVI. 

Denmark  Hill, 
My  Friends,  1^^^*  March,  1872. 

The  meditation  I  asked  you  to  give  to  the  facts  put  before 
you  in  my  last  letter,  if  given,  should  have  convinced  you, 
for  one  thing,  quite  sufficiently  for  all  your  future  needs,  of 
the  unimportance  of  momentary  public  opinion  respecting 
the  characters  of  men  ;  and  for  another  thing,  of  the  precious- 
ness  of  confirmed  public  opinion,  when  it  happens  to  be 
right  ; — preciousness  both  to  the  person  opined  of,  and  tlie 
opiners  ; — as,  for  instance,  to  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  the  opin- 
ion formed  of  him  by  liis  tenants  and  club  :  and  for  third 
thing,  it  might  have  properly  led  you  to  consider,  though  it 
was  scarcely  probable  your  thoughts  should  have  turned  that 
way,  what  an  evil  trick  of  human  creatures  it  was  to  reserve 
the  expression  of  these  opinions — or  even  the  examination  of 
them,  until  the  persons  to  be  opined  of  are  dead  ;  and  then 
to  endeavour  to  put  all  right  by  setting  their  coffins  on  bap- 
tistery fonts — or  hanging  them  up  at  Tyburn.  Let  me  very 
strongly  advise  you  to  make  up  your  minds  concerning  people, 
wiiile  they  are  witli  you  ;  to  honour  and  obey  those  whom 
you  consider  good  ones  ;  to  dishonour  and  disobey  those 
whom  you  consider  bad  ones  ;  and  when  good  and  bad  ones 
die,  to  make  no  violent  or  expressive  demonstrations  of  the 
feelings  which  have  now  become  entirely  useless  to  the  per- 
sons concerned,  and  are  only,  as  they  are  true  or  false,  ser- 
viceable, or  the  contrary,  to  yourselves  ;  but  to  take  care 
that  some  memorial  is  kept  of  men  who  deserve  memory,  in 
a  distinct  statement  on  the  stone  or  brass  of  their  tombs, 
either  that  they  were  true  men,  or  rascals — wise  men,  or 
fools. 

How  beautiful  the  variety  of  sepulchral  architecture  might 
be,  in  any  extensive  place  of  burial,  if  the  public  would  meet 


214 


FQE8  CLAVIOEUA. 


the  small  expense  of  thus  expressing  its  opinions,  in  a  verily 
instructive  manner  ;  and  if  some  of  the  tombstones  accord- 
ingly terminated  in  fools'  caps  ;  and  others,  instead  of 
crosses  or  cherubs,  bore  engravings  of  cats-of-nine-taiJs,  as 
typical  of  the  probable  methods  of  entertainment,  in  the 
next  world,  of  the  persons,  not,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  reposing, 
below. 

But  the  particular  subject  led  up  to  in  my  last  letter, 
and  which,  in  this  special  month  of  April,  I  think  it  appro- 
priate for  you  to  take  to  heart,  is  the  way  in  which  you 
spend  your  money,  or  allow  it  to  be  spent  for  you.  Colonel 
Hawkwood  and  Colonel  Fiske  both  passed  their  whole  lives 
in  getting  possession,  by  various  means,  of  other  people's 
money  ;  (in  the  final  fact,  of  working-men's  money,  yours, 
that  is  to  say),  and  everybody  praises  and  crowns  them  for 
doing  so.  Colonel  Cromwell  passes  his  life  in  fighting 
for,  what  in  the  gist  of  it  meant,  not  freedom,  but  free- 
dom from  unjust  taxation  ; — and  you  hang  his  coffin  up  at 
Tyburn. 

"  Not  Freedom,  but  deliverance  from  unjust  taxation."  You 
call  me  unpractical.  Suppose  you  became  practical  enough 
yourselves  to  take  that  for  a  watchword  for  a  little  while,  and 
see  how  near  you  can  come  to  its  realization. 

For,  I  very  positively  can  inform  you,  the  considerablest 
part  of  the  misery  of  the  world  comes  of  the  tricks  of  unjust 
taxation.  All  its  evil  passions — pride,  lust,  revenge,  malice, 
and  sloth,  derive  their  main  deadliness  from  the  facilities  of 
getting  hold  of  other  people's  money  open  to  the  persons 
they  influence.  Pay  every  man  for  his  work, — pay  nobody 
but  for  his  work, — and  see  that  the  work  be  sound  ;  and  you 
will  find  pride,  lust,  and  sloth  have  little  room  left  for  them* 
selves. 

Observe,  however,  very  carefully,  that  by  unjust  taxation, 
I  do  not  mean  merely  Chancellor  of  Exchequer's  business, 
but  a  great  part  of  wliat  really  very  wise  and  worthy  gen- 
tlemen, but,  unfortunately,  proud  also,  suppose  to  be  their 
business. 

For  instance,  before  beginning  my  letter  to  you  this 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


215 


morning,  (the  last  I  shall  ever  date  from  Denmark  Hill,*) 
I  put  out  of  my  sight,  carefully,  under  a  large  book,  a  legal 
document,  which  disturbed  me  by  its  barbarous  black  letter- 
ing.   This  is  an  R 


in  it,  for  instance,  which  is  ugly  enough,  as  such,  but  how 
ugly  in  the  significance  of  it,  and  reasons  of  its  being 
written  that  way,  instead  of  in  a  properly  intelligible  way, 
there  is  hardly  vituperation  enough  in  language  justly  to 
express  to  you.  This  said  document  is  to  release  the  sole 
remaining  executor  of  my  father's  will  from  further  responsi- 
bility for  the  execution  of  it.  And  all  that  there  is  really 
need  for,  of  English  scripture  on  the  occasion,  would  be  as 
follows  : — 

I,  having  received  this  loth  of  March,  1822,  from  A.  B., 
Esq.,  all  t-he  property  which  my  father  left,  hereby  release 
A.  B.,  Esq.,  from  future  responsibility,  respecting  either  my 
father's  property,  or  mine,  or  my  father's  business,  or  mine. 
Signed,  J.  R.,  before  such  and  such,  two  witnesses. 

This  document,  on  properly  cured  calf-skin,  (not  cleaned 
by  acids),  and  written  as  plainly  as,  after  having  contracted 
some  careless  literary  habits,  I  could  manage  to  write  it, 
ought  to  answer  the  purpose  required,  before  any  court  of 
law  on  earth. 

In  order  to  effect  it  in  a  manner  pleasing  to  the  present 

*  Between  May  and  October,  any  letters  meant  for  me  should  bo  ad- 
dressed to  Brantwood,  Coniston  ;  between  October  and  May,  to  Corpus 
Christi  College,  Oxford  They  must  be  very  short,  and  very  plainly 
written,  or  they  will  not  be  read  ;  and  they  need  never  ask  me  to  do 
anything,  because  I  won't  do  it.  And,  in  general,  I  cannot  answer  let- 
ters ;  but  for  any  that  come  to  help  me,  the  writers  may  be  sure  that  I 
am  grateful.  I  get  a  great  many  from  people  who  know  that  I  must 
be  good-natured,"  from  my  books.  I  was  good-natured  once  ;  but  I  beg 
to  state,  in  the  most  positive  terms,  that  I  am  now  old,  tired,  and  very 
ill-natured. 


216 


F0R8  CLAVIGEEA. 


legal  mind  of  England,  I  receive  eighty-seven  lines  of  close 
writing,  containing  from  fourteen  to  sixteen  words  eacli, 
(one  thousand  two  hundred  and  eighteen  words  in  all,  at  the 
minimum)  ;  thirteen  of  them  in  black  letters  of  the  lovely 
kind  above  imitated,  but  produced  with  much  pains  by  the 
scrivener.  Of  the  manner  in  w^hich  this  overplus  of  one 
thousand  two  hundred  and  seventy-eight  words  is  accom- 
plished, (my  suggested  form  containing  forty  only),  the 
following  example — the  last  clause  of  the  document — may 
suffice. 

And  the  said  J.  R.  doth  hereby  for  himself  his  heirs 
executors  and  administrators  covenant  and  agree  with  and 
to  the  said  A.  B.  his  executors  and  administrators  that  he 
the  said  J.  R.  his  heirs  executors  administrators  or  assigns 
shall  and  will  from  time  to  time  and  at  all  times  hereafter 
save  harmless  and  keep  indemnified  the  said  A.  B.  his  heirs 
executors  administrators  and  assigns  from  and  in  respect  of 
all  claims  and  demands  whatsoever  which  may  be  made  upon 
him  or  tliem  or  any  of  them  for  or  in  respect  of  the  real  or 
personal  estate  of  the  said  J.  R.  and  from  all  suits  costs 
charges  and  damages  and  expenses  whatsoever  which  the 
said  A.  B.  his  heirs  executors  administrators  or  assigns  shall 
be  involved  in  or  put  unto  for  or  in  respect  of  the  said  real 
or  personal  estate  or  an}^  part  thereof." 

Now,  what  reason  do  you  suppose  there  is  for  all  this  bar- 
barism and  bad  grammar,  and  tax  upon  my  eyes  and  time, 
for  very  often  one  has  actually  to  read  these  things,  or  hear 
them  read,  all  through  ?  The  reason  is  simply  and  wholly 
that  I  may  be  charged  so  much  per  word,  that  the  lawj^er  and 
his  clerk  may  live.  But  do  you  not  see  how  infinitely  ad- 
vantageous it  would  be  for  me,  (if  only  I  could  get  the  other 
sufferers  under  this  black  literature  to  be  of  my  mind),  to 
chip  the  lawyer  and  his  clerk,  once  for  all,  fairly  out  of  the 
w^ay  in  a  dignified  almshouse,  with  parchment  unlimited,  and 
ink  turned  on  at  a  tap,  and  maintenance  for  life,  on  the  mere 
condition  of  their  never  troubling  humanity  more,  with  either 
their  scriptures  or  opinions  on  any  subject  ;  and  to  have  this 
release  of  mine,  as  above  worded,  simply  confirmed  by  the 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


217 


signature  of  any  person  whom  the  Queen  might  appoint  for 
that  purpose,  (say  the  squire  of  the  parish),  and  there  an  end  ? 
How  is  it,  do  you  think,  that  other  sufferers  under  the  black 
literature  do  not  come  to  be  of  my  mind,  which  was  Cicero's 
mind  also,  and  has  been  the  mind  of  every  sane  person  be- 
fore Cicero  and  since  Cicero, — so  that  we  might  indeed  get 
it  ended  thus  summarily  ? 

Well,  at  the  root  of  all  these  follies  and  iniquities,  there 
lies  always  one  tacit,  but  infinitely  strong  persuasion  in  the 
British  mind,  namely,  that  somehow  money  grows  out  of 
nothing,  if  one  can  only  find  some  expedient  to  produce  an 
article  that  must  be  paid  for.  Here,"  the  practical  Englisii- 
man  says  to  himself,  "  I  produce,  being  capable  of  nothing 
better,  an  entirely  worthless  piece  of  parchment,  with  one 
thousand  two  hundred  entirely  foolish  words  upon  it,  written 
in  an  entirely  abominable  hand  ;  and  by  this  production  of 
mine,  I  conjure  out  of  the  vacant  air,  the  substance  of  ten 
pounds,  or  the  like.  What  an  infinitely  profitable  transac- 
tion to  me  and  to  the  world  !  Creation,  out  of  a  chaos  of 
words,  and  a  dead  beast's  hide,  of  this  beautiful  and  omnipo- 
tent ten  pounds.  Do  I  not  see  with  my  own  eyes  that  this 
is  very  good  ?  " 

That  is  the  real  impression  on  the  existing  popular  mind  ; 
silent,  but  deep,  and  for  the  present  unconquerable.  Tliat 
by  due  parchment,  calligraphy,  and  ingenious  stratagem, 
money  may  be  conjured  out  of  the  vacant  air.  Alchemy  is, 
indeed,  no  longer  included  in  our  list  of  sciences,  for  alchemy 
proposed, — irrational  science  that  it  was, — to  make  money 
of  something  / — gold  of  lead,  or  the  like.  But  to  make  money 
of  nothing^ — this  appears  to  be  manifoldly  possible,  to  the 
modern  Anglo-Saxon  practical  person, — instructed  by  Mr. 
John  Stuart  Mill.  Sometimes,  with  rare  intelligence,  he  is 
capable  of  carrying  the  inquiry  one  step  farther.  Pushed 
hard  to  assign  a  Providential  cause  for  such  legal  docu- 
ments as  this  we  are  talking  of,  an  English  gentleman  would 
say  : 

"Well,  of  course,  where  property  needs  legal  forms  to  trans- 
fer it,  it  must  be  in  quantity  enough  to  bear  a  moderate  tax 


218 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


without  inconvenience  ;  and  this  tax  on  its  transfer  enables 
many  well-educated  and  agreeable  persons  to  live." 

Yes,  that  is  so,  and  I  (speaking  for  the  nonce  in  the  name 
of  the  working-man,  maker  of  property)  am  willing  enough 
to  be  taxed,  straightforwardly,  for  the  maintenance  of  these 
most  agreeable  persons  ;  but  not  to  be  taxed  obliquely  for 
it,  nor  teased  either  obliquely  or  otherwise,  for  it.  I  greatly 
and  truly  admire  (as  aforesaid,  in  my  first  letter),  these  edu- 
cated persons  in  wigs  ;  and  when  I  go  into  my  kitchen-garden 
in  spring  time,  to  see  the  dew  on  my  early  sprouts,  I  of  tea 
mentally  acknowledge  the  fitness,  yet  singularity,  of  the  ar- 
rangement by  which  I  am  appointed  to  grow  mute  Broccoli 
for  the  maintenance  of  that  talking  Broccoli.  All  that  I 
want  of  it  is  to  let  itself  be  kept  for  a  show,  and  not  to  tax 
my  time  as  well  as  my  money. 

Kept  for  a  show,  of  heads  ;  or,  to  some  better  purpose,  for 
writing  on  fair  parchment,  with  really  well-trained  hands, 

what  might  be  desirable  of  literature. 
Suppose  every  existing  lawyer's  clerk 
was  trained,  in  a  good  drawing-school, 
to  write  red  and  blue  letters  as  well  as 
black  ones,  in  a  loving  and  delicate 
manner  ;  here  for  instance  is  an  R  and 
a  number  eleven,  which  begin  the  elev- 
enth chapter  of  Job  in  one  of  my  thir- 
teenth-century Bibles.  There  is  as 
good  a  letter  and  as  good  a  number — 
every  one  different  in  design,  to  every 
chapter,  and  beautifully  gilded  and 
painted  ones  to  the  beginnings  of 
books  ;  all  done  for  love,  and  teasing 
nobody.  Now  suppose  the  lawyer's 
clerks,  thus  instructed  to  write  decently, 
were  appointed  to  write  for  us,  for 
their  present  pay,  words  really  worth  setting  down — Nursery 
Songs,  Grimm's  Popular  Stories,  and  the  like,  we  should 
have  again,  not,  perhaps,  a  cheap  literature  ;  but  at  least 
an  innocent  one.    Dante's  words  might  then  be  taken  up 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


219 


literally,  by  relieved  mankind.  "  Piu  ridon  le  carte."  "The 
papers  smile  more,"  they  might  say,  of  such  transfigured 
legal  documents. 

Not  a  cheap  literature,  even  then  ;  nor  pleasing  to  my 
friend  the  Glasgow  Herald^  Avho  v^rites  to  me  indignantly, 
but  very  civilly,  (and  I  am  obliged  to  him),  to  declare  that  he 
is  a  Herald,  and  not  a  Chronicle.  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it  ; 
for  my  lectures  on  heraldry  are  just  beginning  at  Oxford, 
and  a  Glaswegian  opinion  may  be  useful  to  me,  when  I  am 
not  sure  of  my  blazon.  Also  he  tells  me  good  leather  may  be 
had  in  Glasgow.  Let  Glasgow  flourish,  and  I  will  assuredly 
make  trial  of  the  same  :  but  touching  this  cheap  literature 
question,  I  cannot  speak  much  in  this  letter,  for  I  must  keep 
to  our  especial  subject  of  April — this  Fool's  Paradise  of 
Cloud -begotten  Gold. 

Cloud-begotten — and  self-begotten — as  some  would  have 
it.    But  it  is  not  so,  friends. 

Do  you  remember  the  questioning  to  Job  ?  The  pretty 
letter  R  stopped  me  just  now  at  the  Response  of  Zophar  ; 
but  look  on  to  the  thirty-eighth  chapter,  and  read  down  to 
the  question  concerning  this  April  time  ? — "  llath  the  rain  a 
father — and  who  hath  begotten  the  drops  of  dew, — the  hoary 
Frost  of  Heaven — who  hath  gendered  it?" 

That  rain  and  frost  of  heaven  ;  and  the  earth  which  thev 
loose  and  bind  :  these,  and  the  labour  of  your  hands  to 
divide  them,  and  subdue,  are  your  wealth,  for  ever — unin- 
creasable.  The  fruit  of  Earth,  and  its  waters,  and  its  light 
— such  as  the  strength  of  the  pure  rock  can  grow — such  as 
the  unthwarted  sun  in  his  season  brings — these  are  your  in- 
heritance. You  can  diminish  it,  but  cannot  increase:  that 
your  barns  should  be  filled  with  plenty — your  presses  burst 
with  new  wine,  is  your  blessing  ;  and  every  year — when  it 
is  full — it  must  be  new  ;  and  every  year,  no  more. 

And  this  money,  which  you  think  so  multipliable,  is  only 
to  be  increased  in  the  hands  of  some,  by  the  loss  of  otliers. 
The  sum  of  it,  in  the  end,  represents,  and  can  represent, 
only  what  is  in  the  barn  and  winepress.  It  may  represent 
less,  but  cannot  more. 


220 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


These  ten  pounds,  for  instance,  whicli  I  am  grumbling  at 
having  to  pay  my  lawyer — what  are  they  ?  whence  came 
they  ? 

They  were  once,  (and  could  be  nothing  now,  unless  they 
had  been)  so  many  skins  of  Xeres  wine — grown  and  mel- 
lowed by  pure  chalk  rock  and  unafilicted  sunshine.  Wine 
drunk,  indeed,  long  ago — but  the  drinkers  gave  the  vine- 
yard dressers  these  tokens,  which  we  call  pounds,  signifying, 
that  having  had  so  much  good  from  them  they  would  return 
them  as  much,  in  future  time.  iVnd,  indeed,  for  m}''  ten 
pounds,  if  my  lawyer  didn't  take  it,  I  could  still  get  my 
Xeres,  if  Xeres  wine  exists  anywhere.  But,  if  not,  what 
matters  it  how  many  pounds  I  have,  or  think  I  have,  or  you 
either  ?    It  is  meat  and  drink  we  want — not  pounds. 

As  you  are  beginning  to  discover — I  fancy  too  many  of 
you,  in  this  rich  country.  ]f  you  only  would  discover  it  a 
little  faster,  and  demand  dinners,  instead  of  Liberty  ?  For 
what  possible  liberty  do  you  want,  which  does  not  depend 
on  dinner  ?  Tell  me,  once  for  all,  what  is  it  you  want  to  do, 
that  you  can't  do  ?  Dinner  being  provided,  do  you  think 
the  Queen  will  interfere  with  the  way  yoM  choose  to  spend 
your  afternoons,  if  only  you  knock  nobody  down,  and  break 
nobody's  windows  ?  But  the  need  of  dinner  enslaves  you  to 
purpose  ? 

On  reading  the  letter  spoken  of  in  my  last  correspondence 
sheet,  I  find  that  it  represents  this  modern  form  of  slavery 
with  an  unconscious  clearness,  which  is  very  interesting.  I 
have,  therefore,  requested  the  writer's  permission  to  print  it, 
and,  with  a  passage  or  two  omitted,  and  briefest  comment, 
here  it  is  in  full  type,  for  it  is  worth  careful  reading  : — 

Glasgoio^  12t7i  February,  1872. 

"  You  say  in  your  Fors  that  you  do  not  want  any  one  to 
buy  your  books  who  will  not  give  a  '  doctor's  fee '  per 
volume,  which  you  rate  at  105.  6c?.;  now,  as  the  Herald  re- 
marks, you  are  clearly  placing  yourself  in  a  wrong  position, 
as  you  arbitrarily  fix  yoitr  doctor's  fee  far  too  high  ;  indeed, 
while  you  express  a  desire,  no  doubt  quite  sincerely,  to 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


221 


elevate  the  working-man,  morally,  mentally,  and  physically, 
you  in  the  meantime  absolutely  preclude  him  from  purchas- 
ing your  books  at  all,  and  so  almost  completely  bar  his  way 
from  the  enjoyment  and  elevating  iniluence  of  perhaps  the 
most"  [&c.,  complimentary  terms — omitted]. 

"  Permit  me  a  personal  remark  : — I  am  myself  a  poorly 
paid  clerk,  with  a  salary  not  much  over  the  income-tax 
minimum  ;  now  no  doctor,  here  at  least,  w^ould  ever  think 
of  charging  me  a  fee  of  105.  6c^.,  and  so  you  see  it  as 
much  out  of  my  ])ower  to  purchase  your  books  as  any  work- 
ing-man. While  Mr.  Carlyle  is  just  now  issuing  a  cheap 
edition  of  his  Works  at  2s,  per  volume,  which  I  can  pur- 
chase, here,  quite  easily  for  l5.  Gc^.;"  [Presumably,  there- 
fore, to  be  had,  as  far  north  as  Inverness,  for  a  shilling,  and 
for  sixpence  in  Orkney],  I  must  say  it  is  a  great  pity  that 
a  Writer  so  much,  and,  in  my  poor  opinion,  justly,  appreci- 
ated as  yourself,  should  as  it  were  inaugurate  with  your  own 
hands  a  system  which  thoroughly  barriers  your  productions 
from  the  great  majority  of  the  middle  and  working  classes. 
1  take  leave,  however,  to  remark  that  I  by  no  means  shut  my 
eyes  to  the  anomalies  of  the  Bookselling  Trade,  but  I  can't 
see  that  it  can  be  remedied  by  an  Author  becoming  his  own 
Bookseller,  and,  at  the  same  time^  putting  an  unusually  high 
price  on  his  books.  Of  course,  I  would  like  to  see  an  Author 
remunerated  as  highly  as  possible  for  his  labours."  [You 
ouo'ht  not  to  like  any  such  thincf  :  vou  ourrht  to  like  an 
author  to  get  what  he  deserves,  like  other  people,  not  more, 
nor  less.]  "I  would  also  crave  to  remark,  following  up  your 
unfortunate  analogy  of  the  doctor's  fee,  that  doctors  who  have 
acquired,  either  professionally  or  otherwise,  a  competence, 
often,  nay  very  often,  gave  their  advice  gratis  to  nearly 
every  class,  except  that  which  is  really  wealthy  ;  at  least,  I 
speak  from  my  own  experience,  having  known,  nay  even  been 
attended  by  such  a  benevolent  physician  in  a  little  town  in 
Kirkcudbrightshire,  who,  when  offered  payment,  and  I  was 
both  quite  able  and  willing  to  do  so,  and  he  was  in  no  way  in- 
debted or  obliged  to  me  or  mine,  positively  declined  to  receive 
any  fee.    So  much  for  the  benevolent  physician  and  his  fees, 


222 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


"  Here  am  I,  possessed  of  a  passionate  love  of  nature  in 
all  her  aspects,  cooped  up  in  this  fearfully  crammed  mass  of 
population,  with  its  filthy  Clyde,  which  would  naturally  have 
been  a  noble  river,  but,  under  the  curse  of  our  much-belauded 
civilization,  forsooth,  turned  into  an  almost  stagnant  loath- 
some ditch,  pestilence-breathing,  belorded  over  by  hundreds 
upon  hundreds  of  tall  brick  chimney-stacks  vomiting  up 
smoke  unceasingly  ;  and  from  the  way  I  am  situated,  there 
are  only  one  day  and  a  half  in  the  week  in  which  I  can  man- 
age a  walk  into  the  country  ;  now,  if  I  wished  to  foster  my 
taste  for  the  beautiful  in  nature  and  art,  even  while  living  a 
life  of  almost  servile  red-taped  routine  beneath  the  too  fre- 
quently horror-breathing  atmosphere  of  a  huge  over-grown 
plutocratic  city  like  Glasgow,  I  cannot  have  your  Works 
[complimentary  terms  again]  "  as,  after  providing  for  my 
necessaries,  I  cannot  indulge  in  Books  at  10^.  6c?.  a  volume. 
Of  course,  as  you  may  say  "  [My  dear  sir,  the  very  last  thing 
I  should  say],  "  I  can  get  them  from  a  library.  Assuredly, 
but  one  (at  least  I  would)  wishes  to  have  actual  and  ever- 
present  possession  of  productions  such  as  yours"  [more  com- 
pliments.] You  will  be  aware,  no  doubt,  that  '  Geo.  Eliot ' 
has  adopted  '  a  new  system '  in  publishing  her  new  novel  by 
issuing  it  in  bs,  '  parts,'  with  the  laudable  view  of  enabling 
and  encouraging  readers  to  buy  the  work  for  themselves,  and 
not  trusting  to  get  it  from  '  some  Mudie  '  or  another  for  a 
week,  then  galloping  through  the  three  volumes  and  imme- 
diately forgetting  the  whole  matter.  When  I  possess  a  book 
worth  having  I  always  recur  to  it  now  and  again.  ^  Your 
new  system,'  however,  tends  to  prevent  the  real  reading  pub- 
lic from  ever  possessing  your  books,  and  the  wealthy  classes 
who  could  afford  to  buy  books  at  10^.  6c?.  a  volume,  as  a  rule, 
I  opine,  don't  drive  themselves  insane. by  much  reading  of 
any  kind. 

"  I  beg  a  last  remark  and  I've  done.  Glasgow,  for  instance, 
iias  no  splendid  public  buildings.  She  has  increased  in  wealth 
till  I  believe  there  are  some  of  the  greatest  merchants  in  the 
world  trading  in  her  Exchange  ;  but  except  her  grand  old 
Cathedral,  founded  by  an  almost-forgotten  bishop  in  th« 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


223 


twelfth  century,  in  what  we  in  our  v^ain  folly  are  pleased  to 
call  the  dark  ages,  when  we  ourselves  are  about  as  really  dark 
as  need  be  ;  having  no  *  higli  calling'  to  strive  for,  except  by 
hook  or  by  crook  to  make  money — a  fortune — retire  at  thirty- 
five  by  some  stroke  of  gambling  of  a  highly  questionable  kind 
on  the  Share  market  or  otherwise,  to  a  suburban  or  country 
villa  with  Turkey  carpets,  a  wine-cellar  and  a  carriage  and 
pair  ;  as  no  man  now-a-days  is  ever  content  with  making  a 
decent  and  honest  livelihood.  Truly  a  very  '  high  calling  !  ' 
Our  old  Cathedral,  thank  God,  was  not  built  by  contract  or 
stock-jobbing  :  there  was,  surely,  a  higher  calling  of  some 
sore  in  those  quiet,  old,  unhurrying  days.  Our  local  pluto- 
cratic friends  put  their  hands  into  their  pockets  to  the  extent 
of  150,000/.  to  help  to  build  our  new  University  buildings 
after  a  design  by  G.  Gilbert  Scott,  which  has  turned  out  a 
very  imposing  pile  of  masonry  ;  at  least,  it  is  placed  on  an 
imposing  and  magnificent  site.  I  am  no  prophet,  but  I  should 
not  wonder  if  old  St.  Mungo's  Cathedral,  erected  nearly  six 
hundred  years  ago  to  the  honour  and  glory  of  God,  will  bo 
standing  a  noble  ruin  when  our  new  spick-and-span  College 
is  a  total  wreck  after  all.  Such  being  the  difference  between 
the  work  of  really  earnest  God-fearing  men,  and  that  done  by 
contract  and  Trades  Unions.  The  Steam  Engine,  one  of  the 
demons  of  our  mad,  restless,  headlong  civilization,  is  scream- 
ing its  unearthly  whistle  in  the  very  quadrangles  of  the  now 
deserted,  but  still  venerable  Collei2re  buildinrrs  in  our  Hiirh 
Street,  almost  on  the  very  spot  where  the  philosophic  Pro- 
fessors of  that  day,  to  their  eternal  honour,  gave  a  harbour- 
age to  James  Watt,*  when  the  narrow-minded  guild-brethren 
of  Glasgow  expelled  him  from  their  town  as  a  stranger  crafts- 
man hailing  from  Greenock.  Such  is  the  irony  of  events  ! 
Excuse  the  presumption  of  this  rather  rambling  letter,  and 
apologizing*  for  addressing  you  at  such  length, 

"  I  am,  very  faithfully  yours," 

I  have  only  time,  just  now,  to  remark  on  this  letter,  first, 
that  1  don't  believe  any  of  Mr.  Scott's  work  is  badly  done,  or 
will  come  down  soon  ;  and  that  Trades  Unions  are  quite  right 


224 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


when  lionest  and  kind  :  but  tlie  frantic  mistake  of  the  Glas- 
wegians, in  thinking  that  they  can  import  learning  into  their 
town  safely  in  a  Gothic  case,  and  have  180,000  pounds'  worth 
of  it  at  command,  while  they  have  banished  for  ever  from 
their  eyes  the  sight  of  all  that  mankind  have  to  learn  any* 
thing  abouty  is, — Well — as  the  rest  of  our  enlightened  public 
opinion.  They  might  as  well  put  a  pyx  into  a  pigsty,  to 
make  the  pigs  pious. 

In  the  second  place,  as  to  my  correspondent's  wish  to  read 
my  books,  I  am  entirely  pleased  by  it ;  but,  putting  the  ques- 
tion of  fee  aside  for  the  nonce,  I  am  not  in  the  least  minded 
as  matters  stand,  to  prescribe  my  books  for  him.  Nay,  so 
far  as  in  me  lies,  he  shall  neither  read  them,  nor  learn  to  trust 
in  any  such  poor  qualifications  and  partial  comforts  of  the 
entirely  wrong  and  dreadful  condition  of  life  he  is  in,  with 
millions  of  others.  If  a  child  in  a  muddy  ditch  asked  me  for 
a  picture-book,  I  should  not  give  it  him  ;  but  say,  "Come 
out  of  that,  first  ;  or,  if  you  cannot,  I  must  go  and  get  help  ; 
but  picture-books,  there,  you  shall  have  none  !  " 

Only  a  day  and  a  half  in  the  week  on  which  one  can  get  a 
walk  into  the  country,  (and  how  few  have  as  much,  or  any- 
thing like  it?)  just  bread  enough  earned  to  keep  one  alive, 
on  those  terms — one's  daily  work  asking  not  so  much  as  a 
lucifer  match's  worth  of  intelligence  ; — unwholesome  besides 
— one's  chest,  shoulders  and  stomach  getting  hourly  more 
useless.  Smoke  above  for  sky  ;  mud  beneath  for  w^ater  ;  and 
the  pleasant  consciousness  of  spending  one's  weary  life  in 
the  pure  service  of  the  devil!  And  the  blacks  are  emanci- 
pated over  the  water  there — and  this  is  ^hat  you  call  "hav- 
ing your  own  way,"  here,  is  it  ? 

Very  solemnly,  my  good  clerk-friend,  there  is  something 
to  be  done  in  this  matter  ;  not  merely  to  be  read.  Do  you 
know  any  honest  men  who  have  a  will  of  their  own,  among 
your  neighbours  ?  If  none,  set  yourselves  to  seek  for  such  ; 
if  any,  commune  with  them  on  this  one  subject,  how  a  man 
may  have  sight  of  the  earth  he  was  made  of,  and  his  bread 
out  of  the  dust  of  it — and  peace  !  And  find  out  what  it  is 
that  hinders  you  now  from  having  these,  and  resolve  that 


FOES  CLAVIGEHA. 


225 


you  will  fight  it,  and  put  end  to  it.    If  you  cannot  find  out 
for  yourselves,  tell  me  your  difficulties,  briefly,  and  I  will 
deal  with  them  for  you,  as  the  second  Fo7'S  may  teach  me. 
Bring  you  the  First  with  you,  and  the  Third  will  help  us. 
And  believe  me,  faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


LETTER  XVII. 

Florence, 

My  Friends,  1872. 

Have  you  thought,  as  I  prayed  you  to  think,  during  the 
days  of  April,  what  things  they  are  that  will  hinder  you  from 
being  happy  on  this  first  of  May  ?  Be  assured  of  it,  you  are 
meant,  to-day,  to  be  as  happy  as  the  birds,  at  least.  If  you 
are  not,  you,  or  somebody  else,  or  something  that  you  are 
one  or  other  responsible  for,  is  wrong  ;  and  your  first  busi- 
ness is  to  set  yourself,  or  them,  or  it,  to  rights.  Of  late  you 
have  made  that  your  last  business  ;  you  have  thought  things 
would  right  themselves,  or  that  it  was  God's  business  to  right 
them,  not  yours.  Peremptorily  it  is  yours.  Not,  observe, 
to  get  your  rights,  but  to  put  things  to  rights.  Some  eleven 
in  the  dozen  of  tlie  population  of  the  world  are  occupied 
earnestly  in  putting  tilings  to  wrongs,  thinking  to  benefit 
themselves  thereby.  Is  it  any  wonder,  then,  you  are  uncom- 
fortable, when  already  the  world,  in  our  part  of  it,  is  over- 
populated,  and  eleven  in  the  dozen  of  the  over-population 
doing  diligently  wrong  ;  and  the  remaining  dozenth  expect- 
ing God  to  do  their  work  for  them  ;  and  consoling  themselves 
^ith  buying  two-shilling  publications  for  eighteenpence  ! 

To  put  things  to  rights  !  Do  you  not  know  how  refresh- 
ing it  is,  even  to  put  one's  room  to  rights,  when  it  has  got 
dusty  and  decomposed  ?  If  no  other  happiness  is  to  be  had, 
the  mere  war  with  decomposition  is  a  kind  of  happiness. 
But  the  war  with  the  Lord  of  Decomposition,  the  old  Dragon 
himself, — St.  George's  war,  with  a  princess  to  save,  and  win 

IS 


226 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


— are  none  of  you,  my  poor  friends,  proud  enough  to  hope 
for  any  part  in  that  battle  ?  Do  you  conceive  no  figure  of 
any  princess  for  May  Queen  ;  or  is  the  definite  dragon 
turned  into  indefinite  cuttlefish,  vomiting  black  venom  into 
the  waters  of  your  life  ;  or  has  he  multiplied  himself  into  an 
host  of  pulicarious  dragons — bug-dragons,  insatiable  as  un-^ 
clean, — whose  food  you  are,  daily  ? 

St.  George's  war !  Here,  since  last  May,  when  I  engraved 
Giotto's  Hope  for  you,  have  I  been  asking  whether  any  one 
would  volunteer  for  such  a  battle?  Not  one  human  creature, 
except  a  personal  friend  or  two,  for  mere  love  of  me,  has  an- 
swered. 

Now,  it  is  true,  that  my  writing  may  be  obscure,  or  seem 
only  half  in  earnest.  But  it  is  the  best  I  can  do  :  it  expresses 
the  thoughts  that  come  to  me  as  they  come  ;  and  I  have  no 
time  just  now  to  put  them  into  more  intelligible  words. 
And,  whether  you  believe  them  or  not,  they  are  entirely 
faithful  words  ;  I  have  no  interest  at  all  to  serve  by  writing, 
but  vours. 

And,  literally,  no  one  answers.  Nay,  even  those  who  read, 
read  so  carelessly  that  they  don't  notice  whether  the  book  is 
to  go  on  or  not. 

Heaven  knows  ;  but  it  shall,  if  I  am  able,  and  what  I  un- 
dertook last  May,  be  fulfilled,  so  far  as  the  poor  faculty  or 
time  left  me  may  serve. 

Read  over,  now,  the  end  of  that  letter  for  May  last,  from 
"  To  talk  at  a  distance,"  in  page  64. 

I  have  given  you  the  tenth  of  all  I  have,  as  I  promised.  I 
cannot,  because  of  those  lawyers  I  was  talking  of  last  month, 
get  it  given  you  in  a  permanent  and  accumulative  form  ;  be- 
sides that,  among  the  various  blockheadisms  and  rascalities 
of  the  day,  the  perversion  of  old  endowments  from  their  ap- 
pointed purposes  being  now  practised  with  applause,  gives  one 
little  encourao:ement  to  think  of  the  future.  However,  the 
seven  thousand  pounds  are  given,  and  wholly  now  out  of  my 
own  power  ;  and,  as  I  said,  only  two  or  three  friends,  for 
love  of  me,  and  one  for  true  love  of  justice  also,  have,  in  the 
course  of  the  year,  joined  with  me. 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


However,  this  is  partly  my  own  fault,  for  not  saying  more 
clearly  what  T  want  ;  and  for  expecting  people  to  be  moved 
by  writing,  instead  of  by  personal  effort.  Tlie  more  I  see  of 
writing  the  less  I  care  for  it  :  one  may  do  more  with  a  man 
by  getting  ten  words  •spoken  with  him  face  to  face,  than  hy 
the  black  letterino^  of  a  whole  life's  thousrht. 

In  parenthesis,  just  read  this  little  bit  of  Plato  ;  and  take 
it  to  heart.  If  the  last  sentence  of  it  does  not  fit  some  peo- 
ple I  know  of,  there  is  no  prophecy  on  lip  of  man. 

Socrates  is  speaking.  I  have  heard  indeed — but  no  one 
can  say  now  if  it  is  true  or  not — that  near  Nancratis,  in 
Egypt,  there  was  born  one  of  the  old  gods,  the  one  to  whom 
the  bird  is  sacred  which  they  call  the  ibis  ;  and  this  god  or 
demigod's  name  was  Theuth Second  parenthesis- -(Theuth, 
or  Thoth  :  he  always  has  the  head  of  an  ibis  with  a  beautiful 
long  bill,  in  Egyptian  sculpture  ;  and  you  may  see  him  at 
the  British  Museum  on  stone  and  papyrus  infinite, — especially 
attending  at  judgments  after  death,  when  people's  sins  are 
to  be  weighed  in  scales  ;  for  he  is  the  Egyptian  account- 
keeper,  and  adds  up,  and  takes  note  of,  things,  as  you  will 
liear  presently  from  Plato.  He  became  the  god  of  merchants, 
and  a  rogue,  among  the  Romans,  and  is  one  now  among  us). 
"  And  this  demigod  found  out  first,  they  say,  arithmetic,  and 
logic,  and  geometry,  and  astronomy,  and  gambling,  and  the 
art  of  writing. 

*^  And  there  was  then  a  king  over  all  Egypt,  in  the  great 
city  which  the  Greeks  called  Thebes.  And  Theuth,  going  to 
Thebes,  showed  the  king  all  the  arts  he  had  invented,  and 
said  they  should  be  taught  to  the  Egyptians.  But  the  king 
said  : — '  What  was  the  good  of  them  ?  '  And  Theuth  telling 
him,  at  length,  of  each,  the  king  blamed  some  things,  anci 
praised  others.  But  when  they  came  to  writing  :  *  Now, 
this  piece  of  learning,  O  king,'  says  Theuth,  '  will  make  the 
Egyptians  more  wise  and  more  remembering  ;  for  this  is 
physic  for  the  memory,  and  for  wisdom.'  But  the  king  an- 
swered : — *  O  most  artful  Theuth,  it  is  one  sort  of  person's 
business  to  invent  arts,  and  quite  another  sort  of  person's 
business  to  know  what  mischief  or  good  is  in  them.  And 


228 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


you,  the  father  of  letters,  are  yet  so  simple-minded  that  you 
fancy  their  power  just  the  contrary  of  what  it  really  is  ;  for 
this  art  of  writing  will  bring  forgetfulness  into  the  souls  of 
those  who  learn  it,  because,  trusting  to  the  external  power  of 
the  scripture,  and  stamp  *  of  other  men's  minds,  and  not 
themselves  putting  themselves  in  mind,  within  themselves,  it 
is  not  medicine  of  divine  memory,  but  a  drug  of  memorandum, 
that  you  have  discovered,  and  you  will  only  give  the  reputa- 
tion and  semblance  of  wisdom,  not  the  truth  of  wisdom,  to 
the  learners  :  for,'  "  (now  do  listen  to  this,  3'ou  cheap  edu- 
cation-mongers), ''*for  becoming  hearers  of  many  things, 
yet  without  instruction,  they  will  seem  to  have  manifold  opin- 
ions, but  be  in  truth  without  any  opinions  ;  and  the  most  of 
them  incapable  of  living  together  in  any  good  understand- 
ing";  having  become  seeming-wise,  instead  of  wise.'" 

So  much  for  cheap  literature  ;  not  that  I  like  cheap  talk 
better,  mind  you  ;  but  I  wish  I  could  get  a  word  or  two  with 
a  few  honest  people,  now,  face  to  face.  For  I  have  called 
the  fund  I  have  established  The  St.  George's  Fund,  because 
I  hope  to  find,  here  and  there,  some  one  who  will  join  in  a 
White  Company,  like  Sir  John  Hawkwood's,  to  be  called  the 
Company  of  St.  George  ;  which  shall  have  for  its  end  the 
wise  creating  and  bestowing,  instead  of  the  wise  stealing,  of 
money.  Now  it  literally  happened  that  before  the  White 
Company  went  into  Italy,  tliere  was  an  Italian  Company 
called  '  of  St.  George,'  which  was  afterwards  incorporated 
with  Sir  John's  of  the  burnished  armour  ;  and  another  com* 
pany,  called  '  of  the  Rose,'  which  was  a  very  wicked  and  de- 
structive one.  And  within  my  St.  George's  Company, — 
which  shall  be  of  persons  still  following  their  own  business, 
wherever  they  are,  but  who  will  give  the  tenth  of  what  they 
have,  or  make,  for  the  purchase  of  land  in  England,  to  be 
cultivated  by  hand,  as  aforesaid  in  my  last  May  number, — 
shall  be  another  company,  not  destructive,  called  of  "Monte 
Rosa,"  or  "  Mont  Rose,"  because  Monte  Rosa  is  the  central 
mountain  of  the  range  between  north  and  south  Europe, 
which  keeps  the  gift  of  the  rain  of  heaven.  And  the  motto, 
*     Type,"  the  actual  word  in  the  Greek. 


FOBS  OLAVJGERA. 


229 


or  watchword  of  this  company  is  to  be  the  old  French 

Mont-joie."  And  they  are  to  be  entirely  devoted,  accord- 
ing to  their  power,  first  to  tlie  manual  Libour  of  cultivatinnr 
pure  land,  and  guiding  of  pure  streams  and  rain  to  the  places 
where  they  are  needed  :  and  secondly,  together  with  this 
manual  labour,  and  much  by  its  nieans,  they  are  to  carry  on 
the  thoughtful  labour  of  true  education,  in  themselves,  and 
of  others.  And  they  are  not  to  be  monks  nor  nuns  ;  but  are 
to  learn,  and  teach  all  fair  arts,  and  sweet  order  and  obedi- 
ence of  life  ;  and  to  Educate  the  children  entrusted  to  their 
schools  in  such  practical  arts  and  patient  obedience  ;  but  not 
at  all,  necessarily,  in  either  arithmetic,  writing,  or  reading. 

That  is  my  design,  romantic  enough,  and  at  this  day  diffi- 
cult enough  :  yet  not  so  romantic,  nor  so  difficult  as  your  now 
widely  and  openly  proclaimed  design,  of  making  the  words 
"  obedience  "  and  "  loyalty  "  to  cease  from  the  English  tongue. 

That  same  number  of  the  Republican  which  announced 
that  all  property  must  be  taken  under  control,  was  graced 
by  a  frontispiece,  representing,  figuratively,  ^'  Royalty  in 
extremis  the  joyful  end  of  Rule,  and  of  every  strength  of 
Kingship  ;  Britannia,  having,  ])erhaps,  found  her  waves  of 
late  unruly,  declaring  there  shall  be  no  rule  over  the  land 
neither.  Some  day  I  may  let  you  compare  this  piece  of 
figurative  English  art  with  Giotto's  ;  but,  meantime,  since, 
before  you  look  so  fondly  for  the  end  of  Royalty,  it  is  well 
that  you  should  know  somewhat  of  its  beginnings,  I  have 
given  you  a  picture  of  one  of  the  companions  in  the  St. 
George's  company  of  all  time,  out  of  a  pretty  book,  published 
at  Antwerp,  by  John  Baptist  Vrints,  cutter  of  figures  in 
copper,  on  the  IGth  April,  1598  ;  and  giving  briefly  the 
(Stories,  and,  in  no  unworthy  imagination,  the  pictures  also, 
of  the  first  *  foresters'  (rulers  of  woods  and  weaves*)  in  Flan* 

*  "  Davantage,  ilz  se  nomraoyent  Forestiers,  non  que  leur  charge  at 
gouvernement  fust  seulemeut  sur  la  terre,  qui  estoit  lors  occupee  et  em- 
peschee  de  la  forest  Charbonniere,  mais  la  garde  de  la  mer  leur  estoit 
aussi  commise.  Convient  ici  entendre,  que  ce  terme,  forest,  en  vieil 
bag  Alemau,  convenoit  au&si  bien  aux  eaux  comrae  aux  boys,  ainsi  qu*il 
est  uarrc  es  memoires  de  Jean  du  T\\\Qt''-'Les  Genealogies  des  Foi^.r 
tiers  ct  Cointes  de  FUmdrm,    Antp.  159^. 


230 


FOBS  CLAVIOEBA. 


ders,  where  the  waves  once  needed,  and  received,  much 
ruling  ;  and  of  the  Counts  of  Flanders  who  succeeded  them, 
of  whom  this  one,  Robert,  surnamed  "  of  Jerusalem,"  w^as 
the  eleventh,  and  began  to  reign  in  1077,  being  "  a  virtuous, 
prudent,  and  brave  prince,''  who,  having  first  taken  good 
order  in  his  money  affairs,  and  ended  some  unjust  claims  his 
predecessors  liad  made  on  church  property  ;  and  established 
a  perpetual  chancellorship,  and  legal  superintendence  over 
his  methods  of  revenue  ;  took  the  cross  against  the  infidels, 
and  got  the  name,  in  Syria,  for  his  prowess,  of  the  "  Son  of 
St.  George." 

So  he  stands,  leaning  on  his  long  sword — a  man  desirous  of 
setting  the  world  to  rights,  if  it  might  be  ;  but  not  knowing 
the  way  of  it,  nor  recognizing  that  the  steel  with  which  it  can 
be  done,  must  take  another  shape  than  that  double-edged 
one. 

And  from  the  eleventh  century  to  this  dull  nineteenth,  less 
and  less  the  rulers  of  men  have  known  their  weapon.  So  far, 
yet,  are  we  from  beating  sword  into  ploughshare,  that  now 
the  sword  is  set  to  undo  the  plough's  work  when  it  has  been 
done;  and  at  this  hour  the  ghastliest  ruin  of  all  that  moulder 
from  the  fire,  pierced  through  black  rents  by  the  unnatural 
sunlight  above  the  ashamed  streets  of  Paris,  is  the  long, 
skeleton,  and  roofless  hollow  of  the  "Grenier  d'Abond- 
ance." 

Such  Agriculture  have  we  contrived  here,  in  Europe,  and 
ploughing  of  new  furrows  for  graves.  Will  you  hear  how 
Agriculture  is  now  contrived  in  America,  where,  since  you 
spend  your  time  here  in  burning  corn,  you  must  send  to  buy  it ; 
trusting,  however,  still  to  your  serviceable  friend  the  Fire,  as 
here  to  consume,  so  there,  to  sovir  and  reap,  for  repairing 
of  consumption.  I  have  just  received  a  letter  from  California, 
which  I  trust  the  writer  will  not  blame  me  for  printing  : — 

«gjjj ''March  Ut,  1872. 

"You  have  so  strongly  urged  ^agriculture  by  the  hand,' 
that  it  may  be  of  some  interest  to  you  to  know  the  result  thus 
far  of  agriculture  by  machinery,  in  California.  I  am  the  more 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


231 


willing  to  address  you  on  this  subject  from  the  fact  that 
I  may  have  to  do  with  a  new  Colony  in  this  State,  which  will, 
I  trust,  adopt  as  far  as  practicable,  your  ideas  as  to  agricult- 
ure by  the  hand.  Such  thoughts  as  you  might  choose  to  give 
regarding  the  conduct  of  such  a  Colony  here  would  be  par- 
ticularly acceptable;  and  should  you  deem  it  expedient  to 
comply  with  this  earnest  and  sincere  request,  the  following 
facts  may  be  of  service  to  you  in  forming  just  conclusions. 

We  have  a  genial  climate,  and  a  productive  soil.  Our 
farms  ('ranches')  frequently  embrace  many  thousands  of 
acres,  while  the  rule  is,  scarcely  ever  less  than  hundreds  of 
acres.  Wheat-fields  of  5,000  acres  are  by  no  means  uncommon, 
and  not  a  few  of  above  40,000  acres  are  known.  To  cultivate 
these  extensive  tracts  much  machinery  is  used,  such  as  steam- 
ploughs,  gang-ploughs,  reaping,  mowing,  sowing,  and  thrash- 
ing-machines ;  and  seemingly  to  the  utter  extermination  of 
the  spirit  of  home,  and  rural  life.  Gangs  of  labourers  are 
hired  during  the  emergency  of  harvesting  ;  and  they  are  left 
for  the  most  part  unhoused,  and  are  also  fed  more  like 
animals  than  men.  Harvesting  over,  they  are  discharged, 
and  thus  are  left  near  the  beginning  of  our  long  and  rainy 
winters  to  shift  for  themselves.  Consequently  the  larger 
towns  and  cities  are  infested  for  months  with  idle  men  and 
boys.  Housebreaking  and  highway  robbery  are  of  almost 
daily  occurrence.  As  to  the  farmers  themselves,  they  live 
in  a  dreamy,  comfortless  way,  and  are  mostly  without  educa- 
tion or  refinement.  To  show  them  how  to  live  better  and 
cleaner;  to  give  them  nobler  aims  than  merely  to  raise  wheat 
for  the  English  market  ;  to  teach  them  the  history  of  those 
five  cities,  and  'their  girls  to  cook  exquisitely,'  &c.,  is  surely 
a  mission  for  earnest  men  in  this  country,  no  less  than  in 
England,  to  say  nothing  of  the  various  accomplishments  to 
which  you  have  alluded.  I  have  caused  to  be  published  in 
some  of  our  farming  districts  many  of  the  more  important  of 
your  thoughts  bearing  on  these  subjects,  and  I  trust  with 
beneficial  results. 

"  I  trust  I  shall  not  intrude  on  Mr.  Ruskin's  patience  if  I 
now  say  something  by  way  of  thankfulness  for  what  I  hare 


232 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


received  from  jour  works.*  I  know  not  certainly  if  this  will 
ever  reach  you.  If  it  does,  it  may  in  some  small  way  gladden 
you  to  know  that  I  owe  to  your  teaching  almost  all  the  good 
I  have  thus  far  attained.  A  large  portion  of  my  life  has  been 
spent  at  sea,  and  in  roaming  in  Mexico,  Central  and  South 
America,  and  in  the  Malaysian  and  Polynesian  Islands.  I 
have  been  a  sailor  before  anei  abaft  the  mast.  Years  a^ro  I 
found  on  a  remote  Island  of  the  Pacific  the  Modem  Fainters^ 
after  them  the  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture;  and  finally  your 
complete  works.  Ignorant  and  uncultivated,  I  began  earnestly 
to  follow  certain  of  your  teachings.  I  read  most  of  the  books 
you  recommended,  simply  because  you  seemed  to  be  my 
teacher  ;  and  so  in  the  course  of  these  years  I  have  come  to 
believe  in  you  about  as  faithfully  as  one  man  ever  believes  in 
another.  From  having  no  fixed  object  in  life  I  have  finally 
found  that  I  have  something  to  do,  and  will  ultimately,  I 
trust,  have  something  to  say  about  sea-life,  something  that 
has  not,  I  think,  hitherto  been  said — If  God  ever  permits  me 
the  necessary  leisure  from  hard  railway  work,  the  most  hope- 
less and  depressing  of  all  work  I  have  hitherto  done. 
"Your  most  thankful  servant. 

With  the  account  given  in  the  first  part  of  this  letter  of 
the  results  of  mechanical  agriculture  in  California,  you  shall 
now  compare  a  little  sketch  by  Marmontel  of  the  peasant 
life,  not  mechanical,  in  his  own  province.  It  is  given,  alter- 
ing only  the  name  of  the  river,  in  the  "  Contes  Moraux,"  in 
the  story,  professing  to  continue  that  of  Moliere's  Misan- 
thrope : 

"  Alceste^  discontented  as  you  know,  both  with  his  mis- 
tress and  with  his  judges,  decided  upon  flying  from  men,  and 
retired  very  far  from  Paris  to  the  banks  of  the  Vologne  ; 
this  river,  in  which  the  shells  enclose  pearl,  is  yet  more  pre* 

*  1  accept  the  blame  of  vanity  in  printing  the  end  of  this  letter,  foi 
the  sake  of  showing  more  perfectly  the  temper  of  its  writer,  whom  I 
have  answered  privately  ;  in  case  my  letter  may  not  reach  him,  J 
should  be  grateful  if  he  would  send  me  again  his  address. 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA, 


233 


cious  by  the  fertility  which  it  causes  to  spring  on  its  borders  ; 
the  valley  that  it  waters  is  one  beautiful  meadow.  On  one 
side  of  it  rise  smiling  hills,  scattered  ail  over  with  woods  and 
villaofes,  on  the  other  extends  a  vast  level  of  fields  covered 
with  corn.  It  was  there  that  Alceste  went  to  live,  forgotten 
by  all,  free  from  cares,  and  from  irksome  duties  ;  entirely 
his  own,  and  finally  delivered  from  the  odious  spectacle  of  the 
world,  he  breathed  freely,  and  praised  heaven  for  having 
broken  all  his  chains.  A  little  study,  much  exercise,  pleas- 
ures not  vivid,  but  untroubled  ;  in  a  word,  a  life  peacefully 
active,  preserved  him  from  the  ennui  of  solitude  :  he  desired 
nothing,  and  regretted  nothing.  One  of  the  pleasures  of  his 
retreat  was  to  see  the  cultivated  and  fertile  ground  all  about 
him  nourishing  a  peasantry,  which  appeared  to  him  happy. 
For  a  misanthrope  who  has  become  so  by  his  virtue,  only 
thinks  that  he  iiates  men,  because  he  loves  them.  Alceste 
felt  a  strange  softening  of  the  heart  mingled  with  joy  at  the 
sight  of  his  fellow-creatures  rich  by  the  labour  of  their  hand. 
'  These  people,'  said  lie,  '  are  very  happy  to  be  still  half  sav- 
age. They  would  soon  be  corrupted  if  they  were  more  civ- 
ilized.' As  he  was  walking  in  the  country,  he  chanced  upon 
a  labourer  who  was  ploughing,  and  singing  as  he  ploughed. 
*God  have  a  care  of  you,  my  good  man  !  '  said  he  ;  '  you  are 
very  gay?'  *I  mostly  am,'  replied  the  peasant.  'I  am 
happy  to  hear  it :  that  proves  that  you  are  content  with 
your  condition.'  *  Until  now,  I  have  good  cause  to  be.'  'Are 
you  married?'  'Yes,  thank  heaven.'  'Have  you  any  chil- 
dren ?'  'I  had  five.  I  have  lost  one,  but  that  is  a  mischief 
that  may  be  mended.'  'Is  your  wife  young?'  'She  is 
twenty-five  years  old.'  'Is  she  pretty?'  'She  is,  for  me, 
but  she  is  better  than  pretty,  she  is  good.'  '  And  you  love 
her?'  'If\  love  her  !  Who  would  not  love  her  !  I  won- 
der ?'  '  And  she  loves  you  also,  without  doubt.*  'Oh  !  for 
that  matter,  with  all  her  heart — just  the  same  as  before  mar- 
riage.' 'Then  you  loved  each  other  before  marriage?' 
'Without  that,  should  we  have  let  ourselves  be  caught?' 
'  And  your  children — are  they  healthy  ?'  '  Ah  !  it's  a  pleas- 
ure to  see  them  !    The  eldest  is  only  live  years  old,  and  he'« 


234 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA. 


already  a  great  deal  cleverer  than  his  father,  and  for  my  two 
girls,  never  was  anything  so  charming  !  It'll  be  ill-luck  in- 
deed if  they  don't  get  husbands.  The  youngest  is  sucking 
yet,  but  the  little  fellow  will  be  stout  and  strong.  Would 
you  believe  it  ? — he  beats  his  sisters  when  they  want  to  kiss 
their  mother  ! — he's  always  afraid  of  anybody's  taking  him 
from  the  breast.'  '  All  that  is,  then,  very  happy  ?  '  '  Happy  ! 
I  should  think  so — you  should  see  the  joy  there  is  when  I 
come  back  from  my  work  !  You  would  say  they  hadn't  seen 
me  for  a  year.  I  don't  know  which  to  attend  to  first.  My 
wife  is  round  my  neck — my  girls  in  my  arms — my  boy  gets 
hold  of  my  legs — little  Jeannot  is  like  to  roll  himself  off  the 
bed  to  get  to  me — and  I,  I  laugh,  and  cry,  and  kiss  all  at 
once — for  all  that  makes  me  cry  !'  'I  believe  it,  indeed,' 
said  Alceste.  '  You  know  it,  sir,  I  suppose,  for  you  are 
doubtless  a  father  ?  '  'I  have  not  that  happiness.'  '  So  much 
the  worse  for  you  !  There's  nothing  in  the  world  worth  hav- 
ing, but  that.'  'And  how  do  you  live?'  'Very  well  :  we 
have  excellent  bread,  good  milk,  and  the  fruit  of  our  orch- 
ard. My  wife,  with  a  little  bacon,  makes  a  cabbage  soup  that 
the  King  would  be  glad  to  eat  !  Then  we  have  eggs  from 
the  poultry-yard  ;  and  on  Sunday  we  have  a  feast,  and  drink 
a  little  cup  of  wine.'  'Yes,  but  when  the  year  is  bad?' 
*  Well,  one  expects  the  year  to  be  bad,  sometimes,  and  one 
lives  on  what  one  has  saved  from  the  good  3^ears.'  '  Then 
there's  the  rigour  of  the  v/eather — the  cold  and  the  rain,  and 
the  heat — that  you  have  to  bear.'  '  Well  !  one  gets  used  to 
it  ;  and  if  you  only  knew  the  pleasure  that  one  has  in  the 
evening,  in  getting  the  cool  breeze  after  a  day  of  summer  ; 
or,  in  winter,  warming  one's  hands  at  the  blaze  of  a  good  fag- 
got, between  one's  wife  and  children  ;  and  then  one  sups 
with  good  appetite,  and  one  goes  to  bed  ;  and  think  you, 
that  one  remembers  the  bad  weather  ?  Sometimes  my  wife 
says  to  me, — *'  My  good  man,  do  you  hear  the  wind  and 
the  storm  ?  Ah,  suppose  you  were  in  the  fields?"  ''But 
I'm  not  in  the  fields,  I'm  here,"  I  say  to  her.  Ah,  sir  !  there 
are  many  people  in  the  fine  world,  who  don't  live  as  content 
as  WQ.'    'Well  !  but  the  taxes  ?'    '  We  pay  them  merrily— 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


235 


and  well  we  should — all  the  country  can't  be  noble,  our 
squires  and  judges  can't  come  to  work  in  the  fields  with  us 
— they  do  for  us  what  we  can't — we  do  for  them  what  they 
can't — and  every  business,  as  one  says,  has  its  pains.'  *  What 
equity!'  said  the  misanthrope  ;  'there,  in  two  words,  is  ali 
the  economy  of  primitive  society.  Ah,  Nature  !  there  is 
nothing  just  but  thee  !  and  the  healthiest  reason  is  in  thy 
untaught  simplicity.  But,  in  paying  the  taxes  so  willingly, 
don't  you  run  some  risk  of  getting  more  put  on  you  ?  '  '  We 
used  to  be  afraid  of  that  ;  but,  thank  God,  the  lord  of  the 
place  has  relieved  us  from  this  anxiety.  He  plays  the  part 
of  our  good  king  to  us.  He  imposes  and  receives  himself, 
and,  in  case  of  need,  makes  advances  for  us.  He  is  as  care- 
ful of  us  as  if  we  were  his  own  children.'  *  And  who  is  this 
gallant  man  ?'  *The  Viscount  Laval — he  is  known  enough, 
all  the  country  respects  him.'  *  Does  he  live  in  his  chateau  ?' 
^  He  passes  eight  months  of  the  year  there.'  *  And  the  rest  ? ' 
*  At  Paris,  I  believe.'  '  Does  he  see  any  company  !  '  '  The 
townspeople  of  Bruyeres,  and  now  and  then,  some  of  our  old 
men  go  to  taste  his  soup  and  chat  with  him.'  '  And  from 
Paris  does  he  bring  nobody?'  'Nobody  but  his  daughter.' 
*He  is  much  in  the  right.  And  how  does  he  employ  him- 
self?' 'In  judging  between  us — in  making  up  our  quarrels 
— in.  marrying  our  children — in  maintaining  peace  in  our 
families — in  helping  them  when  the  times  are  bad.'  '  You 
must  take  me  to  see  his  village,' said  Alceste,  *  that  must  be 
interesting.' 

"  He  was  surprised  to  find  the  roads,  even  the  cross-roads, 
bordered  with  hedges,  and  kept  with  care  ;  but,  coming  on 
a  party  of  men  occupied  in  mending  them,  '  Ah  ! '  he  said, 
*so  you've  got  forced  labour  here?'  'Forced,'  answered  an 
old  man  who  presided  over  the  work.  'We  know  nothing 
of  that  here,  sir;  all  these  men  are  paid,  we  constrain  no- 
body ;  only,  if  there  comes  to  the  village  a  vagrant,  or  a  do- 
nothing,  they  send  him  to  me,  and  if  he  wants  bread  he  can 
gain  it  ;  or,  he  must  go  to  seek  it  elsewhere.'  'And  who 
has  established  this  happy  police?'  'Our  good  lord — our 
father — the  father  to  all  of  us.'    *  And  where  do  the  funds 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


come  from?'  *  From  the  commonalty  ;  and,  as  it  imposes 
the  tax  on  itself,  it  does  not  happen  here,  as  too  often  else- 
where, that  the  rich  are  exempted  at  the  expense  of  the 
poor.' 

"The  esteem  of  x\lceste  increased  every  moment  for  the 
wise  and  benevolent  master  who  governed  all  this  little  coun- 
try. '  How  powerful  would  a  king  be  ?  '  he  said  to  himself — - 
'and  how  happy  a  state  !  if  all  the  great  proprietors  followed 
the  example  of  this  one  ;  but  Paris  absorbs  both  property 
and  men,  it  robs  all,  and  swallows  up  everything.' 

"The  first  o-lance  at  the  villasce  showed  him  the  imaofe  of 
confidence  and  comfort.  Pie  entered  a  building  whicli  had 
the  appearance  of  a  public  edifice,  and  found  there  a  crowd 
of  children,  women,  and  old  men  occupied  in  useful  labour  ; 
■ — idleness  was  only  permitted  to  the  extremely  feeble.  Child- 
hood, almost  at  its  first  steps  out  of  the  cradle,  caught  the 
habit  and  the  taste  for  w^ork  ;  and  old  age,  at  the  borders  of 
the  tomb,  still  exercised  its  trembling  hands  :  the  season  in 
which  the  earth  rests  brought  every  vigorous  arm  to  the 
workshops — and  then  the  lathe,  the  saw,  and  the  hatchet 
gave  new  value  to  products  of  nature. 

"*Iam  not  surprised,' said  Alceste,  'that  this  people  is 
pure  from  vice,  and  relieved  from  discontent.  It  is  labori- 
ous, and  occupied  vi^ithout  ceasing.'  He  asked  how  the 
workshop  had  been  established.  '  Our  good  lord,'  was  the 
reply,  '  advanced  the  first  funds  for  it.  It  was  a  very  little 
place  at  first,  and  all  that  was  done  was  at  his  expense,  at 
his  risk,  and  to  his  profit  ;  but,  once  convinced  that  there 
was  solid  advantage  to  be  gained,  he  yielded  the  enterprise 
to  us,  and  now  interferes  only  to  protect  ;  and  every  year 
he  gives  to  the  village  the  instruments  of  some  one  of  our 
arts.  It  is  the  present  that  he  makes  at  the  first  w^edding 
which  is  celebrated  in  the  year.'  " 

Thus  wrote,  and  taught,  a  Frenchman  of  the  old  school, 
before  the  Revolution.  But  worldly-wise  Paris  went  on  her 
own  way  absorbing  property  and  men  ;  and  has  attained, 
this  first  of  May,  what  means  and  manner  of  festival  you  sea 
in  her  Grenier  d'Abondance. 

-«r^^'«i^    .  •  


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


237 


Glance  back  now  to  my  proposal  for  the  keeping  of  the 
first  of. May,  in  the  letter  on  "Rose  Gardens"  in  Time  and 
Tide,  and  discern  which  state  is  best  for  you — modern  civ- 
ilization," or  Marmontel's  rusticity,  and  mine. 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


LETTER  XVIIT. 

My  Fkiends,  ^''^^  '^''^  ^"^''^ 

You  would  pity  me,  if  you  knew  how  seldom  I  see  a  news- 
paper, just  now  ;  but  1  chanced  on  one  yesterday,  and  found 
that  all  the  world  was  astir  about  the  marriage  of  the  Mar- 
quis of  B.,  and  that  the  Pope  had  sent  him,  on  that  occasion, 
a  telegraphic  blessing  of  superfine  quality. 

I  wonder  what  the  Marquis  of  B.  iias  done  to  deserve  to 
be  blessed  to  that  special  extent,  and  whether  a  little  miid 
beatitude,  sent  here  to  Pisa,  might  not  have  been  better 
spent  ?  For,  indeed,  before  getting  hold  of  the  papers,  I 
had  been  greatly  troubled,  while  drawing  the  east  end  of  the 
Duomo,  by  three  fellows  w^ho  were  leaning  against  tiie  Lean- 
ing Tower,  and  expectorating  loudly  and  copiously,  at  inter- 
vals of  half  a  minute  each,  over  the  white  marble  base  of  it, 
which  they  evidently  conceived  to  have  been  constructed 
only  to  be  spit  upon.  They  were  all  in  rags,  and  obviously 
proposed  to  remain  in  rags  all  their  days,  and  pass  what 
leisure  of  life  they  could  obtain,  in  spitting.  There  was  a 
boy  with  them,  in  rags  also,  and  not  less  expectorant  ;  but 
having  some  remains  of  human  activity  in  him  still,  being 
not  more  than  twelve  years  old  ;  and  he  was  even  a  little 
interested  in  my  brushes  and  colours,  but  rewarded  himself, 
after  the  effort  of  some  attention  to  these,  by  revolving 
slowly  round  the  iron  railing  in  front  of  me  like  a  pensive 
squirrel.  This  operation  at  last  disturbed  me  so  much,  that 
I  asked  him  if  there  were  no  other  railini^s  in  Pisa  he  could 
turn  upside  down  over,  but  these  ?    "Sono  cascato,  Signor — " 


238 


FORS  GLAVIQERA. 


tumbled  over  them,  please.  Sir,"  said  he,  apologetically, 
with  infinite  satisfaction  in  his  black  eyes. 

Now  it  seemed  to  me  that  these  three  moist-throated  men 
and  the  squirrelline  boy  stood  much  more  in  need  of  a 
paternal  blessing  than  the  Marquis  of  B. — a  blessing,  of 
course,  with  as  much  of  the  bloom  off  it  as  would  make  it 
consistent  with  the  position  in  which  Providence  had  placed 
them  ;  but  enough,  in  its  moderate  way,  to  bring  the  good 
out  of  them  instead  of  the  evil.  For  there  v^as  all  manner 
of  good  in  them,  deep  and  pure — yet  for  ever  to  be  dormant; 
and  all  manner  of  evil,  shallow  and  superficial,  yet  for  ever 
to  be  active  and  practical,  as  matters  stood  that  day,  under 
the  Leaning  Tower. 

Lxicca^  ^th  May. — Eighth  days  gone,  and  I've  been  work- 
ing hard,  and  looking  my  carefuUest  ;  and  seem  to  have 
done  nothing,  nor  begun  to  see  these  places,  though  I've 
known  them  thirty  years,  and  though  Mr.  Murray's  Guide 
says  one  may  see  Lucca,  and  its  Ducal  Palace  and  Piazza, 
the  Cathedral,  the  Baptistery,  nine  churches,  and  the  Roman 
amphitheatre,  and  take  a  drive  round  the  ramparts,  in  the 
time  between  the  stopping  of  one  train  and  the  starting  of 
the  next. 

I  wonder  how  much  time  Mr.  Murray  would  allow  for  the 
view  I  had  to-day,  from  the  tower  of  the  Cathedral,  up  the 
vallev  called  of  "  Nievole," — now  one  tufted  softness  of  fresh 
springing  leaves,  far  as  the  eye  can  reach.  You  know  some- 
thing of  the  produce  of  the  hills  that  bound  it,  and  perhaps 
of  its  own  :  at  least,  one  used  to  see  "  Fine  Lucca  Oil "  often 
enough  in  the  grocers*  windows  (petroleum  has,  I  suppose, 
•now  taken  its  place),  and  the  staple  of  Spitalfields  was,  I  be- 
lieve, first  woven  with  Lucca  thread. 

The  actual  manner  of  production  of  these  good  things  is 
thus  : — The  Val  di  Nievole  is  some  five  miles  wide  by 
thirty  long,  and  is  simply  one  field  of  corn  or  rich  grass 
land,  undivided  by  hedges  ;  the  corn  two  feet  high,  and 
more,  to-day.  Quite  Lord  Derby's  style  of  agriculture,  you 
think  ?    No  ;  not  quite.    Undivided  by  hedges,  the  fields 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


239 


are  yet  meshed  across  and  across  by  an  intricate  network  of 
posts  and  chains.  The  posts  are  maple-trees,  and  the  chains, 
garlands  of  vine.  The  meshes  of  this  net  each  enclose  two 
or  three  acres  of  the  corn-land,  with  a  row  of  mulberry-trees 
up  the  middle  of  it,  for  silk.  There  are  poppies,  and  bright 
ones  too,  about  tlie  banks  and  roadsides  ;  but  the  corn  oi 
Val  di  Nievole  is  too  proud  to  grow  with  poppies,  and 
is  set  with  wild  gladiolus  instead,  deep  violet.  Here  and 
there  a  mound  of  crag  rises  out  of  the  fields,  crested  with 
stone-pine,  and  studded  all  over  with  large  stars  of  the  white 
rock-cistus.  Quiet  streams,  filled  with  the  close  crow^ds  of 
the  golden  water-flag,  wind  beside  meadows  painted  with 
purple  orchis.  On  each  side  of  the  great  plain  is  a  wilder- 
ness of  hills,  veiled  at  their  feet  with  a  grey  cloud  of  olive 
woods  ;  above,  sweet  with  glades  of  chestnut  ;  peaks  of  more 
distant  blue,  still,  to-day,  embroidered  with  snow,  are  rather 
to  be  thought  of  as  vast  precious  stones  than  mountains,  for 
all  the  state  of  the  world's  palaces  has  been  hewn  out  of 
their  marble. 

I  was  looking  over  all  this  from  under  the  rim  of  a  large 
bell,  beautifully  embossed,  with  a  St.  Sebastian  upon  it,  and 
some  lovely  thin-edged  laurel  leaves,  and  an  inscription  say- 
ing that  the  people  should  be  filled  with  the  fat  of  the  land, 
if  they  listened  to  the  voice  of  the  Lord.  The  bell-founder 
of  course  meant,  by  the  voice  of  the  Lord,  the  sound  of  his 
own  bell  ;  and  all  over  the  plain,  one  could  see  towers  rising 
above  the  vines,  voiced  in  the  same  manner.  Also  much 
trumpeting  and  fiddling  goes  on  below,  to  help  the  bells,  on 
holy  days  ;  and,  assuredly,  here  is  fat  enough  of  land  to  be 
filled  with,  if  listening  to  these  scrapings  and  tinklings  were^ 
indeed  the  way  to  be  filled. 

The  laurel  leaves  on  the  bell  were  so  finely  hammered  that 
I  felt  bound  to  have  a  ladder  set  against  the  lip  of  it,  that 
I  might  examine  them  more  closely  ;  and  the  sacristan  and 
bell-ringer  were  so  interested  in  this  proceeding  that  they 
got  up,  themselves,  on  the  cross-beams,  and  sat  like  two 
jackdaws,  looking  on,  one  on  each  side  ;  for  which  expres- 
sion of  sympathy  1  was  deeply  grateful,  and  offered  the  bell- 


240 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


ringer,  on  the  spot,  two  bank-notes  for  tenpence  eacli.  But 
they  were  so  rotten  with  age,  and  so  brittle  and  black  with 
tobacco,  that,  having  unadvisedly  folded  them  up  small  in 
my  purse,  the  patches  on  their  backs  had  run  their  corneii^ 
through  them,  and  they  came  out  tattered  like  so  much 
tinder.  The  bell-ringer  looked  at  them  hopelessly,  and  gava 
me  them  back.  I  promised  him  some  better  patched  ones, 
and  folded  the  remnants  of  tinder  up  carefully,  to  be  kept 
at  Coniston  (where  we  have  still  \\  tenpence-worth  or  so  of 
copper, — though  no  olive  oil) — for  specimens  of  the  cur- 
rency of  the  new  Kingdom  of  Italy. 

Such  are  the  monuments  of  financial  art,  attained  by  a 
nation  which  has  lived  in  the  fattest  of  lands  for  at  least 
three  thousand  vears,  and  for  the  last  twelve  hundred  of 
them  has  had  at  least  some  measure  of  Christian  benediction, 
with  help  from  be)!,  book,  candle,  and,  recently,  even  from  gas. 

Yet  you  must  not  despise  the  benediction,  though  it  has 
not  provided  them  with  clean  bank-notes.  The  peasant  race, 
at  least,  of  the  Yal  di  Nievole  are  not  unblest  ;  if  honesty, 
kindness,  food  sufficient  for  them,  and  peace  of  heart,  can 
anywise  make  up  for  poverty  in  current  coin.  Only  the 
evening  before  last,  I  was  up  among  the  hills  to  the  south  of 
Lucca,  close  to  the  remains  of  the  country-house  of  Castruc- 
cio  Castracani,  who  was  Lord  of  the  Yal  di  Nievole,  and 
much  good  land  besides,  in  the  year  1328  ;  (and  whose 
sword,  you  perhaps  remember,  was  presented  to  the  King  of 
Sardinia,  now  King  of  Italy,  when  first  he  visited  the  Luc- 
chese  after  driving  out  the  old  Duke  of  Tuscany  ;  and  Mrs. 
Browning  wrote  a  poem  upon  the  presentation  ;)  a  Nea- 
politan Duchess  has  got  his  country-house  now,  and  has 
restored  it  to  her  taste.  Well,  I  was  up  among  the  hills, 
that  way,  in  places  where  no  English,  nor  Neapolitans  either, 
ever  dream  of  going,  being  altogether  lovely  and  at  rest, 
and  the  country  life  in  them  unchanged  ;  and  I  had  several 
friends  with  me,  and  among  them  one  of  the  young  girls  who 
were  at  Furness  Abbey  last  year  ;  and,  scrambling  about 
among  the  vines,  she  lost  a  pretty  little  cross  of  Florentine 
work.  Luckily,  she  had  made  acquaintance,  only  the  day  be* 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


241 


fore,  with  the  peasant  mistress  of  a  cottage  close  by,  and  with 
her  two  youngest  children,  Adam  and  Eve.  Eve  was  still 
tied  up  tight  in  swaddling  clothes,  down  to  the  toes,  and 
carried  about  as  a  bundle  ;  but  Adam  was  old  enough  to  run 
about  ;  and  found  the  cross,  and  his  mother  gave  it  us  back 
next  dav. 

Not  unblest,  such  a  people,  though  with  some  common  hu*^ 
man  care  and  kindness  you  might  bless  them  a  little  more. 
If  only  you  would  not  curse  them  ;  but  the  curse  of  your 
modern  life  is  fatally  near,  and  only  for  a  few  years  more, 
perhaps,  they  will  be  seen — driving  their  tawny  kine,  or  with 
their  sheep  following  them, — to  pass,  like  pictures  in  en- 
chanted motion,  among  their  glades  of  vine. 

Home^  12th  May, — I  am  wanting  at  the  window  of  a  new 
inn,  whence  I  have  a  view  of  a  large  green  gas-lamp,  and  of 
a  pond,  in  rustic  rock-work,  with  four  large  black  ducks  in 
it;  also  of  the  top  of  the  Pantheon;  sundry  ruined  walls;  tiled 
roofs  innumerable  ;  and  a  palace  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
long,  and  the  height,  as  near  as  I  can  guess,  of  Folkestone 
cliffs  under  the  New  Parade  :  all  which  I  see  to  advantaofe 
over  a  balustrade  veneered  with  an  inch  of  marble  over  four 
inches  of  cheap  stone,  carried  by  balusters  of  cast  iron,  painted 
and  sanded,  but  with  the  rust  coming  through, —  this  being 
the  proper  modern  recipe  in  Italy  for  balustrades  which  may 
meet  the  increasing  demand  of  travellers  for  splendour  of 
abode.  (By  the  way,  I  see  I  can  get  a  pretty  little  long 
vicrnette  view  of  the  roof  of  the  Pantheon,  and  some  neioh- 
bouring  churches,  through  a  chink  between  the  veneering 
and  the  freestone.) 

Standing  in  this  balcony,  I  am  within  three  hundred  yards 
of  the  greater  Church  of  St.  Mary,  from  which  Gastruccio 
Castracani  walked  to  St.  Peter's  on  17th  January,  1328,  carry- 
ing the  sword  of  the  German  Empire,  with  which  he  was  ap- 
pointed to  gird  its  Emperor,  on  his  taking  possession  of 
Rome,  by  Castruccio's  help,  in  spite  of  the  Pope.  The  Lord 
of  the  Val  di  Nievole  wore  a  dress  of  superb  damask  silk, 
doubtless  the  best  that  the  worms  of  Lucca  mulberry-trees 
IG 


242 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


could  spin  ;  and  across  his  breast  an  embroidered  scroll,  in- 
scribed, "  He  is  wliat  God  made  him,"  and  across  his  shoul- 
ders, behind,  another  scroll,  inscribed,  "And  he  shall  be  what 
God  will  make." 

On  the  3rd  of  August,  that  same  year,  he  recovered  Pis- 
toja  from  the  Florentines,  and  rode  home  to  liis  own  Lucca 
in  triumpli,  being  then  the  greatest  war-captain  in  Europe, 
and  Lord  of  Pisa,  Pistoja,  Lucca,  half  the  coast  of  Genoa, 
and  three  hundred  fortified  castles  in  the  Apennines  ;  on  the 
third  of  September  he  lay  dead  in  Lucca,  of  fever.  "  Crushed 
before  the  moth  ; "  as  the  silkworms  also,  who  were  boiled 
before  even  they  became  so  much  as  moths,  to  make  his  em- 
broidered coat  for  him.  And,  humanly  speaking,  because 
he  had  worked  too  hard  in  the  trenches  of  Pistoja,  in  the 
dog-days,  with  his  armour  on,  and  with  his  own  hands  on  the 
mattock,  like  the  good  knight  he  was. 

Nevertheless,  his  sword  was  no  gift  for  the  King  of  Italy, 
if  the  Lucchese  had  thousrht  better  of  it.  For  those  three 
hundred  castles  of  his  were  all  Robber-castles,  and  he,  in 
fact,  only  the  chief  captain  of  the  three  hundred  thieves  who 
lived  in  them.  In  the  beginning  of  his  career,  these  "towers 
of  the  Lunigiana  belonged  to  gentlemen  who  had  made  brig- 
andage in  the  mountains,  or  piracy  on  the  sea,  the  sole  occu- 
pations of  their  youth.  Castruccia  united  them  round  him, 
and  called  to  his  little  court  all  the  exiles  and  adventurers 
who  were  wandering  from  town  to  town,  in  search  of  war  or 
pleasures."  * 

And,  indeed,  to  Professors  of  Art,  the  Apennine  between 
Lucca  and  Pistoja  is  singularly  delightful  to  this  day,  be- 
cause of  the  ruins  of  these  robber-castles  on  every  mound, 
and  of  the  pretty  monasteries  and  arcades  of  cloister  beside 
them.  But  how  little  we  usually  estimate  the  real  relation 
of  these  picturesque  objects  !  The  homes  of  Baron  and 
Clerk,  side  by  side,  established  on  the  hills.  Underneath,  in 
the  plain,  the  peasant  driving  his  oxen.  The  Baron  lives  by 
robbing  the  peasant,  and  the  Clerk  by  blessing  the  Baron. 

Blessing  and  absolving,  though  the  Barons  of  grandest 
♦  SiSMONDi :  History  of  Italian  Republics^  Vol.  III.,  Chap.  ii. 


FOBS  GLAVIOERA, 


243 


type  could  live,  and  resolutely  die,  without  absolution.  Old 
Straw-Mattress  of  Evilstone,*  at  ninety-six,  sent  his  son  from 
beside  his  deatli-inattress  to  attack  the  castle  of  the  Bishop 
of  Arezzo,  thinking  the  Bishop  would  be  ofT  his  guard,  news 
having  gone  abroad  that  the  grey-haired  Knight  of  Evilstone 
could  sit  his  horse  no  more.  But,  usually,  the  absolution 
was  felt  to  be  needful  towards  the  end  of  life  ;  and  if  one 
tliinks  of  it,  the  two  kinds  of  edifices  on  the  hill-tops  may  be 
shortly  described  as  those  of  the  Pillager  and  Pardoner,  or 
Pardonere,  Chaucer's  word  being  classical  in  spelling,  and 
the  best  general  one  for  the  clergy  of  the  two  great  Evan- 
gelical and  Papal  sects.  Only  a  year  or  two  ago,  close  to  the 
Crystal  Palace,  I  heard  the  Rev,  Mr.  Tipple  announce  from 
his  pulpit  that  there  was  no  thief,  nor  devourer  of  widows' 
houses,  nor  any  manner  of  sinner,  in  his  congregation  that 
day,  who  might  not  leave  the  church  an  entirely  pardoned 
and  entirely  respectable  person,  if  he  would  only  believe 
what  the  Rev.  Mr.  Tipple  was  about  to  announce  to  him. 

Strange,  too,  how  these  two  great  pardoning  religions  agree 
in  the  accompaniment  of  physical  filth.  I  have  never  been 
hindered  from  drawing  street  subjects  by  pure  human  stench, 
but  in  two  cities, — Edinburgh  and  Rome. 

There  are  some  things,  however,  which  Edinburgh  and 
London  pardon,  now-a-days,  which  Rome  would  not.  Pen- 
itent thieves,  by  all  means,  but  not  impenitent  ;  still  less 
impenitent  peculators. 

Have  patience  a  little,  for  I  must  tell  you  one  or  two 
things  more  about  Lucca  :  they  are  all  connected  with  the 
histqry  of  Florence,  which  is  to  be  one  of  the  five  cities 
you  are  to  be  able  to  give  account  of  ;  and,  by  the  way,  re- 
member at  once,  that  her  florin  in  the  14th  century  was  of 
Buch  pure  gold  that  when  in  "  Chaucer's  Pardonere's  Tale" 
Death  puts  himself  into  the  daintiest  dress  he  can,  it  is 
into  a  heap  of  "fioreines  faire  and  bright."  He  has  chosen 
another  form  at  Lucca ;  and  when  I  had  folded  up  my  two 
bits  of  refuse  tinder,  I  walked  into  the  Cathedral  to  look 
at  the  golden  lamp  whicli  liangs  before  the  Sacred  Face— 
*     Saccone  of  Pictra-mala." 


244 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


twenty-four  pounds  of  pure  gold  in  tlie  lamp  :  Face  of 
wood  :  the  oath  of  kings,  since  William  Rufus'  days  ;  carved 
eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  if  one  would  believe,  and  very 
fall  of  pardon  to  faithful  Lucchese  ;  yet,  to  some,  helpless. 

There  are,  I  suppose,  no  educated  persons  in  Italy,  and  few 
in  England,  who  do  not  profess  to  admire  Dante  ;  and,  per- 
haps, out  of  every  hundred  of  these  admirers,  three  or  four 
may  have  read  the  bit  about  Francesca  di  Rimini,  the  death 
of  Ugolino,  and  the  description  of  the  Venetian  Arsenal. 
But  even  of  these  honestly  studious  three  or  four,  we  should 
rarely  find  one,  who  knew  why  the  Venetian  Arsenal  was  de- 
scribed.   You  shall  hear,  if  you  will. 

"  As,  in  the  Venetian  Arsenal,  the  pitch  boils  in  the 
winter  time,  wherewith  to  caulk  their  rotten  ships  .  .  . 
so,  not  by  fire,  but  divine  art,  a  thick  pitch  boiled  there,  be- 
neath, which  had  plastered  itself  all  up  over  the  banks  on 
either  side.  But  in  it  I  could  see  nothing,  except  the  bub- 
bles that  its  boiling  raised,  which  from  time  to  time  made  it 
all- swell  up  over  its  whole  surface,  and  presently  fall  back 
again  depressed.  And  as  I  looked  at  it  fixedly,  and  won- 
dered, my  guide  drew  me  back  hastily,  saying,  *  Look,  look  ! ' 
And  when  I  turned,  I  saw  behind  us,  a  black  devil  come 
running  along  the  rocks.  Ah,  how  wild  his  face  !  ah,  how 
bitter  his  action  as  he  came  with  his  wings  wide,  light  upon 
his  feet  !  On  his  shoulder  he  bore  a  sinner,  grasped  by  both 
liaunches  ;  and  when  he  came  to  the  bridge  foot,  he  cried 
down  into  the  pit  :  '  Here's  an  ancient  from  Lucca  :  put  him 
under,  that  T  may  fetch  more,  for  the  land  is  full  of  such  ; 
there,  for  money,  they  make  ''No"  into  "Yes"  quipkly.' 
And  he  cast  him  in  and  turned  back, — never  mastiff  fiercer 
after  his  prey.  The  thrown  sinner  plunged  in  the  pitch,  and 
curled  himself  up  ;  but  the  devils  from  under  the  bridge 
cried  out,  'There's  no  holy  face  here  ;  here  one  swims  other- 
wise than  in  the  Serchio.'  And  thev  caugrht  him  with  their 
hooks  and  pulled  him  under,  as  cooks  do  the  meat  in  broth  ; 
crying,  'People  play  here  hidden  ;  so  that  they  may  filch  in 
gecret,  if  thev  can,' " 

Doubtless,  you  consider  all  this  extremely  absurd,  and  are 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


245 


of  opinion  that  such  things  are  not  likely  to  happen  in  the 
next  world.  Perhaps  not  ;  nor  is  it  clear  that  Dante  be- 
lieved they  would  ;  but  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  tell 
rne  what  you  think  is  likely  to  happen  there.  In  the  mean- 
time, please  to  observe  Dante's  figurative  meaning,  which  is 
by  no  means  absurd.  Every  one  of  his  scenes  has  symbolic 
purpose,  down  to  the  least  detail.  This  lake  of  pitch  is 
money,  which,  in  our  own  vulgar  English  phrase,  sticks  to 
people's  fingers  ;  "  it  clogs  and  plasters  its  margin  all  over, 
because  the  mind  of  a  man  bent  on  dishonest  gain  makes 
everything  within  its  reach  dirty  ;  it  bubbles  up  and  down, 
because  underhand  gains  nearly  always  involve  alternate 
excitement  and  depression  ;  and  it  is  haunted  by  the  most 
cruel  and  indecent  of  all  the  devils,  because  there  is  nothing 
so  mean,  and  nothing  so  cruel,  but  a  peculator  will  do  it. 
So  you  may  read  every  line  figuratively,  if  you  choose  :  all 
that  I  want  is,  that  you  should  be  acquainted  with  the 
opinions  of  Dante  concerning  peculation.  For  with  the 
history  of  the  five  cities,  I  wish  you  to  know  also  the 
opinions,  on  all  subjects  personally  interesting  to  you,  of 
five  people  who  lived  in  them  ;  namely,  of  Plato,  Virgil, 
Dante,  Victor  Carpaccio  (whose  opinions  I  must  gather  for 
you  from  his  paintings,  for  painting  is  the  way  Venetians 
write),  and  Shakspeare. 

If,  after  knowing  these  five  men's  opinions  on  practical 
matters  (these  five,  as  you  will  find,  being  all  of  the  same 
mind),  you  prefer  to  hold  Mr.  J.  S.  Mill's  and  Mr.  Fawcett's 
opinions,  you  are  welcome.  And  indeed  I  may  as  well  end 
this  bv  at  once  examinins:  some  of  Mr.  Fawcett's  statements 
on  the  subject  of  Interest,  that  being  one  of  our  chief  mod- 
ern modes  of  peculation  ;  but,  before  we  put  aside  Dante  for 
to-day,  just  note  farther  this,  that  while  he  has  sharp  pun- 
ishment for  thieves,  forgers,  and  peculators, — the  thieves 
being  changed  into  serpents,  the  forgers  covered  with  lep- 
rosy, and  the  peculators  boiled  in  pitch, — he  has  no  punish- 
ment for  bad  workmen  ;  no  Tuscan  mind  at  that  day  being 
able  to  conceive  such  a  ghastly  sin  as  a  man's  doing  bad  work 
wilfully  ;fiind,  indeed,  I  think  the  Tuscan  mind,  and  in  some 


246 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


degree  the  Piedmontese,  retain  some  vestige  of  this  old  tem-t 
per  ;  for  though,  not  a  fortnight  since  (on  3rd  May),  the 
cross  of  marble  in  the  arch-spandril  next  the  east  end  of  the 
Chapel  of  the  Thorn  at  Pisa  was  dashed  to  pieces  before  my 
eyes,  as  I  was  drawing  it  for  my  class  in  heraldry  at  Oxford, 
by  a  stone-mason,  that  his  master  might  be  paid  for  making 
a  new  one,  I  have  no  doubt  the  new  one  will  be  as  honestly 
like  the  old  as  master  and  man  can  make  it  ;  and  Mr.  Mur- 
ray's Guide  vf'iW  call  it  a  judicious  restoration.  So  also, 
though  here,  the  new  Government  is  digging  through  the 
earliest  rampart  of  Rome  {agger  of  Servius  Tullius),  to  build 
a  new  Finance  Office,  which  will  doubtless  issue  tenpenny 
notes  in  Latin,  with  the  dignity  of  deiiarii  (the  "pence"  of 
your  New  Testament),  I  have  every  reason  to  suppose  the 
new  Finance  Office  will  be  substantially  built  and  creditable 
to  its  masons  ;  (the  veneering  and  cast-iron  work  being,  I 
believe,  done  mostly  at  the  instigation  of  British  building 
companies.)  But  it  seems  strange  to  me  that,  coming  to 
Rome  for  quite  other  reasons,  I  should  be  permitted  by  the 
Third  Fors  to  see  the  cigger  of  Tullius  cut  through,  for  the 
site  of  a  Finance  Office,  and  his  Mons  Justitise  (Mount  of 
Justice),  presumably  the  most  venerable  piece  of  earth  in 
Italy,  carted  away,  to  make  room  for  a  railroad  station  of 
Piccola  Velocita.  For  Servius  Tullius  was  the  first  king  who 
stamped  money  with  the  figures  of  animals,  and  introduced 
a  word  among  the  Romans  with  the  sound  of  which  English- 
men are  also  now  acquainted,  "  pecunia."  Moreover,  it  is  in 
speaking  of  this  very  agger  of  Tullius  that  Livy  explains  in 
what  reverence  the  Romans  held  the  space  between  the 
outer  and  inner  walls  of  their  cities,  which  modern  Italy  de- 
lights to  turn  into  a  Boulevard. 
Now  then,  for  Mr.  Fawcett  : — 

At  the  146th  page  of  the  edition  of  his  Manual  previously 
quoted,  you  will  find  it  stated  that  the  interest  of  money  con. 
sists  of  three  distinct  parts  : 

1.  Reward  for  abstinence. 

2.  Compensation  for  the  risk  of  loss. 

3.  Wages  for  the  labour  of  superintendence^ 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


247 


I  will  reverse  this  order  in  examining  the  statements  ;  for 
the  only  real  question  is  as  to  the  first,  and  we  had  better  at 
once  clear  the  other  two  away  from  it. 

3.  Wages  for  the  labour  of  superintendence. 

By  giving  the  capitalist  wages  at  all,  we  put  him  at  once 
into  the  class  of  labourers,  which  in  my  November  letter  I 
showed  you  is  partly  right  ;  but,  by  Mr,  Fawcett's  definition, 
and  in  the  broad  results  of  business,  he  is  not  a  labourer.  So 
far  as  he  is  one,  of  course,  like  any  other,  he  is  to  be  paid  for 
liis  work.  There  is  no  question  but  that  the  partner  who 
superintends  any  business  should  be  paid  for  superintend- 
ence ;  but  the  question  before  us  is  only  respecting  payment 
for  doing  nothing.  I  have,  for  instance,  at  this  moment 
15,000/.  of  bank  stock,  and  receive  1,200/.  odd,  a  year,  from 
the  Bank,  but  I  have  never  received  the  slisi-htest  intimation 
from  the  directors  that  they  wished  for  my  assistance  in  the 
superintendence  of  that  establishment  ; — (more  shame  for 
them.)  But  even  in  cases  where  the  partners  are  active,  it 
does  not  follow  that  the  one  who  has  most  monev  in  the  busi- 
ness  is  either  fittest  to  superintend  it,  or  likely  to  do  so  ;  it 
is  indeed  probable  that  a  man  who  has  made  money  already 
will  know  how  to  make  more  ;  and  it  is  necessary  to  attach 
some  importance  to  property  as  the  sign  of  sense  :  but  your 
business  is  to  choose  and  pay  your  superintendent  for  his 
sense,  and  not  for  his  money.  Which  is  exactly  what  Mr. 
Carlyle  has  been  telling  you  for  some  time  ;  and  both  he  and 
all  his  disciples  entirely  approve  of  interest,  if  you  are  indeed 
prepared  to  define  that  term  as  payment  for  the  exercise  of 
common  sense  spent  in  the  service  of  the  person  who  pays  for 
it.  I  reserve  yet  awhile,  however,  what  is  to  be  said,  as 
hinted  in  my  first  letter,  about  the  sale  of  ideas. 

2.  Compensation  for  risk. 

Does  Mr.  Fawcett  mean  by  compensation  for  risk,  pro- 
tection from  it,  or  reward  for  running  it  ?  Every  business 
involves  a  certain  quantity  of  risk,  which  is  properly  covered 
by  every  prudent  merchant,  but  he  does  not  expect  to  make 
a  profit  out  of  his  risks,  nor  calculate  on  a  percentage  on  his 
insurance.    If  he  prefer  not  to  insure,  does  Professor  Fawcett 


us 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


mean  that  his  customers  ought  to  compensate  him  for  hia 
anxiety  ;  and  that  while  the  definition  of  the  first  part  of  in- 
terest is  extra  payment  for  prudence,  the  definition  of  the 
second  part  of  interest  is  extra  payment  for  ^mprudence  ?  Or 
does  Professor  Fawcett  mean,  what  is  indeed  often  the  fact^ 
that  interest  for  money  represents  such  reward  for  risk  as 
people  may  get  across  the  green  cloth  at  Homburg  or  Mon- 
aco ?  Because  so  far  as  what  used  to  be  business  is,  in 
modern  political  economy,  gambling,  Professor  Fawcett  will 
please  to  observe  that  what  one  gamester  gains  another  loses. 
You  cannot  get  anything  out  of  Nature,  or  from  God,  by 
gambling  ; — only  out  of  your  neighbour  :  and  to  the  quantity 
of  interest  of  money  thus  gained,  you  are  mathematically 
to  oppose  a  precisely  equal  (disinterest  of  somebody  else's 
money. 

These  second  and  third  reasons  for  interest  then,  assis^ned 
by  Professor  Fawcett,  have  evidently  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  the  question.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  why  the  Bank 
of  England  is  paying  me  1,200/.  a  year.  It  certainly  does 
not  pay  me  for  superintendence.  And  so  far  from  receiving 
my  dividend  as  compensation  for  risk,  I  put  my  money  into 
the  bank  because  I  thought  it  exactly  the  safest  place  to  put 
it  in.  But  nobody  can  be  more  anxious  than  I  to  find  it 
proper  that  I  should  have  1,200/.  a  year.  Finding  two  of 
Mr.  Fawcett's  reasons  fail  me  utterly,  I  cling  with  tenacity 
to  the  third,  and  hope  the  best  from  it. 

The  third,  or  first, — and  now  too  sorrowfully  the  last — of 
the  Professor's  reasons,  is  this,  that  my  1,200/.  are  given  me 
as  the  reward  of  abstinence."  It  strikes  me,  upon  this, 
that  if  I  had  not  mv  15,000/.  of  Bank  Stock  I  should  be  a 
good  deal  more  abstinent  than  I  am,  and  that  nobody  would 
then  talk  of  rewarding  me  for  it.  It  might  be  possible  to 
find  even  cases  of  very  prolonged  and  painful  abstinence,  for 
which  no  reward  has  yet  been  adjudged  by  less  abstinent 
England.  Abstinence  may,  indeed,  have  its  reward,  never* 
theless  ;  but  not  by  increase  of  what  we  abstain  from,  unless 
there  be  a  law  of  growth  for  it,  unconnected  with  our  absti 
nence,      You  cannot  have  your  cake  and  eat  it."  Of  course 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


240 


not  ;  and  If  you  don't  eat  it,  you  have  your  cake  ;  but  not 
a  cake  and  a  half  !  Imagine  the  coippiex  trial  of  schoolboy 
minds,  if  the  law  of  nature  about  cakes  were,  that  if  you  ate 
none  of  your  cake  to-day,  you  would  have  ever  so  much 
bioro-er  a  cake  to-morrow  ! — which  is  Mr.  Fawcett's  notion  of 
the  law  of  nature  about  money  ;  and,  alas,  many  a  man's 
beside, — it  being  no  law  of  nature  whatever,  but  absolutely 
contrary  to  all  her  laws,  and  not  to  be  enacted  by  the  whole 
force  of  united  mankind. 

Not  a  cake  and  a  quarter  to-morrow,  dunce,  however  ab- 
stinent you  are — only  the  cake  you  have, — if  the  mice  don't 
get  at  it  in  the  night. 

Interest,  then,  is  not,  it  appears,  payment  for  labour  ;  it 
is  not  reward  for  risk  ;  it  is  not  reward  for  abstinence. 

What  is  It  ? 

One  of  two  things  it  is  ; — taxation,  or  usury.  Of  which  in 
my  next  letter.    Meantime  believe  me 

Faithfully  yours, 

"  J.  RUSKIN. 


LETTER  XIX. 

- ,  Verona,  18;A  June,  1873. 

My  Friends,  ' 

What  an  age  of  progress  it  is,  by  help  of  advertisements  \ 
No  wonder  you  put  some  faith  in  them,  friends.  In  sum- 
mer one's  work  is  necessarily  much  before  breakfast  ;  so, 
coming  home  tired  to-day,  I  order  a  steak,  with  which  is 
served  to  me  a  bottle  of  Moutarde  Diaphane,"  from  Bor- 
deaux. 

What  a  beautiful  arranfjement  have  we  here  !  Fancv  the 
appropriate  mixture  of  manufactures  of  cold  and  hot  at  Bor- 
deaux— claret  and  diaplianous  mustard  !  Then  tlie  quantity 
of  printing  and  proclamation  necessary  to  make  people  in 
Verona  understand  that  diaphanous  mustard  is  desirable,  and 
may  be  had  at  Bordeaux.  Fancy,  then,  the  packing,  and 
peeping  into  the  packages,  and  porterages,  and  percentages 


250 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


on  porterages  ;  and  the  engineering,  and  the  tunnelling,  and 
the  bridge-building,  and,  the  steam  whistling,  and  the  grind- 
ing of  iron,  and  raising  of  dust  in  the  Limousin  (Marmontel's 
country),  and  in  Burgundy,  and  in  Savoy,  and  under  the 
Mont  Cenis,  and  in  Piedmont,  and  in  Lombardy,  and  at  last 
over  the  field  of  Solferino,  to  fetch  me  my  bottle  of  diapha- 
nous mustard  ! 

And  to  think  that,  besides  paying  the  railway  officers  all 
along  the  line,  and  the  custom-house  officers  at  the  frontier, 
and  the  original  expenses  of  advertisement,  and  the  profits 
of  its  proprietors,  my  diaphanous  mustard  paid  a  dividend  to 
somebody  or  other,  all  the  way  here  !  I  wonder  it  is  not 
more  diaphanous  by  this  time  ! 

An  age  of  progress,  indeed,  in  which  the  founding  of  my 
poor  St.  George's  company,  growing  its  own  mustard,  and 
desiring  no  dividends,  may  well  seem  difficult.  I  have  scarcely 
had  courage  yet  to  insist  on  that  second  particular,  but  will 
try  to  find  it,  on  this  Waterloo  day. 

Observe,  then,  once  for  all,  it  is  to  be  a  company  for  Alms- 
giving, not  for  dividend-getting.  For  I  still  believe  in  Alms- 
giving, though  most  people  now-a-days  do  not,  but  think  the 
only  hopeful  way  of  serving  their  neighbour  is  to  make  a 
profit  out  of  him.  I  am  of  opinion,  on  the  contrary,  that 
the  hopefullest  way  of  serving  him  is  to  let  him  make  a  profit 
out  of  me,  and  I  only  ask  the  help  of  people  who  are  at  one 
with  me  in  that  mind. 

Alms-giving,  therefore,  is  to  be  our  function  ;  yet  alms 
only  of  a  certain  sort.  For  there  are  bedesmen  and  bedes- 
men, and  our  charities  must  be  as  discriminate  as  possible. 

For  instance,  those  two  steely  and  stalwart  horsemen,  who 
sit,  by  the  hour,  under  the  two  arches  opposite  Whitehall, 
from  ten  to  four  per  diem,  to  receive  the  public  alms.  It  is 
tlieir  singular  and  well-bred  manner  of  begging,  indeed,  to 
keep  their  helmets  on  their  heads,  and  sit  erect  on  horseback  ; 
but  one  may,  with  slight  effort  of  imagination,  conceive  the 
two  helmets  held  in  a  reversed  manner,  each  in  the  mouth  of 
a  well-br©d  and  politely-behaving  dog,  Irish  greyhound,  or 
the  like  ;  sitting  erect,  it  also,  paws  in  air,  with  the  brass 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


251 


instead  of  copper  pan  in  its  mouth,  plume  downwards,  for 
reception  of  pence. 

Ready  to  fight  for  us,  they  are,  on  occasional  18ths  oi 
June." 

Doubtless,  and  able-bodied  ; — barons  of  truest  make  :  but 
1  thought  your  idea  of  discriminate  charity  was  to  give  rather 
to  the  sick  than  .the  able-bodied  ?  and  that  you  have  no  hope 
of  interfering  henceforward,  except  by  money  payments,  in 
any  foreign  affairs  ? 

"  But  the  Guards  are  necessary  to  keep  order  in  the  Park.'' 
Yes,  certainly,  and  farther  than  the  Park.  The  two  breast- 
plated  figures,  glittering  in  transfixed  attitudes  on  each  side  of 
the  authoritative  clock,  are,  indeed,  very  precious  time-piece 
ornamentation.  No  watchmaker's  window  in  Paris  or  Ge- 
neva can  show  the  like.  Finished  little  figures,  perfect  down 
to  the  toes  of  their  boots, — the  enamelled  clasp  on  the  girdle 
of  the  British  Constitution  !  You  think  the  security  of  that 
depends  on  the  freedom  of  your  press,  and  the  purity  of  your 
elections  ? 

Do  but  unclasp  this  piece  of  dainty  jewellery  ;  send  the 
metal  of  it  to  the  melting-pot,  and  see  where  your  British 
Constitution  will  be,  in  a  few  turns  of  the  hands  of  the  fault- 
less clock.  They  are  precious  statues,  these,  good  friends  ; 
set  there  to  keep  you  and  me  from  having  too  much  of  our 
own  way  ;  and  I  joyfully  and  gratefully  dro[)  my  penny  into 
each  helmet  as  I  pass  by,  though  I  expect  no  other  dividend 
from  that  investment  than  good  order,  picturesque  effect, 
and  an  occasional  flourish  on  the  kettle-drum. 

Likewise,  from  their  contributed  pence,  the  St.  George's 
Company  must  be  good  enough  to  expect  dividend  only  in 
good  order  and  picturesque  effect  of  another  sort.  For  my 
notion  of  discriminate  charity  is  by  no  means,  like  most  other 
people's,  the  giving  to  unable-bodied  paupers.  My  alms- 
people  are  to  be  the  ablest  bodied  I  can  find  ;  the  ablest 
minded  I  can  make  ;  and  from  ten  to  four  every  day  will  bo 
on  duty.  Ten  to  four,  nine  to  three,  or  perhaps  six  to  twelve  ; 
— just  the  time  those  two  gilded  figures  sit  with  their  tools 
idle  on  their  slioulders,  (being  fortunately  without  employ. 


252 


FOnS  CLAVIGERA. 


ment,)  my  ungilcled,  but  not  unstately,  alrns-men  shall  stand 
with  tools  at  work,  mattock  or  flail,  axe  or  hammer.  And  I 
do  not  doubt  but  in  little  time,  they  will  be  able  to  thresh 
or  hew  rations  for  their  day  out  of  the  ground,  and  that  our 
help  to  them  need  only  be  in  giving  them  that  to  hew  them 
out  of.  Which,  you  observe,  is  just  what  I  ask  may  be 
bouo-ht  for  them. 

^' '  May  be  bought,'  but  by  whom  ?  and  for  whom,  hovr  dis^ 
tributed,  in  whom  vested  ?  "  and  much  more  you  have  to  ask. 

As  soon  as  I  am  sure  vou  understand  w^hat  needs  to  be 
done,  I  will  satisfy  you  as  to  the  way  of  doing  it. 

But  I  will  not  let  you  know  my  plans,  till  you  acknowledge 
my  principles,  which  I  have  no  expectation  of  your  doing 
yet  awhile. 

June  22nd, 

"  Bouo:ht  for  them  " — for  whom  ?  How  should  I  know  ? 
The  best  people  I  can  find,  or  make,  as  chance  may  send 
them  :  the  Third  Fors  must  look  to  it.  Surely  it  cannot 
matter  much,  to  you,  whom  the  thing  helps,  so  long  as  you 
are  quite  sure,  and  quite  content,  that  it  won't  help  you? 

That  last  sentence  is  wonderfully  awkward  English,  not  to 
say  ungrammatical  ;  but  I  must  write  such  English  as  may 
come  to-day,  for  there's  something  wrong  with  the  Post,  or 
the  railroads,  and  I  have  no  revise  of  what  I  wrote  for  3'ou 
at  Florence,  a  fortnight  since  ;  so  that  must  be  left  for  the 
August  Letter,  and  meanwhile  I  must  write  something 
quickly  in  its  place,  or  be  too  late  for  the  first  of  July.  Of 
the  many  things  I  have  to  say  to  you,  it  matters  little  which 
comes  first  ;  indeed,  I  rather  like  the  Third  Fors  to  take  the 
order  of  them  into  her  hands,  out  of  mine. 

I  repeat  my  question.  It  surely  cannot  matter  to  you 
whom  the  thing  helps,  so  long  as  you  are  content  that  it 
won't,  or  can't,  help  you  ?  But  are  you  content  so  ?  For 
that  is  the  essential  condition  of  the  whole  business — I  will 
not  speak  of  it  in  terms  of  money- — are  you  content  to  give 
work  ?  Will  you  build  a  bit  of  wall,  suppose — to  serve  your 
neighbour,  expecting  no  good  of  the  wall  yourself  ?  If  so,, 
you  must  be  satisfied  to  build  the  wall  for  the  man  who  wants 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA, 


253 


it  built  ;  you  must  not  be  resolved  first  to  be  sure  that  he  is 
the  best  man  in  the  village.  Help  any  one,  anyhow  you  can  : 
so,  in  order,  the  greatest  possible  number  will  be  helped  ;  nay, 
in  the  end,  perhaps,  you  may  get  some  shelter  from  the  wind 
under  your  charitable  wall  yourself  ;  but  do  not  expect  it, 
nor  lean  on  any  promise  that  you  shall  find  your  bread  again, 
once  cast  away  ;  I  can  only  say  that  of  what  I  have  chosen 
to  cast  fairly  on  the  waters  myself,  I  have  never  yet,  after 
any  number  of  days,  found  a  crumb.  Keep  what  you  want  ; 
cast  what  you  can,  and  expect  nothing  back,  once  lost,  or 
once  given. 

But  for  the  actual  detail  of  the  way  in  which  benefit  might 
thus  begin,  and  diffuse  itself,  here  is  an  instance  close  at 
hand.  Yesterday  a  thunder-shower  broke  over  Verona  in  the 
early  afternoon  ;  and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  streets  were 
an  inch  deep  in  water  over  large  spaces,  and  had  little  rivers 
at  each  side  of  them.  All  these  little  rivers  ran  away  into 
the  large  river — the  Adige,  which  plunges  down  under  the 
bridges  of  Verona,  writhing  itself  in  strong  rage  ;  for  Verona, 
with  its  said  bridges,  is  a  kind  of  lock-gate  upon  the  Adige, 
half  open — lock-gate  on  the  ebbing  rain  of  all  the  South 
Tyrolese  Alps.  The  little  rivers  ran  into  it,  not  out  of  the 
streets  only,  but  from  all  the  hillsides  ;  millions  of  sudden 
streams  ;  if  you  look  at  Charles  Dickens's  letter  about  the 
lain  in  Glencoe,  in  Mr.  Forster's  Life  of  him,  it  will  give  you 
a  better  idea  of  the  kind  of  thing  than  I  can,  for  my  forte 
is  really  not  description,  but  political  economy.  Two  hours 
afterwards  the  sky  was  clear,  the  streets  dry,  the  whole  thun- 
der-sliower  was  in  the  Adige,  ten  miles  below  Verona,  making 
the  best  of  its  way  to  the  sea,  after  swelling  the  Po  a  little 
(which  is  inconveniently  high  already),  and  I  went  out  with 
my  friends  to  see  the  sun  set  clear,  as  it  was  likely  to  do, 
and  did,  over  the  Tyrolese  mountains. 

The  place  fittest  for  such  purpose  is  a  limestone  crag  about 
five  miles  nearer  the  hills,  rising  out  of  the  bed  of  a  torrent, 
which,  as  usual,  I  found  a  bed  only  ;  a  little  washing  of  the 
sand  into  moist  masses  here  and  there  being  the  only  evi- 
dence of  the  past  rain. 


254 


F0R8  GLAVIGERA. 


Above  it,  where  the  rocks  were  dry,  we  sat  down,  to  draw, 
or  to  look  ;  but  I  was  too  tired  to  draw,  and  cannot  any  more 
look  at  a  sunset  with  comfort,  because,  now  that  I  am  fifty» 
three,  the  sun  seems  to  me  to  set  so  horribly  fast  ;  when  one 
was  young,  it  took  its  time  ;  but  now  it  always  drops  like  a 
shell,  and  before  I  can  get  any  image  of  it,  is  gone,  and 
another  day  with  it. 

So,  instead  of  looking  at  the  sun,  I  got  thinking  about  the 
dry  bed  of  the  stream,  just  beneath.  Ugly  enough  it  was  ; 
cut  by  occasional  inundation  irregularly  out  of  the  thick 
masses  of  old  Alpine  shingle,  nearly  every  stone  of  it  the 
size  of  an  ostrich-egg.  And,  by  the  way,  the  average  size 
of  shingle  in  given  localities  is  worth  your  thinking  about, 
geologically.  All  through  this  Veronese  plain  the  stones 
are  mostly  of  ostrich-egg  size  in  shape  ;  some  forty  times  as 
big  as  the  pebbles  of  English  shingle  (say  of  the  Addington 
Hills),  and  not  flat  nor  round  ;  but  resolvedly  oval.  Now 
there  is  no  reason,  that  1  know  of,  why  large  mountains 
should  break  into  large  pebbles,  and  small  ones  into  small  ; 
and  indeed  the  consistent  reduction  of  our  own  masses  of 
flint,  as  big  as  a  cauliflower,  leaves  and  all,  into  the  flattish 
rounded  pebble,  seldom  wider  across  than  half  a  crown,  of 
the  banks  of  Addington,  is  just  as  strange  a  piece  of  sys- 
tematic reduction  as  the  grinding  of  Monte  Baldo  into  sculpt- 
ure of  ostrich-eggs  : — neither  of  the  processes,  observe,  de- 
pending upon  questions  of  time,  but  of  method  of  fracture. 

The  evening  drew  on,  and  two  peasants  who  had  been  cut- 
ting hay  on  a  terrace  of  meadow  among  the  rocks,  left  their 
Avork,  and  came  to  look  at  the  sketchers,  and  make  out,  if 
they  could,  what  we  wanted  on  their  ground.  They  did  not 
speak  to  us,  but  bright  light  came  into  the  face  of  one,  evi- 
dently the  master,  on  being  spoken  to,  and  excuse  asked  of 
him  for  our  presence  among  his  rocks,  by  which  he  courte- 
ously expressed  himself  as  pleased,  no  less  than  (though  this 
he  did  not  say)  puzzled. 

Some  talk  followed,  of  cold  and  heat,  and  anything  else 
one  knew  the  Italian  for,  or  could  understand  the  Veronese 
for  (Veronese  being  more  like  Spanish  than  Italian)  ;  and  I 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


255 


praised  the  country,  as  was  just,  or  at  least  as  I  could,  and 
said  I  should  like  to  live  there.  Whereupon  he  commended 
it  also,  in  measured  terms  ;  and  said  the  wine  was  good. 
'^But  the  water?"  I  asked,  pointing  to  the  dry  river-bed. 
Tlie  water  was  bitter,  he  said,  and  little  wholesome.  "  Why, 
then,  have  you  let  all  that  thunder-shower  go  down  the 
Adige,  three  hours  ago  ?  "  "  That  was  the  way  the  show- 
ers came."  Yes,  but  not  the  way  they  ought  to  go." 
(We  were  standing  by  the  side  of  a  cleft  in  the  limestone 
which  ran  down  through  ledge  after  ledge,  from  the  top  of 
the  cliff,  mostly  barren  ;  but  my  farmer's  man  had  led  two  of 
his  grey  oxen  to  make  what  they  could  of  supper  from  the 
tufts  of  grass  on  the  sides  of  it,  half  an  hour  before).  "If 
you  h?d  ever  been  at  the  little  pains  of  throwing  half-a-dozen 
yards  of  wall  liere,  from  rock  to  rock,  you  would  have  had, 
at  this  moment,  a  pool  of  standing  water  as  big  as  a  mill- 
pond,  kept  out  of  that  thunder-shower,  which  very  water,  to- 
morrow morning,  will  probably  be  washing  away  somebody's 
hay-stack  into  the  Po." 

The  above  was  what  I  wanted  to  say  ;  but  didn't  know 
the  Italian  for  hay-stack.  I  got  enough  out  to  make  the 
farmer  understand  what  I  meant. 

Yes,  he  said,  that  would  be  very  good,  but  "la  spesa  ?" 

"The  expense  !"  "What  would  be  the  expense  to  you 
of  ^ratherinii:  a  few  stones  from  this  hillside?  And  the  idle 
minutes,  gathered  out  of  a  week,  if  a  neighbour  or  two 
joined  in  the  work,  could  do  all  the  building."  He  paused 
at  this — the  idea  of  neighbours  joining  in  work  appearing 
to  him  entirely  abortive,  and  untenable  by  a  rational  being. 
Which  indeed,  throughout  Christendom,  it  at  present  is, — 
thanks  to  the  beautiful  instructions  and  orthodox  catechisms 
impressed  by  the  two  great  sects  of  Evangelical  and  Papal 
pardoners  on  the  minds  of  their  respective  flocks — (and  on 
their  lips  also,  early  enough  in  the  lives  of  the  little  bleating 
things.  "  Che  cosa  6  la  fede  ?  "  I  heard  impetuously  inter- 
rogated of  a  seven  years'  old  one,  by  a  conscientious  lady  in 
a  black  gown  and  white  cap,  in  St.  Michael's,  at  Lucca,  and 
answered  in  a  glib  speech  a  quarter  of  a  minute  long). 


256 


F0R8  GLAVIGEJIA. 


Neither  have  I  ever  thought  of,  far  less  seriously  proposed, 
such  a  monstrous  thing  as  that  neighbours  should  help  one 
another ;  but  I  have  proposed,  and  do  solemnly  still  propose, 
that  people  who  have  got  no  neighbours,  but  are  outcasts 
and  Samaritans,  as  it  were,  should  put  whatever  twopenny 
charity  they  can  afford  into  useful  unity  of  action  ;  and  that, 
caring  personally  for  no  one,  practically  for  every  one,  they 
should  undertake  la  spesa  "  of  w^ork  that  will  pay  no  divi- 
dend on  their  twopences  ;  but  will  both  produce  and  pour 
oil  and  wine  where  they  are  most  wanted.  And  I  do  sol- 
emnly propose  that  the  St.  George's  company  in  England, 
and  (please  the  University  of  Padua)  a  St.  Anthony's  com- 
pany in  Italy,  should  positively  buy  such  bits  of  barren 
ground  as  this  farmer's  at  Verona,  and  make  the  most  of 
them  that  agriculture  and  engineering  can. 

Venice,  23r<:Z  June, 

My  letter  will  be  a  day  or  two  late,  I  fear,  after  all  ;  for  I 
can't  write  this  morning,  because  of  the  accursed  whistling 
of  the  dirty  steam-engine  of  the  omnibus  for  Lido,  waiting 
at  the  quay  of  the  Ducal  Palace  for  the  dirty  population  of 
Venice,  which  is  now  neither  fish  nor  flesh,  neither  noble  nor 
fisherman — cannot  afford  to  be  rowed,  nor  has  strength  nor 
sense  enough  to  row  itself  ;  but  smokes  and  spits  up  and 
down  the  piazzetta  all  day,  and  gets  itself  dragged  by  a 
screaming-  kettle  to  Lido  next  mornino-  to  sea-bathe  itself 
into  capacity  for  more  tobacco. 

Yet  I  am  grateful  to  the  Third  Fors  for  stopping  my  re- 
vise ;  because  just  as  I  was  passing  by  Padua  yesterday  I 
chanced  upon  this  fact,  which  T  had  forgotten  (do  me  the 
grace  to  believe  that  I  knew  it  twenty  years  ago),  in  Anto- 
nio Caccianiga's  Vita  Campestre,^  The  Venetian  Republic 
founded  in  Padua — (wait  a  minute  ;  for  the  pigeons  are 
come  to  my  window-sill  and  T  must  give  them  some  break- 
fast)— "founded  in  Padua,  in  1765,  the  first  chair  of  rural 
economy  appointed  in  Italy,  annexed  to  it  a  piece  of  ground 


*  Second  Edition,  Milan,  1870.    (Fratelli  Rechiadei),  p.  86. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


257 


destined  for  the  study,  and  called  Peter  Ardouin,  a  Veronese 
botanist,  to  honour  the  school  with  his  lectures." 

Yes  ;  that  is  all  very  fine  ;  nevertheless,  I  am  not  quite 
sure  that  rural  economy,  during  the  1760  years  previous, 
had  not  done  pretty  well  without  a  chair,  and  on  its  own 
legs.  For,  indeed,  since  the  beginning  of  those  philosophies 
in  the  eio-hteenth  centurv,  the  Venetian  aristocracy  has  so 
ill  prospered  that  instead  of  being  any  more  able  to  give  land 
at  Padua,  it  cannot  so  much  as  keep  a  poor  acre  of  it  decent 
before  its  own  Ducal  Palace,  in  Venice  ;  nor  hinder  this 
miserable  mob,  which  has  not  brains  enough  to  know  so 
much  as  what  o'clock  it  is,  nor  sense  enough  so  much  as  to 
go  aboard  a  boat  without  being  whistled  for  like  dogs,  from 
choking  the  sweet  sea  air  with  pitch-black  smoke,  and  filling 
it  with  entirely  devilish  noise,  which  no  properly  bred  human 
being  could  endure  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  them — that 
so  they  may  be  sufficiently  assisted  and  persuaded  to  embark, 
for  the  washing  of  themselves,  at  the  Palace  quay. 

It  is  a  strange  pass  for  things  to  have  reached,  under  politic 
aristocracies  and  learned  professors;  but  the  policy  and  learn- 
ino:  became  useless,  throui^h  the  same  kind  of  mistake  on 
both  sides.  The  professors  of  botany  forgot  that  botany,  in 
its  original  Greek,  meant  a  science  of  things  to  be  eaten; 
they  pursued  it  only  as  a  science  of  tilings  to  be  named. 
And  the  politic  aristocracy  forgot  that  their  own  ''bestness" 
consisted  essentially  in  their  being  fit — in  a  figurative  manner 
— to  be  eaten,  and  fancied  rattier  that  their  superiority  was 
of  a  titular  character,  and  that  the  beauty  and  power  of  their 
order  lay  wholly  in  being  fit  to  be — named. 

I  must  go  back  to  my  wall-building,  however,  for  a  minute 
or  two  more,  because  you  might  probably  think  that  my  an- 
swer to  the  farmer's  objection  about  expense,  (even  if  I  had 
possessed  Italian  enough  to  make  it  intelligible,)  would  have 
been  an  insufficient  one;  and  that  the  operation  of  embank- 
ing hill-sides  so  as  to  stay  the  rain-flow,  is  a  work  of  enorm- 
ous cost  and  difficulty. 

Indeed,  a  work  productive  of  good  so  infinite  as  this  would 
be,  and  contending  for  rule  over  the  grandest  forces  of  nature, 
17 


258  FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 

cannot  be  altogether  cheap,  nor  altogether  facile.  But  spend 
annually  one-tenth  of  the  sum  you  now  give  to  build  em- 
bankments against  immaginary  enemies,  in  building  embank- 
ments for  the  help  of  people  whom  you  may  easily  make 
your  real  friends, — and  see  whether  your  budget  does  not  be- 
come more  satisfactory,  so  ;  and,  above  all,  learn  a  little 
hydraulics. 

I  wasted  some  good  time,  a  year  or  two  since,  over  a 
sensational  novel  in  one  of  our  magazines,  which  I  thought 
would  tell  me  more  of  what  the  public  were  thinking  about 
strikes  than  I  could  learn  elsewhere.  But  it  spent  itself  in 
dramatic  effects  with  lucifer  matches,  and  I  learned  nothing 
from  it,  and  the  public  mislearned  much.  It  ended,  (no,  I 
believe  it  didn't  end, — but  1  read  no  farther,)  with  the  burst- 
ing of  a  reservoir,  and  the  floating  away  of  a  village.  The 
hero,  as  far  as  I  recollect,  was  in  the  half  of  a  house  which 
was  just  going  to  be  washed  down  ;  and  the  anti-hero  was 
opposite  him,  in  the  half  of  a  tree  which  was  just  going  to 
be  torn  up,  and  the  heroine  was  floating  between  them  down 
the  stream,  and  one  wasn't  to  know,  till  next  month,  which 
would  catch  her.  But  the  hydraulics  were  the  essentially  bad 
part  of  the  book,  for  the  author  made  great  play  with  the 
tremendous  weight  of  water  against  his  embankment  ; — it 
never  having  occurred  to  him  that  the  gate  of  a  Liverpool 
dry  dock  can  keep  out — and  could  just  as  easily  for  that 
matter  keep  in,  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  to  the  necessary  depth  in 
feet  and  inches;  the  depth  giving  the  pressure,  not  the  super- 
ficies. 

Nay,  you  may  see,  not  unfrequently,  on  Margate  sands, 
your  own  six-years-old  engineers  of  children  keep  out  the 
Atlantic  ocean  quite  successfully,  for  a  little  while,  from  a 
favourite  hole  ;  the  difficulty  being  not  at  all  in  keeping  the 
Atlantic  well  out  at  the  side,  but  from  surreptitiously  finding 
its  way  in  at  the  bottom.  And  that  is  the  real  difficulty  for 
old  engineers  ;  properly  the  only  one  ;  you  must  not  let  the 
Atlantic  begin  to  run  surreptitiously  either  in  or  out,  else  it 
soon  becomes  difficult  to  stop  ;  and  all  reservoirs  ought  to 
be  wide,  not  deep,  when  they  are  artificial,  and  should  not 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


259 


be  immediately  above  villages  (though  they  might  always  be 
made  perfectly  safe  merely  by  dividing  them  by  walls,  so  that 
the  contents  could  not  run  out  all  at  once).  But  when  reser- 
voirs are  not  artificial,  when  the  natural  rocks,  with  adaman- 
tine wall,  and  embankment  built  up  from  the  earth's  centre, 
are  ready  to  catch  the  rain  for  you,  and  render  it  back  as 
pure  as  their  own  crystal, — if  you  v*:ill  only  here  and  there 
throw  an  iron  valve  across  a  cleft, — believe  me — if  you 
choose  to  have  a  dividend  out  of  Heaven,  and  sell  the  Rain, 
you  may  get  it  a  good  deal  more  easily  and  at  a  figure  or 
two  higher  per  cent,  than  you  can  on  diaphanous  mustard. 
There  are  certainly  few  men  of  my  age  who  have  watched  the 
ways  of  Alpine  torrents  so  closely  as  I  liave  (and  you  need 
not  think  my  knowing  something  of  art  prevents  me  from 
understanding  them,  for  the  first  good  canal-engineer  in  Italy 
was  Lionardo  da  Vinci,  and  more  drawings  of  water-wheels 
and  water-eddies  exist  of  his,  by  far,  than  studies  of  hair  and 
eyes);  and  the  one  strong  impression  I  have  respecting  them 
is  their  utter  docility  and  passiveness,  if  you  will  educate 
them  young.  But  our  wise  engineers  invariably  try  to  man- 
age faggots  instead  of  sticks  ;  and,  leaving  the  rivulets  of 
the  Viso  without  training,  debate  what  bridle  is  to  be  put 
in  the  mouth  of  the  Po  !  Which,  by  the  way,  is  a  runniiuj 
reservoir,  considerably  above  the  level  of  the  plain  of  Lom- 
bardy;  and  if  the  bank  of  that  one  should  break,  any  sum- 
mer's day,  there  will  be  news  of  it,  and  more  cities  than 
Venice  with  water  in  their  streets. 

Jxiiie  'ZMh. 

Vou  must  be  content  with  a  short  letter  (I  wish  I  could 
flatter  myself  you  would  like  a  longer  one)  this  month  ;  but 
you  will  probably  see  some  news  of  the  w^eather  here,  yester- 
day afternoon,  which  will  give  some  emphasis  to  what  I  have 
been  saying,  not  for  the  first  time  by  any  means  ;  and  so  I 
leave  you  to  think  of  it,  and  remain 

.Faithfully  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


260 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


LETTER  XX. 

MyFeiends,  VEKiCE,3rcZJ.ijy,1872. 

You  probably  thought  I  had  lost  my  temper,  and  writ- 
ten inconsiderately,  when  I  called  the  whistling  of  the  Lido 
steamer  accursed." 

I  never  wrote  more  considerately  ;  using  the  longer  and 
weaker  word  "  accursed  "  instead  of  the  simpler  and  proper 
one,  cursed,"  to  take  away,  as  far  as  I  could,  the  appear- 
ance of  unseemly  haste  ;  and  using  the  expression  itself  on 
set  purpose,  not  merely  as  the  fittest  for  the  occasion,  but 
because  I  have  more  to  tell  you  respecting  the  general  bene- 
diction engraved  on  the  bell  of  Lucca,  and  the  particular 
benediction  bestowed  on  the  Marquis  of  B. ;  several  things 
more,  indeed,  of  importance  for  you  to  know,  about  blessing 
and  cursing. 

Some  of  you  may  perhaps  remember  the  saying  of  St. 
James  about  the  tongue  :  "  Therewith  bless  we  God,  and 
therewith  curse  we  men  ;  out  of  the  same  mouth  proceedeth 
blessing  and  cursing.  My  brethren,  these  things  ought  not 
so  to  be." 

It  is  not  clear  whether  St.  James  means  that  there  should 
be  no  cursing  at  all,  (which  I  suppose  he  does,)  or  merely 
that  the  blessing  and  cursing  should  not  be  uttered  by  the 
same  lips.  But  his  meaning,  whatever  it  was,  did  not,  in  the 
issue,  matter  ;  for  the  Church  of  Christendom  has  always 
ignored  this  text  altogether,  and  appointed  the  same  per- 
sons in  authority  to  deliver  on  all  needful  occasions,  bene- 
diction or  malediction,  as  either  might  appear  to  them  due  ; 
while  our  own  most  learned  sect,  wielding  State  power,  has 
not  only  appointed  a  formal  service  of  malediction  in  Lent, 
but  commanded  the  Psalms  of  David,  in  which  the  blessing 
and  cursino:  are  inlaid  as  closelv  as  the  black  and  white  in  a 
mosaic  floor,  to  be  solemnly  sung  through  once  a  month. 

I  do  not  wish,  however,  to-day  to  speak  to  you  of  the 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


261 


practice  of  the  churches  ;  but  of  your  own,  which,  observe, 
is  in  one  respect  singularly  different.  All  the  churches,  of 
late  years,  paying  less  and  less  attention  to  the  discipline  of 
their  people,  have  felt  an  increasing  compunction  in  cursing 
them  when  thev  did  wrono-  ;  while  also,  tlie  wrons:  doinof. 
through  such  neglect  of  discipline,  becoming  every  day  more 
complex,  ecclesiastical  authorities  perceived  that,  if  delivered 
with  impartiality,  the  cursing  must  be  so  general,  and  the 
blessing  so  defined,  as  to  give  their  services  an  entirely  un- 
popular character. 

Now,  there  is  a  little  screw  steamer  just  passjng,  with  no 
deck,  an  omnibus  cabin,  a  flag  at  both  ends,  and  a  single 
passenger  ;  she  is  not  twelve  yards  long,  yet  the  beating  of 
her  screw  has  been  so  loud  across  the  lagoon  for  the  last  five 
minutes,  that  I  thought  it  must  be  a  large  new  steamer  com- 
ing in  from  the  sea,  and  left  my  work  to  go  and  look. 

Before  I  had  finished  w^riting  that  last  sentence,  the  cry  of 
a  boy  selling  something  black  out  of  a  basket  on  the  quay 
became  so  sharply  distinguished  above  the  voices  of  the 
always-debating  gondoliers,  that  I  must  needs  stop  again, 
and  go  down  to  the  quay  to  see  wliat  he  had  got  to  sell. 
They  were  half  rotten  figs,  shaken  down,  untimely,  by  the 
midsummer  storms  ;  his  cry  of  **Fighiaie-'  scarcely  ceased, 
being  delivered,  as  I  observed,  just  as  clearly  between  his 
legs,  when  he  was  stooping  to  find  an  eatable  portion  of  the 
black  mess  to  serve  a  customer  with,  as  when  he  was  stand- 
ing up.  His  face  brought  the  tears  into  my  eyes,  so  open, 
and  sweet,  and  capable  it  was  ;  and  so  sad.  I  gave  him 
three  very  small  halfpence,  but  took  no  figs,  to  his  surprise  : 
he  little  thought  how  cheap  the  sight  of  him  and  his  basket 
was  to  me,  at  the  money  ;  nor  what  this  fruit,  that  could 
jiot  be  eaten,  it  was  so  evil,"  sold  cheap  before  the  palace 
of  the  Dukes  of  Venice,  meant,  to  any  one  who  could  read 
signs,  either  in  earth,  or  her  heaven  and  sea.* 

Well  ;  the  blessing,  as  I  said,  not  being  now  often  legiti- 

*  '*And  the  stars  of  heaven  fell  unto  the  earth,  even  as  a  fig-tree 
casteth  her  untimely  figs,  when  she  is  shaken  of  a  mighty  wind.** — Rct. 
VI.  13  J  compare  Jerem.  xxiv.  S,  and  Amos,  viii.  1  and  3. 


262 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


mately  applicable  to  particular  people  by  Christian  priests, 
they  gradually  fell  into  the  habit  of  giving  it  of  pure  grace 
and  courtesy  to  their  congregations  ;  or  more  specially  to 
poor  persons,  instead  of  money,  or  to  rich  ones,  in  exchange 
for  it, — or  generally  to  any  one  to  whom  they  wish  to  be 
polite  :  while,  on  the  contrary,  the  cursing,  having  now  be- 
come widely  applicable,  and  even  necessary,  was  left  to  be 
understood,  but  not  expressed  ;  and  at  last,  to  all  practical 
purpose,  abandoned  altogether,  (the  rather  that  it  had  be- 
come very  disputable  whether  it  ever  did  any  one  the  least 
mischief);  so  that,  at  this  time  being,  the  Pope,  in  his 
charmingest  manner,  blesses  the  bridecake  of  the  Marquis  of 
B.,  making,  as  it  were,  an  ornamental  confectionery  figure 
of  himself  on  the  top  of  it  ;  but  has  not,  in  any  wise,  courage 
to  curse  the  King  of  Italy,  although  that  penniless  monarch 
has  confiscated  the  revenues  of  every  time-honoured  religious 
institution  in  Italy  :  and  is  about,  doubtless,  to  commission 
some  of  the  Raphaels  in  attendance  at  his  court,  (though,  I 
believe,  grooms  are  more  in  request  there),  to  paint  an  oppo- 
sition fresco  in  the  Vatican,  representing  the  Sardinian  in- 
stead of  the  Syrian  Heliodorus,  successfully  abstracting  the 
treasures  of  tlie  temple,  and  triumphantly  putting  its  angels 
to  flight. 

Now  the  curious  difference  between  your  practice,  and  the 
church's,  to  which  I  wish  to-day  to  direct  your  attention,  is, 
that  while  thus  the  clergy,  in  what  efforts  they  make  to  re- 
tain their  influence  over  human  mind,  use  cursing  little,  and 
blessing  much,  your  working-men  more  and  more  frankly 
every  day  adopt  the  exactly  contrary  practice  of  using  bene- 
diction little,  and  cursing  much  :  so  that,  even  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  conversation  among  yourselves,  you  very  rarely 
bless,  audibly,  so  much  as  one  of  your  own  children  ;  but 
not  unfrequently  damn,  audibly,  them,  yourselves,  and  your 
friends. 

I  wish  you  to  think  over  the  meaning  of  this  habit  of  yours 
very  carefully  with  me.  I  call  it  a  habit  of  yours^  observe, 
only  with  reference  to  your  recent  adoption  of  it.  You  have 
learned  it  from  your  superiors  ;  but  they,  partly  in  conse« 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


263 


quence  of  your  too  eager  imitation  of  them,  are  beginning 
to  mend  their  manners  ;  and  it  would  excite  much  surprise, 
novv-a-days,  in  any  European  court,  to  hear  tlie  reigning 
monarch  address  the  lieir-apparent  on  an  occasion  of  state 
festivity,  as  a  Venetian  ambassador  heard  our  James  the 
First  address  Prince  Charles, — "  Devil  take  you,  vrhy  don't 
you  dance?"  But,  strictly  speaking,  the  prevalence  of  the 
habit  among  all  classes  of  laymen  is  the  point  in  question. 

U7l  July, 

And  first,  it  is  necessary  that  you  should  understand  accu- 
rately the  difference  between  swearing  and  cursing,  vulgarly 
so  often  confounded.  They  are  entirely  different  things  ; 
the  first  is  invoking  the  witness  of  a  S])irit  to  an  assertion 
you  wish  to  make  ;  the  second  is  invoking  the  assistance  of 
a  Spirit,  in  a  mischief  you  wish  to  inflict.  When  ill-educated 
and  ill-tempered  people  clamorously  confuse  the  two  invoca- 
tions, they  are  not,  in  reality,  either  cursing  or  swearing  ; 
but  merely  vomiting  empty  words  indecently.  True  swear- 
ing and  cursing  must  always  be  distinct  and  solemn  ;  liere  is 
an  old  Latin  oath,  for  instance,  whicli,  though  borrowed  from 
a  stronger  Greek  one,  and  much  diluted,  is  still  grand  : 

I  take  to  witness  the  Earth,  and  the  stars,  and  the  sea  ; 
the  two  lights  of  heaven  ;  the  falling  and  rising  of  tlie  year  ; 
the  dark  power  of  the  gods  of  sorrow  ;  the  sacredness  of  un- 
bending Death  ;  and  may  the  father  of  all  things  hear  me, 
who  sanctifies  covenants  with  his  lightning.  For  I  lay  my 
hand  on  the  altar,  and  by  the  fires  thereon,  and  the  gods  to 
whom  they  burn,  I  swear  that  no  future  day  shall  break  this 
peace  for  Italy,  nor  violate  the  covenant  she  has  made." 

That  is  old  swearing  :  but  the  lengthy  forms  of  it  appear- 
ing partly  burdensome  to  the  celerity,  and  partly  superstitious 
to  the  wisdom,  of  modern  minds,  have  been  abridged, — in 
England,  for  the  most  part,  into  the  extremely  simple  By 
God  ; "  in  France  into  "Sacred  name  of  God  "  (often  the  first 
word  of  the  sentence  only  pronounced),  and  in  Italy  into 
"  Christ  "  or  "  Bacchus  ;  "  the  superiority  of  the  former  Deity 
being  indicated  by  omitting  the  preposition  before  the  name. 


264 


F0R8  CLAVIOERA. 


The  oaths  are  "  Christ,"— never  "  by  Christ  and  ^^by  Bao 
chus," — never  "Bacchus." 

Observe  also  that  swearino-  is  onlv  bv  extremelv  ifrnorant 
persons  supposed  to  be  an  infringement  of  the  Third  Com- 
mandment. It  is  disobedience  to  the  teaching  of  Christ  ; 
but  the  Third  Commandment  has  nothino^  to  do  with  the 
matter.  People  do  not  take  the  name  of  God  in  vain  when 
they  swear  ;  they  use  it,  on  the  contrary,  very  earnestly  and 
energetically  to  attest  what  they  wish  to  say.  But  when  the 
Monster  Concert  at  Boston  begins,  on  the  English  day,  with 
the  hymn,  "  The  will  of  God  be  done,"  while  the  audience 
know  perfectly  well  that  there  is  not  one  in  a  thousand  of 
them  who  is  trying  to  do  it,  or  who  would  have  it  done,  if  he 
could  help  it,  unless  it  was  his  own  will  too — that  is  taking 
the  name  of  God  in  vain,  with  a  vengeance. 

Cursing,  on  the  other  hand,  is  invoking  the  aid  of  a  Spirit 
to  a  harm  you  wish  to  see  accomplished,  but  which  is  too 
great  for  your  own  immediate  power  :  and  to-day  I  wish  to 
point  out  to  you  what  intensity  of  faith  in  the  existence  and 
activity  of  a  spiritual  world  is  evinced  by  the  curse  which  is 
characteristic  of  the  Enorlish  tonofue. 

For,  observe,  habitual  as  it  has  become,  there  is  still  so 
much  life  and  sincerity  in  the  expression,  that  we  all  feel  our 
passion  partly  appeased  in  its  use  ;  and  the  more  serious  the 
occasion,  the  more  practical  and  effective  the  cursing  becomes. 
In  Mr.  Kinglake's  "  History  of  the  Crimean  War,"  you  will 
find  the  — th  Regiment  at  Alma  is  stated  to  have  been  mate- 
rially assisted  in  maintaining  position  quite  vital  to  the  bat- 
tle by  the  steady  imprecation  delivered  at  it  by  its  colonel 
for  half-an-hour  on  end.  No  quantity  of  benediction  would 
have  answered  the  purpose  ;  the  colonel  might  have  said, 
"  Bless  you,  my  children,"  in  the  tenderest  tones,  as  often  as 
lie  pleased, — yet  not  have  helped  his  men  to  keep  their 
ground. 

I  want  you,  therefore,  first  to  consider  how  it  happens 
that  cursing  seems  at  present  the  most  effectual  means  for 
encouraging  human  work  ;  and  whether  it  may  not  be  con- 
ceivable that  the  work  itself  is  of  a  kind  which  any  form  of 


FOES  CLAVIGEIiA, 


2G5 


effectual  blessing  would  iiinder  instead  of  lielp.  Then,  sec- 
ondly, I  want  you  to  consider  what  faith  in  a  spiritual  world 
is  involved  in  the  terms  of  the  curse  we  usually  employ.  It 
has  two  principal  forms  ;  one  complete  and  unqualified,  ^*God 
damn  your  soul,"  implying  that  the  soul  is  there,  and  that  we 
cannot  be  satisfied  with  less  than  its  destruction  :  the  other, 
qualified,  and  on  the  bodily  members  only  ;  "  God  damn  your 
eyes  and  limbs."  It  is  this  last  form  I  wish  especially  to 
examine. 

For  how  do  you  suppose  that  either  eye,  or  ear,  or  limb, 
€a?i  be  damned  ?  What  is  the  spiritual  mischief  you  invoke  ? 
Not  merely  the  blinding  of  the  eye,  nor  palsy  of  the  limb  ; 
but  the  condemnation  or  judgment  of  them.  And  remember 
that  though  you  are  for  the  most  part  unconscious  of  the 
spiritual  meaning  of  what  you  say,  the  instinctive  satisfac- 
tion you  have  in  saying  it  is  as  much  a  real  movement  of  the 
spirit  witiiin  you,  as  the  beating  of  your  heart  is  a  real  move- 
ment of  the  body,  though  you  are  unconscious  of  that  also, 
till  you  put  your  hand  on  it.  Put  your  hand  also,  so  to 
speak,  upon  the  source  of  the  satisfaction  with  which  you  use 
this  curse  ;  and  ascertain  tlie  law  of  it. 

Now  this  you  may  best  do  by  considering  what  it  is  which 
will  make  the  eyes  and  the  limbs  blessed.  For  the  precise 
contrary  of  that  must  be  their  damnation.  What  do  you 
think  was  the  meanintj:  of  that  savin":  of  Christ's,  Blessed 
are  the  eyes  which  see  the  things  that  ye  see?"  For  to  be 
made  evermore  incapable  of  seeing  such  things,  must  be  the 
condemnation  of  the  eyes.  It  is  not  merely  the  capacity  of 
seeing  sunshine,  which  is  their  blessing  ;  but  of  seeing  cer- 
tain things  under  the  sunshine  ;  nay,  periiaps,  even  without 
sunshine,  the  eye  itself  becoming  a  Sun.  Therefore,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  curse  upon  the  eyes  will  not  be  mere  blind- 
ness to  the  dayligiit,  but  blindness  to  particular  things  undet 
the  daylight  ;  so  that,  when  directed  towards  these,  the  eye 
itself  becomes  as  the  Night. 

Again,  with  regard  to  the  limbs,  or  general  powers  of  the 
body.  Do  you  suppose  that  when  it  is  promised  that  "  the 
lame  man  shall  leap  as  an  hart,  and  the  tongue  of  the  dumb 


2G0 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


sing  " — (Steam- whistle  interrupts  me  from  the  Capo  (T  Istria^ 
which  is  lying  in  front  of  my  window  with  her  black  nose 
pointed  at  the  red  nose  of  another  steamer  at  the  next  pier„ 
There  are  nine  large  ones  at  this  instant, — half-past  six, 
morning,  4th  July, — lying  between  the  Churcli  of  the  Re- 
deemer and  the  Canal  of  the  Arsenal  ;  one  of  them  an  iron- 
clad, five  smoking  fiercely,  and  the  biggest, — Eiigiish,  and 
half-a-quarter  of  a  mile  long — blowing  steam  from  all  manner 
of  pipes  in  her  sides,  and  with  such  a  roar  through  her  funnel, 
— whistle  number  two  from  Capo  cV  Istria — that  I  could  not 
make  any  one  hear  me  speak  in  this  room  without  an  effort,) 
— do  you  suppose,  I  say,  that  such  a  form  of  benediction  is 
just  the  same  as  saying  that  the  lame  man  shall  leap  as  a  lion, 
and  the  tongue  of  the  dumb  mourn  ?  Not  so,  but  a  special 
manner  of  action  of  the  members  is  meant  in  both  cases  : 
(whistle  number  three  from  Capo  d"^  Istria  j  lam  writing 
on,  steadily,  so  that  you  will  be  able  to  form  an  accurate  idea, 
from  this  page,  of  the  iritervals  of  time  in  modern  music. 
The  roaring  from  the  English  boat  goes  on  all  the  while,  for 
bass  to  the  Capo  cV  Istria^s  treble,  and  a  tenth  steamer 
comes  in  sight  round  the  Armenian  Monastery) — a  particu- 
lar kind  of  activity  is  meant,  I  repeat,  in  both  cases.  The 
lame  man  is  to  leap,  (whistle  fourth  iromCapo  cV  Istria,  this 
time  at  high  pressure,  going  through  my  head  like  a  knife,) 
as  an  innocent  and  joyful  creature  leaps,  and  the  lips  of  the 
dumb  to  move  melodiously  :  they  are  to  be  blest,  so  ;  may 
not  be  unblest  even  in  silence  ;  but  are  the  absolute  contrary 
of  blest,  in  evil  utterance.  (Fifth  whistle,  a  double  one,  from 
Capo  Istria^  and  it  is  seven  o'clock,  nearly  ;  and  here's 
my  coffee,  and  I  must  stop  writing.  Sixth  whistle — the 
Capo  (?'  Istria  is  ofP,  with  her  crew  of  morning  bathers. 
Seventh, — from  I  don't  know  which  of  the  boats  outside — 
and  I  count  no  more.) 

Wi  July. 

Yesterday,  in  those  broken  sentences,  I  tried  to  make  you 
understand  that  for  all  human  creatures  there  are  necessa- 
rily three  separate  states  ;  life  positive,  under  blessing  ; — life 
negative,  under  curse  ; — and  death,  neutral  between  these  : 


FOES  GLAVIGERA, 


267 


and,  henceforward,  take  due  note  of  the  quite  true  assump- 
tion you  make  in  your  ordinary  malediction,  that  the  state 
of  condemnation  may  begin  in  this  world,  and  separately 
affect  every  living  member  of  the  body. 

You  assume  the  fact  of  these  two  opposite  states,  then  ; 
but  you  have  no  idea  whatever  of  the  meaning  of  your  words, 
nor  of  the  nature  of  the  blessedness  or  condemnation  you 
admit.    I  will  try  to  make  your  conception  clearer. 

In  the  year  18G9,  just  before  leaving  Venice,  I  had  been 
carefully  looking  at  a  picture  by  Victor  Carpaccio,  repre- 
senting the  dream  of  a  young  princess.  Carpaccio  has  taken 
much  pains  to  explain  to  us,  as  far  as  he  can,  the  kind  of  life 
she  leads,  by  completely  painting  her  little  bedroom  in  the 
light  of  dawn,  so  that  you  can  see  everything  in  it.  It  is 
lighted  by  two  doubly-arched  windows,  the  arches  being 
painted  crimson  round  their  edges,  and  the  capitals  of  the 
shafts  that  bear  them,  gilded.  They  are  filled  at  the  top  with 
small  round  panes  of  glass  ;  but  beneath,  are  open  to  the 
blue  morning  sky,  with  a  low  lattice  across  them  ;  and  in  the 
one  at  the  back  of  the  room  are  set  two  beautiful  white  Greek 
vases  with  a  plant  in  each  ;  one  having  rich  dai  k  and  pointed 
green  leaves,  the  other  crimson  flowers,  but  not  of  any  spe- 
cies known  to  me,  each  at  the  end  of  a  branch  like  a  spray 
of  heath. 

These  flower-pots  stand  on  a  shelf  which  runs  all  round  the 
room,  and  beneath  the  window,  at  about  the  height  of  the 
elbow,  and  serves  to  put  things  on  anywhere  ;  beneath  it, 
down  to  the  floor,  the  walls  are  covered  witii  green  cloth  ; 
but  above,  are  bare  and  white.  The  second  window  is  nearly 
opposite  the  bed,  and  in  front  of  it  is  the  princess's  reading- 
table,  some  two  feet  and  a  half  square,  covered  by  a  red  cloth 
with  a  white  border  and  dainty  fringe  :  and  beside  it  her  seat, 
not  at  all  like  a  reading  chair  in  Oxford,  but  a  very  small 
three-legged  stool  like  a  music-stool,  covered  with  crimson 
cloth.  On  the  table  are  a  book-  set  up  at  a  slope  fittest  for 
reading,  and  an  hour-glass.  Under  the  shelf,  near  the  table, 
so  as  to  be  easily  reached  by  the  outstretched  arm,  is  a  press 
full  of  books.    The  door  of  this  has  been  left  open,  and  the 


268 


FOJRS  CLAViGEBA, 


books,  I  am  grieved  to  say,  are  rather  in  disorder,  having 
been  pulled  about  before  the  princess  went  to  bed,  and  one 
left  standing  on  its  side. 

Opposite  this  window,  on  the  white  wall,  is  a  small  shrine 
or  picture  (I  can't  see  which,  for  it  is  in  sharp  retiring  per- 
spective), with  a  lamp  before  it,  and  a  silver  vessel  hung  from 
the  lamp,  looking  like  one  for  holding  incense. 

The  bed  is  a  broad  four-poster,  the  ])osts  being  beauti- 
fully w-rought  golden  or  gilded  rods,  variously  wreathed  and 
branched,  carrying  a  canopy  of  warm  red.  The  princess's 
shield  is  at  the  head  of  it,  and  the  feet  are  raised  entirely 
above  the  floor  of  the  room,  on  a  dais  which  projects  at  the 
lower  end  so  as  to  form  a  seat,  on  w'hich  the  child  has  laid 
her  crown.  Her  little  blue  slippers  lie  at  the  side  of  the  bed, 
— her  white  dog  beside  them.  The  coverlid  is  scarlet,  the 
white  sheet  folded  half  way  back  over  it ;  the  young  girl  lies 
straight,  bending  neither  at  waist  nor  knee,  the  siieet  rising 
and  falling  over  her  in  a  narrow^  unbroken  wave,  like  the 
shape  of  the  coverlid  of  the  last  sleep,  when  the  turf  scarcely 
rises.  She  is  some  seventeen  or  eighteen  years  old,  her  head 
is  turned  towards  us  on  the  pillow,  tlie  cheek  resting  on  her 
hand,  as  if  she  were  thinking,  yet  utterly  calm  in  sleep,  and 
almost  colourless.  Her  hair  is  tied  with  a  narrow  riband, 
and  divided  into  two  wreaths,  which  encircle  her  head  like  a 
double  crown.  The  white  nightgown  hides  the  arm  raised  on 
the  pillow,  down  to  the  wrist. 

At  the  door  of  the  room  an  angel  enters  ;  (the  little  dog, 
though  lying  awake,  vigilant,  takes  no  notice.)  He  is  a  very 
small  angel,  his  head  just  rises  a  little  above  the  shelf  round 
the  room,  and  w^ould  only  reach  as  high  as  the  princess's  chinj 
if  she  were  standing  up.  He  has  soft  grey  wings,  lustreless  ; 
and  his  dress,  of  subdued  blue,  has  violet  sleeves,  open  above 
the  elbow,  and  showing  white  sleeves  below.  He  comes  in 
without  haste,  his  body,  like  a  mortal  one,  casting  shadow 
from  the  light  through  the  door  behind,  his  face  perfectly 
quiet  ;  a  palm-branch  in  his  right  hand--a  scroll  in  his  left. 

So  dreams  the  princess,  with  blessed  eyes,  that  need  no 
earthly  dawn.    It  is  very  pretty  of  Carpaccio  to  make  her 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


269 


dream  out  the  angel's  dress  so  particularly,  and  notice  the 
slashed  sleeves  ;  and  to  dream  so  little  an  angel — very  nearly 
a  doll  angel, — bringing  her  the  branch  of  palm,  and  message. 
But  the  lovely  characteristic  of  ail  is  the  evident  delight  of 
her  continual  life.  Royal  power  over  herself,  and  happiness 
in  her  flowers,  her  books,  her  sleeping  and  waking,  her 
prayers,  her  dreams,  her  earth,  her  heaven. 

After  I  had  spent  my  morning  over  this  picture,  I  had  to 
go  to  Verona  by  the  afternoon  train.  In  the  carriage  with 
me  were  two  American  girls  with  their  father  and  mother, 
people  of  the  class  which  has  lately  made  so  much  money 
suddenly,  and  does  not  know  what  to  do  with  it  :  and  these 
two  girls,  of  about  fifteen  and  eighteen,  had  evidently  been 
indulged  in  everything,  (since  they  had  had  the  means,)  which 
western  civilization  could  imao-ine.  And  here  thev  were, 
specimens  of  the  utmost  which  the  money  and  invention  of 
the  nineteenth  century  could  produce  in  maidenhood, — chil- 
dren of  its  most  progressive  race, — enjoying  the  full  advan- 
tages of  political  liberty,  of  enlightened  philosophical  educa* 
lion,  of  cheap  pilfered  literature,  and  of  luxury  at  any  cost. 
Whatever  money,  machinery,  or  freedom  of  thought,  could 
do  for  these  two  children,  had  been  done.  No  superstition 
had  deceived,  no  restraint  degraded  them: — types,  they  could 
not  but  be,  of  maidenly  wisdom  and  felicity,  as  conceived  by 
the  forwardest  intellects  of  our  time. 

And  they  were  travelling  through  a  district  which,  if  any 
in  the  world,  should  touch  the  hearts  and  delight  the  eyes 
of  young  girls.  Between  Venice  and  Verona  !  Portia's  villa 
perhaps  in  sight  upon  the  Brenta, — Juliet's  tomb  to  be  vis- 
ited in  the  evening, — blue  against  the  southern  sky,  the  hills  > 
of  Petrarch's  home.  Exquisite  midsummer  sunshine,  with 
low  rays,  glanced  through  the  vine-leaves  ;  all  the  Alps  were 
clear,  from  the  lake  of  Garda  to  Cadore,  and  to  farthest 
Tyrol.  What  a  princess's  chamber,  this,  if  these  are  prin- 
cesses, and  what  dreams  might  they  not  dream,  therein  ! 

But  the  two  American  girls  were  neither  princesses,  nor 
seers,  nor  dreamers.  By  infinite  self-indulgence,  they  had 
reduced  themselves  simply  to  two  pieces  of  white  putty  that 


270 


F0R8  CLAVIGEBA. 


could  feel  pain.  The  flies  and  dust  stuck  to  them  as  to  clay, 
and  they  perceived,  between  Venice  and  Verona,  nothing 
but  the  flies  and  the  dust.  They  pulled  down  the  blinds  the 
moment  they  entered  the  carriage,  and  then  sprawled,  and 
writhed,  and  tossed  among  the  cushions  of  it,  in  vain  con- 
test, during  the  whole  fifty  miles,  with  every  miserable  sen- 
sation of  bodily  affliction  that  could  make  time  intolerable. 
They  were  dressed  in  thin  white  frocks,  coming  vaguely  open 
at  the  backs  as  they  stretched  or  wriggled  ;  they  had  French 
novels,  lemons,  and  lumps  of  sugar,  to  beguile  their  state 
with  ;  the  novels  hanging  together  by  the  ends  of  string  that 
had  once  stitched  them,  or  adhering  at  the  corners  in  densely 
bruised  dog's-ears,  out  of  which  the  girls,  wetting  their  fin- 
gers, occasionally  extricated  a  gluey  leaf.  From  time  to  time 
they  cut  a  lemon  open,  ground  a  lump  of  sugar  backwards 
and  forwards  over  it  till  every  fibre  was  in  a  treacly  pulp  ; 
then  sucked  the  pulp,  and  gnawed  the  white  skin  into  leath- 
ery strings,  for  the  sake  of  its  bitter.  Only  one  sentence 
was  exchanged,  in  the  fifty  miles,  on  the  subject  of  things 
outside  the  carriage  (the  Alps  being  once  visible  from  a  sta- 
tion where  they  had  drawn  up  the  blinds). 
Don't  those  snow-caps  make  you  coo'l  ?  " 
«  No — I  wish  they  did." 

And  so  they  went  their  way,  with  sealed  eyes  and  tor- 
mented limbs,  their  numbered  miles  of  pain. 

There  are  the  two  states  for  you,  in  clearest  opposition; 
Blessed  and  Accursed.  The  happy  industry,  and  eyes  full  of 
sacred  imagination  of  things  that  are  not  (such  sweet  cosa,  e 
la  fedc,)  and  the  tortured  indolence,  and  infidel  eyes,  blind 
even  to  the  things  that  are. 

"How  do  1  know  the  princess  is  industrious  ?  " 

Partly  by  the  trim  state  of  her  room, — by  the  hour-glasg 
on  the  table, — by  the  evident  use  of  all  the  books  she  has, 
(well  bound,  every  one  of  them,  in  stoutest  leather  or  velvet, 
and  with  no  dog's-ears),  but  more  distinctly  from  another 
picture  of  her,  not  asleep.  In  that  one,  a  prince  of  England 
has  sent  to  ask  her  in  marriage  :  and  her  father,  little  liking 
to  part  with  her,  sends  for  her  to  his  room  to  ask  her  what 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


271 


she  would  do.  lie  sits,  moody  and  sorrowful  ;  she,  standing 
before  him  in  a  plain  housewifely  dress,  talks  quietly,  going 
on  with  her  needlework  all  the  time. 

A  work-woman,  friends,  she,  no  less  than  a  princess  ;  and 
princess  most  in  being  so.  In  like  manner,  in  a  picture  by 
a  Florentine,  whose  mind  I  would  fain  have  you  know  some- 
what, as  well  as  Carpaccio's — Sandro  Botticelli — the  girl  who 
is  to  be  the  wife  of  Moses,  when  he  first  sees  her  at  the  des- 
ert-well, has  fruit  in  her  left  hand,  but  a  distaff  in  her  right.* 

"  To  do  good  work,  whether  you  live  or  die,"  it  is  the 
entrance  to  all  Princedoms  ;  and  if  not  done,  the  day  will 
come,  and  that  infallibly,  when  you  must  labour  for  evil 
instead  of  good. 

It  was  some  comfort  to  me,  that  second  of  May  last,  at 
Pisa,  to  watch  the  workman's  ashamed  face,  as  he  struck  the 
old  marble  cross  to  pieces.  Stolidly  and  languidly  he  dealt 
the  blows, — down-looking, — so  far  as  in  any  wise  sensitive, 
ashamed, — and  well  he  might  be. 

It  was  a  wonderful  thing  to  see  done.  This  Pisan  chapel, 
first  built  in  1230,  then  called  the  Oracle,  or  Oratory, — 
"Oraculum,  vel  Oratorium  " — of  the  Blessed  Mary  of  the 
New  Bridge,  afterwards  called  the  Sea-bridge,  (Ponte-a- 
Mare,)  was  a  shrine  like  that  of  ours  on  the  bridge  of  Wake- 
field ;  a  boatman's  praying-place  :  you  may  still  see,  or  might, 
ten  years  since,  liave  seen,  the  use  of  sucii  a  thing  at  the 
mouth  of  Boulogne  Harbour,  when  the  mackerel  boats  went 
out  in  a  Heet  at  early  dawn.  There  used  to  be  a  little  slirine 
at  the  end  of  the  longest  pier  ;  and  as  the  Bonne  Esperance, 
or  Grace-de-Dieu,  or  Vierge  Marie,  or  Notre  Dame  des  Dunes, 
or  Reine  des  Anges,  rose  on  the  first  surge  of  the  open  sea, 
their  crews  bared  their  heads,  and  prayed  for  a  few  seconds. 
So  also  the  Pisan  oarsmen  looked  back  to  their  shrine,  many- 
pinnacled,  standing  out  from  the  (juay  above  the  river,  as 
they  dropped  down  Arno  under  their  sea  bridge,  bound  for 
the  Isles  of  Groeco.    Later,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  there 

*  More  accurately  a  rod  cloven  into  three  at  the  top,  and  so  holding 
the  wool.  The  fruit  is  a  brancli  of  iipiilcs  ;  she  has  golden  sandals,  and 
a  wreath  of  myrtle  round  her  hair. 


272 


F0R8  GLAVIGERA. 


was  laid  up  in  it  a  little  branch  of  the  Crown  of  Thorns  of 
the  Redeemer,  which  a  merchant  had  brought  home,  enclosed 
in  a  little  urn  of  Beyond-sea"  (ultramarine)  and  its  name 
was  changed  to  "  St.  Mary's  of  the  Thorn." 

In  the  year  1840  I  first  drew  it,  then  as  perfect  as  when  it 
was  built.  Six  hundred  and  ten  j^ears  had  only  given  the 
marble  of  it  a  tempered  glow,  or  touched  its  sculpture  here 
and  there,  with  softer  shade.  I  daguerreotyped  the  eastern 
end  of  it  some  years  later,  (photography  being  then  unknown), 
and  copied  the  daguerreotype,  that  people  might  not  be 
plagued  in  looking,  by  the  lustre.  The  frontispiece  to  this 
letter  is  engraved  from  the  drawing,  and  will  show  you  what 
the  building  was  like. 

But  the  last  quarter  of  a  century  has  brought  changes, 
and  made  the  Italians  wiser.  British  Protestant  missionaries 
explained  to  them  that  they  had  only  got  a  piece  of  black- 
berry stem  in  their  ultramarine  box.  German  philosophical 
missionaries  explained  to  them  that  the  Crown  of  Thorns  it- 
self was  only  a  graceful  metaphor.  French  republican  mis- 
sionaries explained  to  them  that  chapels  were  inconsistent 
with  liberty  on  the  quay  ;  and  their  own  Engineering  mis- 
sionaries of  civilization  explained  to  them  that  steam-power 
was  independent  of  the  Madonna.  And  now  in  1872,  row- 
ing by  steam,  digging  by  steam,  driving  by  steam,  here,  be- 
hold, are  a  troublesome  pair  of  human  arms  out  of  employ. 
So  the  En^ineerinof  missionaries  fit  them  with  hammer  and 
chisel,  and  set  them  to  break  up  the  Spina  Chapel. 

A  costly  kind  of  stone-breaking,  this,  for  Italian  parishes 
to  set  paupers  on  !  Are  there  not  rocks  enough  of  Apennine, 
think  you,  they  could  break  down  instead?  For  truly,  the 
God  of  their  Fathers,  and  of  their  land,  would  rather  see 
them  mar  His  own  work,  than  His  children's. 

Believe  me,  faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKIN, 


FOliS  OLA  ViGEllA, 


273 


LETTER  XXI. 

DULWICH, 

^  l^th  August,  1872. 

My  Friends, 

I  HAVE  not  yet  fully  treated  the  subject  of  my  last  letter^ 
for  I  must  show  you  how  things,  as  well  as  people,  may  be 
blessed,  or  cursed  ;  and  to  show  you  that,  I  must  explain  to 
you  the  story  of  Achan  the  son  of  Carmi,  wliich,  too  prob- 
ably, you  don't  feel  at  present  any  special  interest  in  ;  as 
well  as  several  matters  more  about  steam-engines  and  steam- 
whistling  :  but,  in  the  meantime,  here  is  my  lost  bit  of  letter 
from  Florence,  written  in  continuation  of  the  June  number  ; 
and  it  is  well  that  it  should  be  put  into  place  at  once,  (I  see 
that  it  notices,  incidentally,  some  of  the  noises  in  Florence, 
which  might  with  advantage  cease)  since  it  answers  the  com- 
plaints of  two  aggrieved  readers. 

Fi.ouK.NcK,  10th  June,  1872. 

In  the  page  for  correspondence  you  will  find  a  letter  from 
a  workman,  interesting  in  many  respects  ;  and  besides,  suf- 
ficiently representing  the  kind  of  expostulation  now  con- 
stantly made  with  me,  on  my  not  advertising  either  these 
letters,  or  any  other  of  my  writings.  Tliese  remonstrances, 
founded  as  they  always  are,  very  politely,  on  the  assumption 
tiiat  every  one  who  reads  my  books  derives  extraordinary 
benefit  from  them,  require  from  me  at  least,  the  courtesy  of 
more  definite  answer  tlian  I  have  hitherto  found  time  to 
give. 

In  the  first  place,  my  correspondents  write  under  the 
conviction, — a  very  natural  one, — that  no  individual  prac- 
tice can  have  the  smallest  power  to  change  or  check  the 
vast  system  of  modern  commerce,  or  the  methods  of  its 
transaction. 

I,  on  the  contrary,  am  convinced  that  it  is  by  his  personal 
conduct  that  any  man  of  ordinary  power  will  do  the  greatest 
18 


274 


FORS  GLAVIGERA, 


amount  of  good  that  is  in  him  to  do  ;  and  when  I  consider 
the  quantity  of  wise  talking  which  has  passed  in  at  one  long 
ear  of  the  world,  and  out  at  the  other,  without  making  the 
smallest  impression  upon  its  mind,  I  am  sometimes  tempted 
for  the  rest  of  my  life  to  try  and  do  what  seems  to  me  ra- 
tional,  silently  ;  and  speak  no  more. 

But  were  it  only  for  the  exciting  of  earnest  talk,  action  is 
highly  desirable,  and  is,  in  itself,  advertisement  of  the  best. 
If,  for  instance,  I  had  only  written  in  these  letters  that  I  dis- 
approved of  advertisements,  and  had  gone  on  advertising  the 
letters  themselves,  you  would  have  passed  by  my  statement 
contemptuously,  as  one  in  which  I  did  not  believe  myself. 
But  now,  most  of  my  readers  are  interested  in  the  opinion, 
dispute  it  eagerly,  and  are  ready  to  hear  patiently  what  I 
can  say  in  its  defence. 

For  main  defence  of  it,  I  reply  (now  definitely  to  my  cor- 
respondent of  the  Black  Country).  You  ought  to  read 
books,  as  you  take  medicine,  by  advice,  and  not  advertise- 
ment. Perhaps,  however,  you  do  take  medicine  by  adver- 
tisement, but  you  will  not,  I  suppose,  venture  to  call  that  a 
wise  proceeding?  Every  good  physician,  at  all  events, 
knows  it  to  be  an  unwise  one,  and  will  by  no  means  consent 
to  proclaim  even  his  favourite  pills  by  the  town-crier.  But 
perhaps  you  have  no  literary  physician, — no  friend  to  whom 
you  can  go  and  say,  "  I  want  to  learn  what  is  true  on  such  a 
subject — what  book  must  I  read  ?  "  You  prefer  exercising 
your  independent  judgment,  and  you  expect  me  to  appeal  to 
it,  by  paying  for  the  insertion  in  all  the  penny  papers  of  a 
paragraph  that  may  win  your  confidence.  As  for  instance, 
"  Just  published,  the  — th  number  of  '  Fors  Clavigera^  con- 
taining the  most  important  information  on  the  existing  state 
of  trade  in  Europe  ;  and  on  all  subjects  interesting  to  the 
British  Operative.  Thousandth  thousand.  Price  7c?.  7  for 
3s.  6(7.  Proportional  abatement  on  large  orders.  No  intelli^ 
gent  workman  should  pass  a  day  without  acquainting  him- 
self with  the  entirely  original  views  contained  in  these 
pages." 

You  don't  want  to  be  advised  in  that  manner,  do  you  say  ? 


FOBS  GLAVIOERA, 


275 


but  only  to  know  that  such  a  book  exists.  What  good  would 
its  existence  do  you,  if  you  did  not  know  whether  it  was 
worth  reading  ?  Were  you  as  rich  as  Croesus,  you  have  no 
business  to  spend  such  a  sum  as  "Id.  unless  you  are  sure  of 
your  money's  worth.  Ask  some  one  who  knows  good  books 
from  bad  ones  to  tell  you  what  to  buy,  and  be  content. 
You  will  hear  of  I^hrs,  so,  in  time  ; — if  it  be  worth  hearing  of. 

But  you  have  no  acquaintance,  you  say,  among  people  who 
know  good  books  from  bad  ones  ?  Possibly  not  ;  and  yet, 
half  the  poor  gentlemen  of  England  are  fain  now-a-days  to 
live  by  selling  their  opinions  on  this  subject.  It  is  a  bad 
trade,  let  me  tell  them.  Whatever  judgment  they  have, 
likely  to  be  useful  to  the  human  beings  about  them,  may  be 
expressed  in  few  words  ;  and  those  words  of  sacred  advice 
ought  not  to  be  articles  of  commerce.  Least  of  all  ought 
they  to  be  so  ingeniously  concocted  that  idle  readers  may  re- 
main content  with  reading  their  eloquent  account  of  a  book, 
instead  of  the  book  itself.  It  is  an  evil  trade,  and  in  our 
company  of  Mont  Rose,  we  will  have  no  reviewers  ;  we  will 
have,  once  for  all,  our  book  Gazette,  issued  every  1st  of  Janu- 
ary, naming,  under  alphabetical  list  of  authors  and  of  titles, 
whatever  serviceable  or  worthy  writings  have  been  published 
during  the  past  year  ;  and  if,  in  the  space  of  the  year  fol- 
lowing, we  have  become  acquainted  with  the  same  thor- 
oughly, our  time  will  not  have  been  ill-spent,  though  we  hear 
of  no  new  book  for  twelve  months.  And  the  choice  of  the 
books  to  be  named,  as  well  as  the  brief  accounts  of  them 
given  in  our  Gazette,  will  be  by  persons  not  paid  for  their 
opinions,  and  who  will  not,  therefore,  express  themselves 
voluminously. 

Meantime,  your  newspapers  being  your  present  advisers, 
I  beg  you  to  observe  that  a  number  of  Iu)7's  is  duly  sent  to 
all  the  principal  ones,  whose  editors  may  notice  it  if  they 
choose  ;  but  I  will  not  pay  for  their  notice,  nor  for  any  man's. 

These,  then,  are  my  immediate  reasons  for  not  advertising. 
Indirect  ones,  I  have,  which  weigh  with  me  no  less.  I  write 
this  morning,  wearily,  and  without  spirit,  being  nearly  deaf 
with  the  bell-ringing  and  bawling  which  goes  on  here,  at 


276 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


Florence,  ceaselessly,  in  advertisement  of  prayers,  and  wares | 
as  if  people  could  not  wait  on  God  for  what  they  wanted, 
but  God  had  to  ring  for  them,  like  waiters,  for  what  He 
wanted  :  and  as  if  they  could  think  of  nothing  they  were  in 
need  of,  till  the  need  was  suggested  to  them  by  bellowing  at 
their  doors,  or  bill-posting  on  their  house-corners.  Indeed, 
the  fresco-painting  of  the  bill-sticker  is  likely,  so  far  as  I  see, 
to  become  the  principal  fine  art  of  modern  Europe  :  here,  at 
all  events,  it  is  now  the  principal  source  of  street  effect. 
Giotto's  time  is  past,  like  Oderigi's  ;  but  the  bill-poster  suc- 
ceeds :  and  the  Ponte  Vecchio,  the  principal  thoroughfare 
across  the  Arno,  is  on  one  side  plastered  over  with  bills  in 
the  exact  centre,  while  the  other  side,  for  various  reasons  not 
to  be  specified,  is  little  available  to  passengers. 

The  bills  on  the  bridge  are  theatrical,  announcing  cheap 
operas  ;  but  religious  bills,  inviting  to  ecclesiastical  festivi- 
ties, are  similarly  plastered  over  the  front  of  the  church  once 
called  the  Bride  "  for  its  beauty  ;  and  the  pious  bill-stick- 
ers paste  them  ingeniously  in  and  out  upon  sculptured  bear- 
ings of  tlie  shields  of  the  old  Florentine  knights.  Political 
bills,  in  various  stages  of  decomposition,  decorate  the  street- 
corners  and  sheds  of  the  markets  ;  and  among  the  last  year's 
rags  of  these,  one  may  still  read  here  and  there  the  heroic 
apostrophe,  "  Rome  !  or  Death." 

It  never  was  clear  to  me,  until  now,  what  the  desperately- 
minded  persons  who  found  themselves  in  that  dilemma, 
wanted  with  Rome  ;  and  now  it  is  quite  clear  to  me  that  they 
never  did  want  it, — but  only  the  ground  it  was  once  built  on, 
for  finance  offices  and  railroad  stations  ;  or,  it  may  be,  for 
new  graves,  when  Death,  to  young  Italy,  as  to  old,  comes 
without  alternative.  For,  indeed,  young  Italy  has  just  chosen 
the  most  precious  piece  of  ground  above  Florence,  and  a 
twelfth-century  church  in  the  midst  of  it,  to  bury  itself  in,  at 
its  leisure  ;  and  make  the  summer  air  loathsome  and  pestif- 
erous, from  San  Miniato  to  Arcetri. 

No  Rome,  I  repeat,  did  young  Italy  want  ;  but  only  the 
site  of  Rome.  Three  davs  before  I  left  it,  I  went  to  see  a 
piece  not  merely  of  the  rampart,  but  of  the  actual  wall,  of 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


277 


Tullius,  which  zealous  Mr.  Parker  with  fortunate  excavation 
has  just  laid  open  on  the  Aventine.  Fifty  feet  of  blocks  of 
massy  stone,  duly  laid  ;  not  one  shifted  ;  a  wall  which  was 
just  eighteen  hundred  years  old  when  Westminster  Abbey 
was  begun  building.  I  went  to  see  it  mainly  for  your  sakes, 
for  after  I  have  got  past  Theseus  and  his  vegetable  soup,  I 
shall  have  to  tell  you  something  of  the  constitutions  of  Ser- 
vius  Tullius  ;  and  besides,  from  the  sweet  slope  of  vineyard 
beneath  this  king's  wall,  one  looks  across  tlie  fields  where 
Cincinnatus  was  found  ploughing,  according  to  Livy;  though, 
you  will  find,  in  Smith's  Dictionary,  that  Mr.  Niebuhr  has 
pointed  out  all  the  inconsistencies  and  impossibiHties  in  this 
legend  ;"  and  that  he  is  ^'inclined  to  regard  it  as  altogether 
fabulous/' 

Very  possibly  it  may  be  so,  (not  that  for  my  own  poor 
part,  I  attach  much  importance  to  Niebuhr's  inclinations,") 
but  it  is  fatally  certain  that  whenever  you  begin  to  seek  the 
real  authority  for  legends,  you  will  generally  find  that  the 
ugly  ones  have  good  foundation,  and  the  beautiful  ones  none. 
Be  prepared  for  this  ;  and  remember  that  a  lovely  legend  is 
all  the  more  precious  when  it  has  no  foundation.  Cincinnatus 
might  actually  have  been  found  ploughing  beside  the  Tiber 
fifty  times  over  ;  and  it  might  have  signified  little  to  any 
one  ; — least  of  all  to  you  or  me.  But  if  Cincinnatus  never 
was  so  found,  nor  ever  existed  at  all  in  flesh  and  blood  ;  but 
the  great  Roman  nation,  in  its  strength  of  conviction  tliat 
manual  labour  in  tilling  the  ground  was  good  and  honourable, 
invented  a  quite  bodiless  Cincinnatus  ;  and  set  him,  accord- 
ing to  its  fancy,  in  furrows  of  the  field,  and  put  its  own  words 
into  his  mouth,  and  gave  the  honour  of  its  ancient  deeds  into 
his  ghostly  hand  ;  tJiis  fable,  which  has  no  foundation  ; — this 
precious  coinage  of  the  brain  and  conscience  of  a  mighty 
people,  you  and  I — believe  me — had  better  read,  and  know, 
and  take  to  heart,  diligently. 

Of  which  at  another  time  :  the  point  in  question  just  now 
being  that  this  same  slope  of  the  Aventine,  under  the  wall 
of  Tullius,  falling  to  the  shore  of  Tiber  just  where  the 
Roman  galleys  used  to  be  moored,  (the  marbles  worn  by  the 


278 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


cables  are  still  in  the  bank  of  it  there),  and  opposite  the  farm 
of  Cinciniiatus,  commands,  as  you  may  suppose,  fresh  air  and 
a  fine  view, — and  has  just  been  sold  on  "  building  leases." 

Sold,  I  heard,  to  an  English  company  ;  but  more  probably 
to  the  agents  of  the  society  which  is  gradually  superseding, 
with  its  splendid  bills  at  all  the  street-corners,  the  last 
vestiges  of  Roma,  o  morte,'* — the  "  Societa  Anonima,"  for 
providing  lodgings  for  company  in  Rome. 

Now  this  anonymous  society,  which  is  about  to  occupy  it- 
self in  rebuilding  Rome,  is  of  course  composed  of  persons 
who  know  nothing  whatever  about  building.  They  also  care 
about  it  as  little  as  they  know  ;  but  they  take  to  building, 
because  they  expect  to  get  interest  for  their  money  by  such 
operation.  Some  of  them,  doubtless,  are  benevolent  persons, 
who  expect  to  benefit  Italy  by  building,  and  think  that,  the 
more  the  benefit,  the  larger  will  be  the  dividend.  Generally 
the  public  notion  of  such  a  society  would  be  that  it  was  get- 
ting interest  for  its  money  in  a  most  legitimate  way,  by  do- 
ing useful  work,  and  that  Roman  comfort  and  Italian  prosper- 
ity would  be  largely  promoted  by  it. 

But  observe  in  what  its  dividends  will  consist.  Knowinof 
nothing  about  architecture,  nor  caring,  it  neither  can  choose, 
nor  will  desire  to  choose,  an  architect  of  merit.  It  will  give 
its  business  to  the  person  whom  it  supposes  able  to  build  the 
most  attractive  mansions  at  the  least  cost.  Practically,  the 
person  who  can  and  will  do  so,  is  the  architect  who  knows 
where  to  find  the  worst  bricks,  the  worst  iron,  and  the  worst 
workmen,  and  who  has  mastered  the  cleverest  tricks  by  which 
to  turn  these  to  account.  He  will  turn  them  to  account  by  giv- 
ing the  external  effect  to  his  edifices  which  he  finds  likely  to 
be  attractive  to  the  majority  of  the  public  in  search  of  lodging. 
He  will  have  stucco  mouldings,  veneered  balconies,  and  cast- 
iron  pillars  ;  but,  as  his  own  commission  will  be  paid  on  the 
outlay,  he  will  assuredly  make  the  building  costly  in  some 
way  or  other  ;  and  he  can  make  it  costly  with  least  trouble 
to  himself  by  putting  into  it,  somewhere,  vast  masses  of 
merely  squared  stone,  chiselled  so  as  to  employ  handicrafts- 
men on  whose  wages  commission  can  be  charged,  and  who  all 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


279 


the  year  round  may  be  doing  the  same  thing,  without  giving 
any  trouble  by  asking  for  directions.  Hence  there  will  be 
assuredly  in  the  new  buildings  an  immense  mass  of  merely 
squared  or  rusticated  stones  ;  for  these  appear  magnificent  to 
the  public  mind, — need  no  trouble  in  designing, — and  pay  a 
vast  commission  on  the  execution. 

The  interior  apartments  will,  of  course,  be  made  as  luxurious 
as  possible  ;  for  the  taste  of  the  European  public  is  at  present 
practically  directed  by  women  of  the  town  ;  these  having 
the  government  of  the  richest  of  our  youth  at  the  time  when 
they  spend  most  freely.  And  at  the  very  time  when  the  last 
vestiges  of  the  heroic  works  of  the  Roman  Monarchy  are 
being  destroyed,  the  base  fresco-painting  of  the  worst  times 
of  the  Empire  is  bei7ig  faithfully  copied^  with  perfectly 
true  lascivious  instinct,  for  interior  decoration. 

Of  such  architecture  the  anonymous  society  will  produce 
the  most  it  can  ;  and  lease  it  at  the  highest  rents  it  can  ; 
and  advertise  and  extend  itself,  so  as,  if  possible,  at  last  to 
rebuild,  after  its  manner,  all  the  great  cities  of  Italy.  Now 
the  real  moving  powers  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  are  essen- 
tially the  vanity  and  lust  of  the  middle  classes,  all  of  them 
seeking  to  live,  if  it  may  be,  in  a  cheap  palace,  with  as  much 
cheap  pleasure  as  they  can  have  in  it,  and  the  airs  of  great 
people.  By  'cheap'  pleasure,  I  mean,  as  I  will  show  you  in 
explaining  the  nature  of  cursed  things,  pleasure  which  has 
not  been  won  by  attention,  or  deserved  by  toil,  but  is 
snatched  or  forced  by  wanton  passion.  But  the  mechanical 
power  which  gives  effect  to  this  vanity  and  lust,  is  the  in- 
stinct of  the  anonymous  society,  and  of  other  such,  to  get  a 
dividend  by  catering  for  them. 

It  has  chanced,  by  help  of  the  third  Fors,  (as  again  and 
again  in  the  course  of  these  letters  the  thing  to  my  purpose 
has  been  brought  before  me  just  when  I  needed  it),  that 
having  to  speak  of  interest  of  money,  and  first  of  the  im- 
portant part  of  it  consisting  in  rents,  I  should  be  able  to  lay 
my  finger  on  the  point  of  land  in  all  Europe  where  the 
principle  of  it  is,  at  this  moment,  doing  the  most  mischief. 
But,  of  course,  all  our  great  building  work  is  now  carried  on 


280 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


in  the  same  way  ;  nor  will  any  architecture,  properly  so 
called,  be  now  possible  for  many  years  in  Europe.  For  true 
architecture  is  a  thing  which  puts  its  builders  to  cost — not 
which  pays  them  dividends.  It  a  society  chose  to  organize 
itself  to  build  the  most  beautiful  houses,  and  the  strong^est 
that  it  could,  either  for  art's  sake,  or  love's  ;  either  palaces 
for  itself,  or  houses  for  the  poor  ;  such  a  society  would  build 
something  worth  looking  at,  bat  not  get  dividends.  True 
architecture  is  built  by  the  man  who  wants  a  house  for  him- 
self, and  builds  it  to  his  own  liking,  at  his  own  cost  ;  not  for 
his  own  gain,  to  the  liking  of  other  people. 

All  orders  of  houses  may  be  beautiful  when  they  are  thus 
built  by  their  master  to  his  own  liking.  Three  streets  from 
me,  at  this  moment,  is  one  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The 
corner  stones  of  it  are  ten  feet  long,  by  three  broad,  and  two 
thick — fifty  courses  of  such,  and  the  cornice  ;  flawless  stones, 
laid  as  level  as  a  sea  horizon,  so  that  the  walls  become  one 
solid  mass  of  unalterable  rock, — four  grey  cliffs  set  square  in 
mid-Florence,  some  hundred-and-twenty  feet  from  cornice  to 
ground.  The  man  who  meant  to  live  in  it  built  it  so  ;  and 
Titian  painted  his  little  grand-daughter  for  him.  He  got  no 
dividend  by  his  building — no  profit  on  his  picture.  House 
and  picture,  absolutely  untouched  by  time,  remain  to  this 
dav. 

On  the  hills  about  me  at  Coniston  there  are  also  houses 
built  by  their  owners,  according  to  their  means,  and  pleas- 
ure. A  few  loose  stones  gathered  out  of  the  fields,  set  one 
above  another  to  a  man's  height  from  the  ground  ;  a  branch 
or  tw^o  of  larch,  set  gable-wise  across  them, — on  these,  some 
turf  cut  from  the  next  peat  moss.  It  is  enough  :  the  owner 
gets  no  dividend  on  his  building  ;  but  he  has  covert  from 
wind  and  rain,  and  is  honourable  among  the  sons  of  Earth. 
He  has  built  as  best  he  could,  to  his  own  mind. 

You  think  that  there  ought  to  be  no  such  differences  in 
habitation  ;  that  nobody  should  live  in  a  palace,  and  nobody 
under  a  heap  of  turf?  But  if  ever  you  become  educated 
enough  to  know  something  about  the  arts,  you  will  like  to 
-^ee  a  palace  built  in  noble  manner  ;  and  if  ever  you  become 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


281 


educated  enough  to  know  something  about  men,  you  will 
love  some  of  them  so  well  as  to  desire  that  at  least  they 
should  live  in  palaces,  though  you  cannot.  But  it  wmU  be 
long  now  before  you  can  know  much,  either  about  arts  or 
men.  The  one  point  you  may  be  assured  of  is,  that  your 
happiness  does  not  at  all  depend  on  the  size  of  your  house — 
(or,  if  it  does,  rather  on  its  smallness  than  largeness);  but 
depends  entirely  on  your  having  peaceful  and  safe  possession 
of  it — on  your  habits  of  keeping  it  clean  and  in  order — on 
the  materials  of  it  being  trustworthy,  if  they  are  no  more 
than  stone  and  turf — and  on  your  contentment  with  it,  so 
that  gradually  you  may  mend  it  to  your  mind,  day  by  day, 
and  leave  it  to  your  children  a  better  house  than  it  was. 

To  your  children,  and  to  theirs,  desiring  for  them  that  they 
may  live  as  you  have  lived  ;  and  not  strive  to  forget  you, 
and  stammer  when  any  one  asks  who  you  were,  because, 
forsooth,  they  have  become  fine  folks  by  your  help. 

EusTON  Hotel,  \^th  August 

Thus  far  I  had  written  at  Florence.  To-day  I  received  a 
severe  lesson  from  a  friend  whose  teaching  is  always  service- 
able to  me,  of  which  the  main  effect  was  to  show  me  that  I 
had  been  wrong  in  allowing  myself  so  far  in  the  habit  of  jest- 
ing, either  in  these  letters,  or  in  any  other  of  my  books  on 
grave  subjects  ;  and  that  although  what  little  play  I  had  per- 
mitted, rose,  as  I  told  you  before,  out  of  the  nature  of  the 
things  spoken  of,  it  prevented  many  readers  from  under- 
standing me  rightly,  and  was  an  offence  to  others.  The 
second  effect  of  the  lesson  was  to  show  me  how  vain  it  was, 
in  the  present  state  of  English  literature  and  mind,  to  expect 
anybody  to  attend  to  the  real  force  of  the  words  I  wrote  ; 
and  that  it  would  be  better  to  spare  myself  much  of  the 
trouble  I  took  in  choosing  them,  and  try  to  get  things  ex- 
plained by  reiteration  instead  of  precision,  or,  if  I  was  too 
proud  to  do  that,  to  write  less  myself,  and  only  urge  your 
attention,  or  aid  it,  to  other  people's  happier  sayings. 
Which  indeed  1  meant  to  do,  as  Foi'S  went  on  ;  for  1  have 
always  thought  that  more  true  force  of  persuasion  might  be 


282 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


obtained  by  rightly  clioosing  and  arranging  what  others 
have  said,  than  by  painfully  saying  it  again  in  one's  own 
way.  And  since  as  to  the  matter  which  I  have  to  teach  you, 
all  the  great  writers  and  thinkers  of  the  world  are  agreed, 
without  any  exception  whatsoever,  it  is  certain  I  can  teach 
you  better  in  other  men's  words  than  my  own,  if  I  can  lay  my 
hand  at  once  on  what  I  want  of  them.  And  the  upshot  of 
the  lesson,  and  of  my  meditation  upon  it,  is,  that  henceforth 
to  the  end  of  the  year  I  will  try  very  seriously  to  explain,  as 
I  promised,  step  by  step,  the  things  put  questionably  in  last 
year's  letters.  We  will  conclude  therefore  first,  and  as  fast 
as  we  can,  the  debate  respecting  interest  of  money  which 
was  opened  in  my  letter  of  January,  1871. 

An  impatient  correspondent  of  mine,  Mr.  W.  C.  Sillar,  who 
has  long  been  hotly  engaged  in  testifying  publicly  against  the 
wickedness  of  taking  interest,  writes  to  me  that  all  I  say  is 
mysterious,  that  I  am  bound  to  speak  plainly,  and  above  every- 
thing, if  I  think  taking  interest  sinful,  not  to  hold  bank  stock. 

Once  for  all,  then,  Mr.  Sillar  is  wholly  right  as  to  the  ab- 
stract fact  that  lending  for  gain  is  sinful;  and  he  has  in 
various  pamphlets,  shown  unanswerably  that  whatever  is  said 
either  in  the  Bible,  or  in  any  other  good  and  ancient  book^ 
respecting  usurj^,  is  intended  by  the  writers  to  apply  to  the 
receiving  of  interest,  be  it  ever  so  little.  But  Mr.  Sillar  has 
allowed  this  idea  to  take  possession  of  him,  body  and  soul ; 
and  is  just  as  fondly  enthusiastic  about  abolition  of  usury  as 
some  other  people  are  about  the  liquor  laws.  Now  of  course 
drunkenness  is  mischievous,  and  usury  is  mischievous,  and 
whoredom  is  mischievous,  and  idleness  is  mischievous.  But 
we  cannot  reform  the  world  by  preaching  temperance  only, 
nor  refusal  of  interest  only,  nor  chastity  only,  nor  industry 
only.  I  am  myself  more  set  on  teaching  healthful  industry 
than  anything  else,  as  the  beginning  of  all  redemption  ;  then, 
purity  of  heart  and  body  ;  if  I  can  get  these  taught,  I  know 
that  nobody  so  taught  will  either  get  drunk,  or,  in  any  unjust 
manner,  "either  a  borrower  or  a  lender  be."  But  I  expect 
also  far  higher  results  than  either  of  these,  on  which,  being 
utterly  bent,  I  am  very  careless  about  such  minor  matters  as 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


2S3 


the  present  conditions  either  of  English  brewing  or  banking. 
I  hold  bank  stock  simply  because  I  suppose  it  to  be  safer 
than  any  other  stock,  and  I  take  the  interest  of  it,  because 
though  taking  interest  is,  in  the  abstract,  as  wrong  as  war, 
the  entire  fabric  of  society  is  at  present  so  connected  with 
both  usury  and  war,  that  it  is  not  possible  violently  to  with- 
draw, nor  wisely  to  set  example  of  withdrawing,  from  either 
evil.  I  entirely,  in  the  abstract,  disapprove  of  war  ;  yet  have 
the  profoundest  sympathy  with  Colonel  Yea  and  his  fusiliers 
at  Alma,  and  only  wish  I  had  been  there  with  them.  1  have 
by  no  means  equal  sympathy  either  with  bankers  or  land- 
lords ;  but  am  certain  that  for  the  present  it  is  better  that  I 
receive  my  dividends  as  usual,  and  that  Miss  Hill  should  con- 
tinue to  collect  my  rents  in  Marylebone. 

"  Ananias  over  again,  or  worse,"  Mr.  Sillar  will  probably 
exclaim,  when  he  reads  this,  and  invoke  lightning  against 
me.  I  will  abide  the  issue  of  his  invocation,  and  only  beg 
him  to  observe  respecting  either  ancient  or  modern  denun- 
ciations of  interest,  that  they  are  much  beside  the  mark  un- 
less they  are  accompanied  with  some  explanation  of  the 
manner  in  which  borrowing  and  Icndinir,  when  necessary, 
can  be  carried  on  without  it.  Neither  are  often  necessary  in 
healthy  states  of  society  ;  but  they  always  must  remain  so  to 
some  extent  ;  and  tlie  name  **  Mount  of  Pity,"  *  given  still 
in  French  and  Italian  to  the  pawnbroker's  shop,  descends 
from  a  time  when  lending  to  the  poor  was  as  much  a  work  of 
mercy  as  giving  to  them.  And  both  lending  and  borrowing 
are  virtuous,  when  the  borrowing  is  prudent,  and  the  lending 
kind  ;  how  much  otherwise  than  kind  lending  at  interest 
usually  is,  you,  I  suppose,  do  not  need  to  be  told  ;  but  how 

*  The  "  Mount  ^'  is  the  hoap  of  money  in  store  for  lending  without 
interest.  You  shall  have  a  picture  of  it  in  next  number,  as  drawn  by  a 
brave  landscape  painter  four  liundred  years  ago  ;  and  it  will  ultimately 
be  one  of  the  crags  of  our  own  Mont  Rose;  and  well  should  be.  for  it 
was  first  raised  among  the  rocks  of  Italy  by  a  Francisc  >n  monk,  for 
refuge  to  bhe  poor  against  the  usury  of  the  Lombard  merchants  who 
gave  name  to  our  Lombard  Street,  and  [»erished  by  their  usury,  a=?  their 
fc;ucces!5ors  are  like  enough  to  do  also.  But  the  story  goes  back  to 
Friedrich  II.  of  Germany  again,  and  is  too  long  for  this  letter. 


284 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


much  otherwise  than  prudent  nearly  all  borrowing  is,  and 
above  everything,  trade  on  a  large  scale  on  borrowed  capital, 
it  is  very  necessary  for  us  all  to  be  told.  And  for  a  begin- 
ning of  other  people's  words,  here  are  some  quoted  by  Mr, 
Sillar  from  a  work  on  the  Labour  question  recently  published 
in  Canada,  which,  though  common-place,  and  evidently  the 
expressions  of  a  person  imperfectly  educated,  are  true,  ear- 
nest, and  worth  your  reading  : — 

^'  These  Scripture  usury  laws,  then,  are  for  no  particular 
race  and  for  no  particular  time.  They  lie  at  the  very  foun- 
dations of  national  progress  and  wealth.  They  form  the  only 
great  safeguards  of  labour,  and  are  the  security  of  civil  so- 
ciety, and  the  strength  and  protection  of  commerce  itself. 
Let  us  beware,  for  our  own  sakes,  how  we  lay  our  hand  upon 
the  barriers  which  God  has  reared  around  the  humble  dwell- 
ing of  the  labouring  man  

"  Business  itself  is  a  pleasure,  but  it  is  the  anxieties  and 
burdens  of  business  arising  all  out  of  this  debt  system,  which 
have  caused  so  many  aching  pillows  and  so  many  broken 
hearts.  What  countless  multitudes,  during  the  last  three 
liundred  years,  have  gone  down  to  bankruptcy  and  shame — 
what  fair  prospects  have  been  for  ever  Vjlighted — what  happy 
liomes  desolated — what  peace  destroyed — what  ruin  and  de- 
struction have  ever  marched  hand  in  hand  with  this  system 
of  debt,  paper,  and  usury  !  Verily  its  sins  have  reached 
unto  heaven,  and  its  iniquities  are  very  great. 

"  What  shall  the  end  of  these  things  be  ?  God  only  know- 
eth.  I  fear  the  system  is  beyond  a  cure.  All  the  great 
interests  of  humanity  are  overborne  by  it,  and  nothing  can 
flourish  as  it  ought  till  it  is  taken  out  of  the  way.  It  con- 
tains within  itself,  as  we  have  at  times  witnessed,  most  potent 
elements  of  destruction  which  in  one  hour  may  bring  all  its 
riches  to  nought." 

Here,  lastly  for  this  month,  is  another  piece  of  Marmontel 
for  you,  describing  an  ideal  landlord's  mode  of  ^'investing" 
his  money  ;  losing,  as  it  appears,  half  his  income  annually  by 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


285 


^uch  investment,  yet  by  no  means  with  "  aching  pillows  "  or 
broken  hearts  for  the  result.  (By  the  way,  for  a  lesson  in 
writing,  observe  that  I  know  tiie  Canada  author  to  be  imper- 
fectly educated  merely  by  one  such  phrase  as  "aching  pillow" 
— for  pillow^s  don't  ache — and  again,  by  his  thinking  it  re- 
ligious and  impressive  to  say  knoweth  "  instead  of  "  knows.") 
But  listen  to  Marmontel. 

"In  the  neighbourhood  of  this  country-house  lived  a  kind 
of  Philosopher,  not  an  old  one,  but  in  the  prime  of  life,  who, 
after  having  enjoyed  everything  that  he  could  during  six 
months  of  the  year  in  town,  was  in  the  habit  of  coming  to 
enjoy  six  months  of  his  own  company  in  a  voluptuous  solitude. 
He  presently  came  to  call  upon  Elise.  *  You  have  the  reputa- 
tion of  a  wise  man,  sir,'  slie  said — *tell  me,  what  is  your  plan 
of  life.'  *  My  plan,  madame  ?  I  have  never  had  any,'  an- 
swered the  count.  '  I  do  everything  that  amuses  me.  I  seek 
everything  that  I  like,  and  I  avoid  with  care  everything  that 
annoys  or  displeases  me.'  '  Do  you  live  alone,  or  do  you  see 
people  ?  '  asked  Eiise.  *  I  see  sometimes  our  clergyman,  whom 
1  lecture  on  morals.  I  chat  with  labourers,  who  are  better 
informed  than  all  our  servants.  I  give  balls  to  little  village 
girls,  the  prettiest  in  the  world.  1  arrange  little  lotteries 
for  them,  of  laces,  and  ribands.'  (Wrong,  Mr.  Philosopher, 
as  many  ribands  as  you  please  ;  but  no  lotteries.)  'What?' 
said  Elise,  with  great  surprise,  *  do  those  sort  of  people  know 
what  love  is  ?  '  '  Better  than  we  do,  madame — better  than 
we  do  a  hundred  times  ;  they  love  each  other  like  turtle- 
doves— they  make  me  wish  to  be  married  myself!'  *You 
will  confess,  however,'  said  Elise,  *  that  they  love  without  any 
delicacy.'  *  Nay,  madame,  delicacy  is  a  refinement  of  art — 
they  have  only  the  instinct  of  nature  ;  but,  indeed,  they  have 
in  feeling  what  we  have  only  in  fancy.  I  have  tried,  iike 
another,  to  love,  and  to  be  beloved,  in  the  town, — there,  ca- 
price and  fashion  arrange  everything,  or  derange  it  : — here, 
tliere  is  true  liking,  and  true  choice.  You  will  see  in  the 
course  of  the  gaities  I  give  them,  how  these  simple  and  ten- 
der hearts  seek  each  other,  without  knowing  what  they  are 
doing.'    *  You  give  me,'  replied  Elise,  *  a  picture  of  the  coun- 


286 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


try  I  little  expected  ;  everybody  says  those  sort  of  people  are 
so  much  to  be  pitied.'  '  They  were  so,  madame,  some  years 
since  ;  but  I  have  found  the  secret  of  rendering  their  condi- 
tion more  happy.'  'Oh!  you  must  tell  me  your  secret?' 
interrupted  Elise,  with  vivacity.  *I  wish  also  to  put  it  in 
practice.'  *  Nothing  can  be  easier,'  replied  the  count, — this 
is  what  I  do  :  I  have  about  two  thousand  a  year  of  income  ; 
I  spend  five  hundred  in  Paris,  in  the  two  visits  that  I  make 
there  during  the  year, — five  hundred  more  in  my  country- 
house, — and  I  have  a  thousand  to  spare,  which  I  spend  on 
my  exchanges.'  'And  what  exchanges  do  you  make? '  'Well,' 
said  the  count,  '  I  have  fields  well  cultivated,  meadows  well 
watered,  orchards  delicately  hedged,  and  planted  with  care.' 
'Well!  what  then?'  'Why,  Lucas,  Blaise,  and  Nicholas, 
my  neighbours,  and  my  good  friends,  have  pieces  of  land 
neglected  or  worn  out  ;  they  have  no  money  to  cultivate 
them.  I  give  them  a  bit  of  mine  instead,  acre  for  acre  ;  and 
the  same  space  of  land  which  hardly  fed  them,  enriches 
them  in  two  harvests  :  the  earth  which  is  ungrateful  un- 
der their  hands,  becomes  fertile  in  mine.  I  choose  the  seed 
for  it,  the  way  of  digging,  the  manure  which  suits  it  best, 
and  as  soon  as  it  is  in  good  state,  I  think  of  another  ex- 
^^hange.  Those  are  my  amusements.'  '  That  is  charming  ! ' 
cried  Elise  ;  '  3"ou  know  then  the  ai't  of  agriculture  ? '  'I 
learn  a  little  of  it,  madame  ;  every  day,  I  oppose  the  theories 
of  the  savants  to  the  experience  of  the  peasants.  I  try  to 
correct  what  I  find  wrong  in  the  reasonings  of  the  one,  and  in 
the  practice  of  the  other.'  '  That  is  an  amusing  study  ;  but 
how  you  ought  to  be  adored  then  in  these  cantons  !  these 
poor  labourers  must  regard  you  as  their  father  ! '  '  On  each 
side,  we  love  each  other  very  much,  madame.'" 

This  is  all  very  pretty,  but  falsely  romantic,  and  not  to  be 
read  at  all  with  the  unqualified  respect  due  to  the  natural 
truth  of  the  passages  1  before  quoted  to  you  from  Marmon- 
tel.  He  wrote  this  partly  in  the  hope  of  beguiling  foolish 
and  selfish  persons  to  the  unheard-of  amusement  of  doing 
some  good  to  their  fellow-creatures  ;  but  partly  also  in  really 
erroneous  sentiment,  his  own  character  having  suffered  much 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


287 


deterioration  by  his  compliance  with  the  manners  of  the 
(Jourt  in  the  period  immediately  preceding  the  French  Revo- 
lution. Many  of  the  false  relations  between  the  rich  and 
poor,  which  could  not  but  end  in  such  catastrophe,  are  indi- 
cated in  the  above-quoted  passage.  There  is  no  recognition 
of  duty  on  either  side  :  the  landlord  enjoys  himself  benevo- 
lently, and  the  labourers  receive  his  benefits  in  placid  grati- 
tude, without  being  either  provoked  or  instructed  to  help 
themselves.  Their  material  condition  is  assumed  to  be  neces- 
sarily wretched  unless  continually  relieved  ;  while  their  house- 
hold virtue  and  honour  are  represented  (truly)  as  purer  than 
those  of  their  masters.  The  Revolution  could  not  do  away 
with  this  fatal  anomaly  ;  to  this  day  the  French  peasant  is  a 
better  man  than  his  lord  ;  and  no  government  will  be  possi- 
ble in  France  until  she  has  learned  that  all  authority,  before 
it  can  be  honoured,  must  be  honourable. 

But,  putting  the  romantic  method  of  operation  aside,  the 
the  question  remains  whether  Marmontel  is  right  in  his  main 
idea  that  a  landlord  should  rather  take  2,000/.  in  rents,  and 
return  1,000/.  in  help  to  his  tenants,  than  remit  the  1,000/. 
of  rents  at  once.  To  which*  I  reply,  that  it  is  primarily  bet- 
ter for  the  State,  and  ultimately  for  the  tenant,  that  admin- 
istrative power  should  be  increased  in  the  landlord's  hands  ; 
but  that  it  ought  not  to  be  by  rents  which  he  can  change  at 
his  own  pleasure,  but  by  fixed  duties  under  State  law.  Of 
which,  in  due  time  ; — T  do  not  say  in  my  next  letter,  for 
that  would  be  mere  defiance  of  the  third  Fors. 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


LETTER  XXII. 

Brant  WOOD, 

My  Friends,  l^^'Z-i  September,  1872. 

I  AM  to-day  to  begin  explaining  to  you  the  meaning  of  my 
Dwn  books,  which,  some  people  will  tell  you,  is  an  egotistical 
and  impertinent  thing  for  an  author  to  do.    My  own  view  of 


288 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


tlie  matter  is,  that  it  is  generally  more  egotistical  and  imper- 
tinent to  explain  the  meaning  of  other  people's  books, — 
which,  nevertheless,  at  this  day  in  England  many  young  and 
inexperienced  persons  are  paid  for  pretending  to  do.  What 
intents  I  have  had,  myself,  therefore,  in  th\^  For s  Clavigera^ 
and  some  other  lately  published  writings,  I  will  take  on  me 
to  tell  you,  without  more  preamble. 

And  first,  for  their  little  vignette  stamp  of  roses  on  title- 
page.  It  is  copied  from  the  clearest  bit  of  the  pattern  of 
the  petticoat  of  Spring,  where  it  is  drawn  tight  over  her 
thigh,  in  Sandro  Botticelli's  picture  of  her,  at  Florence.  I 
drew  it  on  the  wood  myself,  and  Mr.  Burgess  cut  it  ;  and  it 
is  on  all  my  title-pages,  because  whatever  I  now  write  is 
meant  to  help  in  founding  the  society  called  of  *  Monte 
Rosa;' — see  page  two  hundred  and  twenty-eighth  in  the 
seventeenth  of  these  letters.  Such  reference,  hereafter,  ob- 
serve, is  only  thus  printed,  (XVII.  228). 

And  I  copied  this  vignette  from  Sandro  Botticelli,  for  two 
reasons  :  first,  that  no  man  has  ever  yet  drawn,  and  none  is 
likely  to  draw  for  many  a  day,  roses  as  well  as  Sandro  has 
drawn  them  ;  secondly,  because  he  was  the  onl}^  painter  of 
Italy  who  thoroughly  felt  and  understood  Dante  ;  and  the 
only  one  also  who  understood  the  thoughts  of  Heathens  and 
Christians  equally,  and  coultl  in  a  measure  paint  both  Aphro- 
dite and  the  Madonna.  So  that  he  is  on  the  whole,  the  most 
universal  of  painters  ;  and  take  him,  all  in  all,  the  greatest 
Florentine  workman  :  and  I  wish  you  to  know  with  Dante's 
opinions,  his,  also,  on  all  subjects  of  importance  to  you,  of 
which  Florentines  could  judge. 

And  of  his  life,  it  is  proper  for  you  immediately  to  know 
thus  much  :  or  at  least,  that  so  much  was  current  gossip 
about  it  in  Yasari's  time, — that,  when  he  was  a  boy,  he  ob= 
stinately  refused  to  learn  either  to  read,  write,  or  sum  ;  (and 
I  heartily  wish  all  boys  would  and  could  do  the  same,  till 
they  were  at  least  as  old  as  the  illiterate  Alfred),  whereupon 
his  father,  disturbed  by  these  eccentric  habits  of  his  son, 
turned  him  over  in  despair  to  a  gossip  of  his,  called  Botti- 
cello,  who  was  a  goldsmith." 


FORS  CLAVIOERA, 


2S9 


And  on  this,  note  two  things  :  the  first,  that  all  the  great 
early  Italian  masters  of  painting  and  sculpture,  without  ex- 
ception, began  by  being  goldsmith's  apprentices  :  the  second, 
that  they  all  felt  themselves 'so  indebted  to,  and  formed  by 
the  master-craftsman  who  had  mainly  disciplined  their  fingers, 
whether  in  work  on  gold  or  marble,  that  they  practically  con° 
sidered  him  their  father,  and  took  his  name  rather  than  their 
own  ;  so  that  most  of  the  great  Italian  workmen  are  now 
known,  not  by  their  own  names,  but  by  those  of  their  mas- 
ters,* the  master  being  himself  often  entirely  forgotten  by 
the  public,  and  eclipsed  by  his  pupil  ;  but  immortal  in  his 
pupil,  and  named  in  his  name.  Thus,  our  Sandro,  Alessan- 
dro,  or  Alexander's  own  name  was  Filipepi  ;  which  name  yo\x 
never  heard  of,  I  suppose,  till  now  :  nor  I,  often,  but  his 
master's  was  Botticello  ;  of  which  master  we  nevertheless 
know  only  that  he  so  formed,  and  informed,  this  boy  that 
thenceforward  the  boy  thought  it  right  to  be  called  "  Botti-- 
cello's  Sandro,"  and  nobody  else's.  Which  in  Italian  is  San- 
dro di  Botticello  ;  and  that  is  abbreviated  into  Sandro  Botti- 
celh*.  So,  Francesco  Francia  is  short  for  Francesco  di  Francia, 
or  "  Francia's  Francis,"  though  nobody  ever  heard,  except 
thus,  of  his  master  the  goldsmith,  Francia.  But  his  own 
name  was  Raibolini.  So,  Philip  Brunelleschi  is  short  for 
Brunellesco's  Philip,  Brunellesco  being  his  father's  Christia)i, 
name,  to  show  how  much  he  owed  to  his  father's  careful 
training  ;  (the  family  name  was  Lippo)  ;  and,  which  is  the 
prettiest  instance  of  all,  "  Piero  della  F rancesca,"  means 
*  Francesca's  Peter  ; '  because  he  was  chiefly  trained  by  his 
mother,  Francesca.  All  which  I  beg  you  to  take  to  heart, 
and  meditate  on,  concerning  Mastership  and  Pupilage. 

But  to  return  to  Sandro.  Having  learned  prosperously 
how  to  manage  gold,  he  takes  a  fancy  to  know  how  to  man- 
age colour  ;  and  is  put  by  his  good  father  under,  as  it  chanced, 
the  best  master  in  Florence,  or  the  world,  at  that  time  ;  the 
Monk  Lippi,  whose  work  is  the  finest,  out  and  out,  that  ever 
monk  did,  which  I  attribute,  myself,  to  what  is  usually  con- 

*  Or  of  their  native  towns  or  villages, — these  being  recognized  as 
masters,  also. 

19 


290 


FORS  CLAVIGEBA. 


sidered  faultful  in  him,  his  having  ran  away  with  a  pretty 
novice  out  of  a  convent.  I  am  not  jesting,  I  assure  you,  in 
the  least  ;  but  how  can  I  possibly  help  the  nature  of  things, 
when  that  chances  to  be  laughable  ?  Nay,  if  you  think  of  it, 
perhaps  you  will  not  find  it  so  laughable  that  Lippi  should  be 
the  only  monk  (if  this  be  a  fact),  who  ever  did  good  painter's 
work. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  Lippi  and  his  pupil  were  happy  in  each 
other  ;  and  the  boy  soon  became  a  smiter  of  colour,  or  colour- 
smith,  no  less  than  a  gold-smith  ;  and  eventually  an  "  Alex- 
ander the  Coppersmith,"  also,  not  inimical  to  St.  Paul,  and 
for  whom  Christian  people  may  wish,  not  revengefully,  "the 
Lord  rew^ard  him  according  to  his  works,"  though  he  w^as  fain, 
Demetrius-like,  sometimes  to  shrine  Diana.  And  he  painted, 
for  a  beginning,  a  figure  of  Fortitude  ;  (having,  therefore, 
just  right  to  give  us  our  vignette  to  Fors),  and  then,  one  of 
St.  Jerome,  and  then,  one  of  our  Lady,  and  then,  one  of 
Pallas,  and  then,  one  of  Venus  with  the  Graces  and  Zephyrs, 
and  especially  the  Spring  aforesaid  with  flowery  petticoats  ; 
and,  finally,  the  Assumption  of  our  Lady,  with  the  Patriarchs, 
the  Prophets,  the  Apostles,  the  Evangelists,  the  Martyrs,  the 
Confessors,  the  Doctors,  the  Virgins,  and  the  Hierarchies. 
It  is  to  be  presumed  that  by  this  time  he  had  learned  to  read, 
though  we  hear  nothing  of  it,  (rather  the  contrary,  for  he  is 
taunted  late  in  life  with  rude  scholarship,)  and  was  so  good 
a  divine,  as  well  as  painter,  that  Pope  Sixtus  IV.  sent  for 
him  to  be  master  of  the  works  in  his  new  chapel  (the  same 
you  have  sometimes  heard  of  as  the  "  Sixtine"  or  "  Sistine  ")  ; 
wherein  he  painted  Moses,  and  his  wife  (see  XX.  271,  note), 
very  beautifully  ;  and  the  Destruction  of  Korah,  and  the 
Temptation  of  Christ, — all  well  preserved  and  wonderful 
pieces,  which  no  person  now  ever  thinks  of  looking  at,  though 
they  are  probably  the  best  works  of  pictorial  divinity  extant 
in  Europe.  And  having  thus  obtained  great  honour  and  rep- 
utation, and  considerable  sums  of  money,  he  squandered  all 
the  last  away  ;  and  then,  returning  to  Florence,  set  himself 
to  comment  upon  and  illustrate  Dante,  engraving  some  plates 
for  that  purpose,  which  I  will  try  to  give  you  a  notion  of, 


F0R8  CLAVIGEUA, 


291 


some  day.  And  at  this  time,  Savonarola  beginning  to  make 
himself  heard,  and  founding  in  Florence  the  company  of  the 
Piagnoni,  (Mourners,  or  Grumblers,  as  opposed  to  the  men 
of  pleasure),  Sandro  made  a  Grumbler  of  himself,  being  then 
some  forty  years  old  ;  and, — his  new  master  being  burned  in 
the  great  square  of  Florence,  a  year  afterwards  (1498), — he^ 
came  a  Grumbler  to  purpose  ;  and  doing  what  he  could  to 
show  "  che  cosa  e  la  fede,"  namely  in  engraving  Savonarola's 
Triumph  of  Faith,"  fell  sadder,  wiser,  and  poorer,  day  by 
day  ;  until  he  became  a  poor  bedesman  of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici  ; 
and  having  gone  some  time  on  crutches,  being  unable  to  stand 
upright,  and  received  his  due  share  of  w^hat  I  hope  we  may 
call  discriminate  charity,  died  peacefully  in  his  fifty-eighth 
year,  having  lived  a  glorious  life  ;  and  was  buried  at  Florence, 
in  the  Church  of  All  Saints,  three  hundred  and  fifty-seven 
years  ago. 

So  much  for  my  vignette.  For  my  title  see  II.  16,  and 
XIII.  175.  I  mean  it,  as  you  will  see  by  the  latter  passage, 
to  be  read,  in  English,  as  Fortune  the  Nailbearer,"  and  that 
the  book  itself  should  show  you  how  to  form,  or  make,  this 
Fortune,  see  the  fifth  sentence  down  the  page,  in  II.  16  ;  and 
compare  III.  30,  31. 

And  in  the  course  of  the  first  year's  letters,  I  tried  gradu- 
ally to  illustrate  to  you  certain  general  propositions,  which, 
if  I  had  set  them  down  in  form  at  once,  might  have  seemed 
to  you  too  startling,  or  disputable,  to  be  discussed  with  pa- 
tience. So  I  tried  to  lead  into  some  discussion  of  them  first, 
and  now  hope  that  you  may  endure  the  clearer  statement  of 
them,  as  follows  :  — 

Pkoposition  I.  (I.  3,  4). — The  English  nation  is  beginning 
another  group  of  ten  years,  empty  in  purse,  empty  in  stomach, 
and  in  a  state  of  terrified  hostility  to  every  other  nation  under 
the  sun. 

I  assert  this  very  firmly  and  seriously.  But  in  the  course 
of  these  papers  every  important  assertion  on  the  opposite 
Bide  shall  be  fairly  inserted  ;  so  that  you  may  consider  of 
them  at  your  leisure.  Here  is  one,  for  instance,  from  the 
Momiiig  Post  of  Saturday,  August  31,  of  this  year : — "The 


292 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


country  is  at  the  present  moment  in  a  state  of  such  unex- 
ampled prosperity  that  it  is  actually  suffering  from  the  very 
superabundance  of  its  riches.  .  .  .  Coals  and  meat  are  at 
famine  prices,  we  are  threatened  with  a  strike  among  the 
bakers,  and  there  is  hardly  a  single  department  of  industry 
in  which  the  cost  of  production  has  not  been  enhanced." 

This  is  exceedingly  true  ;  the  Morning  Post  ought  to  have 
congratulated  you  further  on  the  fact  that  the  things  ^/o* 
duced  by  this  greater  cost  are  now  usually  good  for  nothing  : 
Hear  on  this  head,  what  Mr.  Emerson  said  of  us,  even  so  far 
back  as  1856  (and  we  have  made  much  inferior  articles  since 
then).  "  England  is  aghast  at  the  disclosure  of  her  fraud  in 
the  adulteration  of  food,  of  drugs,  and  of  almost  every  fabric 
in  her  mills  and  shops  ;  finding  that  milk  will  not  nourish, 
nor  sugar  sweeten,  nor  bread  satisfy,  nor  pepper  bite  the 
tongue,  nor  glue  stick.  In  true  England  all  is  false  and 
forged.  .  .  .  It  is  rare  to  find  a  merchant  who  knows  why 
a  crisis  occurs  in  trade, — why  prices  rise  or  fall,  or  who  knows 
the  mischief  of  paper  money.*  In  the  culmination  of  Na- 
tional Prosperity,  in  the  annexation  of  countries  ;  building 
of  ships,  depots,  towns  ;  in  the  influx  of  tons  of  gold  and 
silver  ;  amid  the  chuckle  of  chancellors  and  financiers,  it  was 
found  that  bread  rose  to  famine  prices,  that  the  yeoman  was 
forced  to  sell  his  cow  and  pig,  his  tools,  and  his  acre  of  land  ; 
and  the  dreadful  barometer  of  the  poor-rates  was  touching 
the  point  of  ruin."  f 

Proposition  II.  (I.  4). — Of  such  prosperity  I,  for  one, 
have  seen  enough,  and  will  endure  it  no  longer  quietly  ;  but 
will  set  aside  some  part  of  my  income  to  help,  if  anybody 
else  will  join  me,  in  forming  a  National  store  instead  of  a 
National  Debt  ;  and  will  explain  to  you  as  I  have  time  and 
power,  how  to  avoid  such  distress  in  future,  by  adhering  to 
the  elementary  principles  of  Human  Economy,  which  have 
been  of  late  wilfully  entombed  under  pyramids  of  falsehood. 

Wilfully  ;  "  note  this  grave  word  in  my  second  propo- 
sition ;  and  invest  a  shilling  in  the  purchase  of  Bishop 

*  Or  the  use  of  it,  Mr.  Emerson  should  have  added, 
f  English  Traits,  (Routledge,  1856),  p.  95. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


293 


Berkeley  on  Money ^  being  extracts  from  his  Querist^  by 
James  Harvey,  Liverpool.*  At  the  bottom  of  tiie  twenty- 
first  page  you  vrill  find  this  query,  Whether  the  continuous 
efforts  on  the  part  of  the  Times^  the  Telegraph^\  the  Econo- 
mist^ the  Daily  Kews^  and  the  daily  newspaper  press,  and 
also  of  moneyed  men  generally,  to  confound  money  and  capi 
tal,  be  the  result  of  ignorance  or  design." 

Of  ignorance  in  great  part,  doubtless,  for  "  moneyed  men, 
generally,"  are  ignorant  enough  to  believe  and  assert  any- 
thing ;  but  it  is  noticeable  that  their  ignorance  always  tells 
on  their  own  side  ;  \  and  the  Times  and  Kco7iomist  are  now 
nothing  more  than  passive  instruments  in  their  hands.  But 
neither  they,  nor  their  organs,  would  long  be  able  to  assert 
untruths  in  Political  Economy,  if  the  nominal  professors  of 
the  science  would  do  their  duty  in  investigation  of  it.  Of 
whom  I  now  choose,  for  direct  personal  challenge,  the  Pro- 
fessor at  Cambridge  ;  and,  being  a  Doctor  of  Laws  of  his 
own  University,  and  a  Fellow  of  two  colleges  in  mine,  1 
charge  him  with  having  insufficiently  investigated  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  science  lie  is  appointed  to  teach.  I  charge  him 
with  having  advanced  in  defence  of  the  theory  of  Interest 
on  Mone}^  four  arguments,  every  one  of  them  false,  and  false 
with  such  fallacy  as  a  child  ought  to  have  been  able  to  de- 
tect. I  have  exposed  one  of  these  fallacies  at  page  14  of 
the  first  letter,  and  the  three  others  at  page  246  to  249  in  the 
eighteenth  letter,  in  this  book,  and  I  now  publicly  call  on 
Professor  Fawcett  either  to  defend,  or  retract,  the  statements 
so  impugned.  And  this  open  challenge  cannot  be  ignored 
by  Professor  Fawcett,  on  the  plea  that  Political  Economy  is 
his  province,  and  not  mine.  If  any  man  holding  definite  po- 
sition as  a  scholar  in  either  University,  challenged  me  ])ub- 
licly  and  gravely  with  having  falsely  defined  an  elementary 
principle  of  Art,  I  should  hold  myself  bound  to  answer  him, 
and  I  think  public  opinion  would  ratify  my  decision. 

*  Provost,  Henrietta  Street,  Coven t  Garden. 

f  The  Telegraph  has  always  seemed  to  me  to  play  fairer  than  the 
rest.    The  words  "  daily  newspaper  press  "  are,  of  course,  too  general, 
X  Compare  Muiiera  Pukerit^  §  140. 


294 


FOBS  OLAVIOERA. 


Propositiont  hi.  (1.  5). — Your  redemption  from  the  dis- 
tress into  which  you  have  fallen  is  in  your  own  hands,  and 
in  nowise  depends  on  forms  of  government  or  modes  of 
election. 

But  you  must  make  the  most  of  what  forms  of  govern- 
ment you  have  got,  by  choosing  honest  men  to  work  them  (if 
you  choose  at  all),  and  preparatorily,  by  honestly  obeying 
them,  and  in  all  possible  ways,  making  honest  men  of  your- 
selves ;  and  if  it  be  indeed,  now  impossible — as  I  heard  the 
clergyman  declare  at  Matlock,  (IX.  123)  for  any  honest  man 
to  live  by  trade  in  England, — amending  the  methods  of  Eng- 
lish trade  in  the  necessary  particulars,  until  it  becomes 
possible  for  honest  men  to  live  by  it  again.  In  the  mean- 
time resolving  that  you,  for  your  part,  will  do  good  work, 
whether  you  live  by  it  or  die — (II.  29). 

Proposition  IV.  (I.  8 — 11). — Of  present  parliaments  and 
governments  you  have  mainly  to  inquire  what  they  want 
with  your  money  when  they  demand  it.  And  that  you  may 
do  this  intelligently,  you  are  to  remember  that  only  a  certain 
quantity  of  money  exists  at  any  given  time,  and  that  your 
first  business  must  be  to  ascertain  the  available  amount  of  it, 
and  what  it  is  available  for.  Because  you  do  not  put  more 
money  into  rich  people's  hands,  when  you  succeed  in  putting 
into  rich  people's  heads  that  they  w^ant  something  to-day 
which  they  had  no  occasion  for  yesterday.  What  they  pay 
you  for  one  thing,  they  cannot  for  another  ;  and  if  they  now 
spend  their  incomes,  they  can  spend  no  more.  Which  you 
w^ill  find  they  do,  and  always  have  done,  and  can,  in  fact, 
neither  spend  more,  nor  less — this  income  being  indeed  the 
quantity  of  food  their  land  produces,  by  which  all  art  and  all 
manufacture  must  be  supported,  and  of  which  no  art  or 
manufacture,  except  such  as  are  directly  and  wisely  employed 
on  the  land,  can  produce  a  morsel. 

Proposition  V.  (II.  18). — You  had  better  take  care  of  your 
squires.  Their  land,  indeed,  only  belongs  to  them,  or  is  said 
to  belong,  because  they  seized  it  long  since  by  force  of  hand, 
(compare  the  quotation  from  Professor  Fawcett  at  p.  xix  of 
the  preface  to  Mumra  Pulveris),  and  you  may  think  you 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


295 


liave  precisely  the  same  right  to  seize  it  now,  for  yourselves, 
if  you  can.  So  you  have, — precisely  the  same  right, — that 
is  to  say,  none.  As  they  had  no  right  to  seize  it  then,  neither 
have  you  now.  The  land,  by  divine  right,  can  be  neithef 
theirs  nor  yours,  except  under  conditions  which  you  will  not 
ascertain  by  fighting.  In  the  meantime,  by  the  law  of  Eng 
land,  the  land  is  theirs  ;  and  your  first  duty  as  Englishmen 
is  to  obey  the  law  of  England,  be  it  just  or  unjust,  until  it  is 
by  due  and  peaceful  deliberation  altered,  if  alteration  of  it  be 
needful ;  and  to  be  sure  that  you  are  able  and  willing  to  obey 
good  laws,  before  you  seek  to  alter  unjust  ones,  (II.  29). 
For  you  cannot  know  whether  they  are  unjust  or  not  until 
you  are  just  yourselves.  Also,  your  race  of  Squires,  con- 
sidered merely  as  an  animal  one,  is  very  precious  ;  and  you 
had  better  see  what  use  you  can  make  of  it,  before  you  let  it 
fall  extinct,  like  the  Dodo's.  For  none  other  such  exists  in 
any  part  of  this  round  little  world  ;  and,  once  destroyed,  it 
will  be  long  before  it  develops  itself  again  from  Mr.  Darwin's 
fferm-cells. 

Proposition  VI.  (V.  72). — But,  if  you  can,  honestly,  you 
had  better  become  minute  squires  yourselves.  The  law  of 
Enofland  nowise  forbids  vour  buvini?  anv  land  which  the 
squires  are  willing  to  part  with,  for  such  savings  as  you  may 
have  ready.  And  the  main  proposal  made  to  you  in  this 
book  is  that  you  should  so  economize  till  you  can  indeed  be- 
come diminutive  squires,  and  develop  accordingly  into  some 
proportionate  fineness  of  race. 

Proposition  VII.  (II.  18). — But  it  is  perhaps  not  equally 
necessary  to  take  care  of  your  capitalists,  or  so-called  *  Em- 
ployers.' For  your  real  employer  is  the  public  ;  and  the  so- 
called  employer  is  only  a  mediator  between  the  public  and 
you,  whose  mediation  is  perhaps  more  costly  than  need  be, 
to  you  both.  So  that  it  will  be  well  for  you  to  consider  how 
far,  without  such  intervention,  you  may  succeed  in  employ- 
in g  7/ ourselves  ;  and  my  seventh  proposition  is  accordingly 
that  some  of  you,  and  all,  in  some  proportion,  should  be  di- 
minutive capitalists,  as  well  as  diminutive  squires,  yet  under 
1  novel  condition,  as  follows  •. — 


296 


FOUS  CLAVIGERA. 


Proposition  VII J. — Observe,  first,  that  in  the  ancient  and 
hitherto  existent  condition  of  things,  the  squire  is  essentially 
an  idle  person  who  has  possession  of  land,  and  lends  it,  but 
does  not  use  it  ;  and  the  capitalist  is  essentially  an  idle  per- 
son, who  has  possession  of  tools,  and  lends  them,  but  does 
not  use  them  ;  while  the  labourer,  by  definition,  is  a  labori- 
ous person,  and  by  presumption  a  penniless  one,  who  is 
obliged  to  borrow  both  land  and  tools,  and  paying,  for  rent 
on  the  one,  and  profit  on  the  other,  what  will  maintain  the 
squire  and  capitalist,  digs  finally  a  remnant  of  roots,  where- 
with to  maintain  himself. 

These  may,  in  so  brief  form,  sound  to  you  very  radical  and 
international  definitions.  I  am  glad  therefore,  that  (though 
entirely  accurate)  they  are  not  mine,  but  Professor  Fawcett's. 
You  will  find  them  quoted  from  his  Manual  of  Political 
Economy  at  the  147th  page  in  my  eleventh  letter.  He 
does  not,  indeed,  in  the  passage  there  quoted,  define  the 
capitalist  as  the  possessor  of  tools,  but  he  does  so  quite 
clearly  at  the  end  of  the  fable  quoted  in  1.  13, — The  plane 
is  the  symbol  of  all  capital,"  and  the  paragraph  given  in  XI. 
147,  is,  indeed,  a  most  faithful  statement  of  the  present  con- 
dition of  things,  which  is,  practically,  that  rich  people  are 
paid  for  being  rich,  and  idle  people  are  paid  for  being  idle, 
and  busy  people  taxed  for  being  busy.  Which  does  not  ap- 
pear to  me  a  state  of  matters  much  longer  tenable  ;  but 
rather,  and  this  is  my  8th  Proposition  (XI.  150)  that  land 
should  belong  to  those  who  can  use  and  tools  to  those 
who  can  use  them  ;  or,  as  a  less  revolutionary,  and  instantly 
practicable,  proposal,  that  those  who  have  land  and  tools 
• — should  use  them. 

Proposition  IX.  and  last  : — To  know  the  "  use  "  either  of 
land  or  tools,  you  must  know  what  useful  things  can  be 
grown  from  the  one,  and  made  with  the  other.  And  there- 
fore to  know  what  is  useful,  and  what  useless,  and  be  skilful 
to  provide  the  one,  and  wise  to  scorn  the  other,  is  the  first 
need  for  all  industrious  men.  Wherefore,  I  propose  that 
schools  should  be  established,  wherein  the  use  of  land  and 
tools  shall  be  taught  conclusively  : — in  other  words,  the  sci- 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


297 


ences  of  agriculture  (with  associated  river  and  sea-culture); 

and  the  noble  arts  and  exercises  of  humanity. 

*/ 

Now  you  cannot  but  see  how  impossible  it  would  have  been 
for  me,  in  beginning  these  letters,  to  have  started  with  a  for- 
mal announcement  of  these  their  proposed  contents,  even 
now  startling  enough,  probably,  to  some  of  my  readers,  after 
nearly  two  years'  preparatory  talk.  You  must  see  also  how 
in  speaking  of  so  wide  a  subject,  it  is  not  possible  to  com- 
plete the  conversation  respecting  each  part  of  it  at  once,  and 
set  that  aside  ;  but  it  is  necessary  to  touch  on  each  head  by 
little  and  little.  Yet  in  the  course  of  desultory  talk,  I  have 
been  endeavouring  to  exhibit  to  you,  essentially,  these  six 
following  things,  namely, — A,  the  general  character  and  use 
of  squires  ;  B,  the  general  character  and  mischievousness  of 
capitalists  ;  C,  the  nature  of  money  ;  D,  the  nature  of  use- 
ful things  ;  E,  the  methods  of  fitiance  which  obtain  money  ; 
and  F,  the  methods  of  work  which  obtain  useful  things. 

To  these  *^six  points"  I  liave  indeed  directed  my  own 
thoughts,  and  endeavoured  to  direct  yours,  perseveringly, 
throughout  these  letters,  though  to  each  point  as  the  Third 
Fors  might  dictate  ;  that  is  to  say,  as  light  was  thrown  upon 
it  in  my  mind  by  what  might  be  publicly  taking  place  at  the 
time,  or  by  any  incident  happening  to  me  personally.  ^  Only 
it  chanced  that  in  the  course  of  the  first  year,  1871,  one 
thing  which  publicly  took  place,  namely  the  siege  and  burn- 
ing of  Paris,  was  of  interest  so  unexpected  that  it  necessarily 
broke  up  what  little  consistency  of  plan  I  had  formed,  besides 
putting  me  into  a  humour  in  which  T  could  only  write  inco- 
herently ;  deep  domestic  vexation  occurring  to  me  at  the 
same  time,  till  I  fell  ill,  and  my  letters  and  vexations  had 
like  to  have  ended  together.  So  I  must  now  patch  the  torn 
web  as  best  I  can,  by  giving  you  reference  to  what  bears  on 
each  of  the  above  six  heads  in  the  detached  talk  of  these 
twenty  months,  (and  I  hope  also  a  serviceable  index  at  the 
two  years'  end);  and,  if  the  work  goes  on, — But  I  had  better 
keep  all  Ifs  out  of  it. 

Meantime,  with  respect  to  point  A,  the  general  character 
and  use  of  squires,  you  will  find  the  meaning  of  the  word 


298 


FORS  CLAVIGEBA, 


*  squire '  given  in  IJ.  18,  as  being  threefold,  like  that  of  Fors. 
First,  it  means  a  rider  ;  or  in  more  full  and  perfect  sense,  a 
master  or  governor  of  beasts  ;  signifying  that  a  squire  has 
fine  sympathy  v^^ith  all  beasts  of  the  field,  and  understanding 
of  their  natures  complete  enough  to  enable  him  to  govern 
them  for  their  good,  and  be  king  over  all  creatures,  subduing 
the  noxious  ones,  and  cherishing  the  virtuous  ones.  Which 
*is  the  primal  meaning  of  chivalry,  the  horse,  as  the  noblest, 
because  trainablest,  of  wild  creatures,  being  taken  for  a  type 
of  them  all.  Read  on  this  point,  IX.  119 — 121,  and  if  you 
can  see  my  larger  books,  at  your  library,  §  205  of  Aratra  Pen- 
telici  J  and  the  last  lecture  in  Eagles  Nest,^  And  observe 
farther  that  it  follows  from  what  is  noted  in  those  places, 
that  to  be  a  good  squire,  one  must  have  the  instincts  of  ani- 
mals as  well  as  those  of  men  ;  but  that  the  typical  squire  is 
apt  to  err  somewhat  on  the  low^er  side,  and  occasionally  to 
have  the  instincts  of  animals  instead  of  those  of  men. 

Secondly.  The  word  '  Squire  '  means  a  Shield-bearer  ; — 
properly,  the  bearer  of  some  superior  person's  shield  ;  but  at 
all  events,  the  declarer,  by  legend,  of  good  deserving  and 
good  intention,  either  others',  or  his  own  ;  with  accompany- 
inof  statement  of  his  resolution  to  defend  and  maintain  the 
same  ;  and  that  so  persistently  that,  rather  than  lose  iiis 
shield,  he  is  to  make  it  his  death-bed  :  and  so  honourably 
and  without  thought  of  vulgar  gain,  that  it  is  the  last  blame 
of  base  governments  to  become  "shield-sellers;"  (compare 
Munera  Pulveris,  §  127.)  On  this  part  of  the  Squire's  char- 
acter I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  insist  at  any  length  ;  but 
you  wnll  find  partial  suggestion  of  the  manner  in  which  you 
may  thus  become  yourselves  shield- bearers,  in  7Yme  aiid  Tide^ 
§§  72,  73,  and  I  shall  soon  have  the  elementary  copies  in  my 
Oxford  schools  published,  and  you  may  then  learn,  if  you 
will,  somewdiat  of  shield-drawing  and  painting. 

And  thirdly,  the  word  '  Squire '  means  a  Carver,  properly 
a  carver  at  some  one  else's  feast  ;  and  typically,  has  reference 
to  the  Squire's  duty  as  a  Carver  at  all  men's  feasts,  being 

*  Compare  also  Mr.  Maurice's  sermon  for  the  fourth  Sunday  aftei 
Trinity  iu  Vol.  II.  of  third  series.    (Smith  Elder  &  Co.,  no  date.) 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


299 


Lord  of  Land,  and  therefore  giver  of  Food  ;  in  whicii  func= 
tion  his  lady,  as  you  have  heard  now  often  enough,  (first 
from  Carlyie),  is  properly  styled  Loaf-giver  :  her  duty  being, 
however,  first  of  all  to  find  out  where  all  loaves  come  from  ; 
for,  quite  retaining  his  character  in  the  other  two  respects, 
the  typical  squire  is  apt  to  fail  in  this,  and  to  become  rather 
a  loaf-eater,  or  consumer,  than  giver,  (compare  X.  133,  and  X. 
140)  ;  though  even  in  that  capacity  the  enlightened  press  of 
your  day  thinks  you  cannot  do  without  him.  (VIL  97.) 
Therefore,  for  analysis  of  what  he  has  been,  and  may  be,  I 
have  already  specified  to  you  certain  squires,  whose  history 
I  wish  you  to  know  and  tiiink  over;  (with  many  others  in 
due  course  ;  but,  for  the  present,  those  already  specified  are 
enough,)  namely,  the  Theseus  of  the  Elgin  Marbles  and  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream,  (IL  17);  the  best,  and  unfortunatest* 
of  the  Kings  of  France,  *St.  Louis'  (IIL  34)  ;  the  best  and 
unfortunatest  of  the  Kings  of  England,  Henry  II.  (III.  35)  ; 
the  Lion-heart  of  England  (III.  36)  ,  ICdward  III.  of  England 
and  his  lion's  whelp,  (IV.  55) ;  again  and  again  the  two 
Second  Friedrichs,  of  Germany  and  Prussia  ;  Sir  John  Hawk- 
wood,  (L  7,  and  XV.  204)  ;  SirTliomas  More,  (VIL  89)  ;  Sir 
Francis  Drake,  (XIII.  180)  ;  and  Sir  Richard  Grenville,  (IX. 
119).  Now  all  these  squires  arc  alike  in  their  high  quality  of 
captainship  over  man  and  beast  ;  they  were  pre-eminently 
the  best  men  of  their  surrounding  groups  of  men  ;  and  the 
guides  of  their  people,  faithfully  recognized  for  such  ;  unless 
when  their  people  got  drunk,  (which  sometimes  happened, 
with  sorrowful  issue,)  and  all  equality  with  them  seen  to  be 
divinely  impossible.  (Compare  XIV.  192).  And  that  most  of 
them  lived  by  thieving  does  not,  under  tlie  conditions  of 
their  day,  in  any  wise  detract  from  their  virtue,  or  impair 
their  delightfulness,  (any  more  than  it  does  that  of  your,  on 
the  whole  I  suppose,  favourite,  Englishman,  and  nomadic 

*  In  calling  a  man  pre-eminently  unfortunate,  I  do  not  mean  that,  as 
tompared  with  others,  he  is  absolulely  less  prosperous ;  but  that  he  is 
one  who  has  met  with  the  least  help  or  the  greatest  hostility,  from  the 
Third  Fors,  in  proportion  to  the  wiadom  of  his  purposes,  and  virtue  of 
his  character. 


300 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


Squire  of  Sherwood,  Robin  Hode  or  Hood)  ;  the  theft,  or 
piracy,  as  it  might  happen,  being  always  effected  with  a  good 
conscience,  and  in  an  open,  honourable  and  merciful  manner. 
Thus,  in  the  account  of  Sir  Francis's  third  voyage,  which 
was  faithfully  taken  out  of  the  reports  of  Mr.  Christofer 
Ceely,  Ellis  Hixon,  and  others  who  were  in  the  same  voyage 
with  him,  by  Philip  Nichols,  preacher,  revised  and  annotated 
by  Sir  BVancis  himself,  and  set  forth  by  his  nephew,  what  I 
told  you  about  his  proceedings  on  the  coast  of  Spanish 
America  (XIII.  180)  is  thus  summed, — 

"There  were  at  this  time  belonoincr  to  Cartha^rene,  Nom- 
bre  de  Dios,  Rio  Grand,  Santa  Martha,  Rio  de  Hacha,  Venta 
Cruz,  Veragua,  Nicaragua,  the  Honduras,  Jamaica,  &c.  about 
two  hundred  fregates,*  some  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  tunnes, 
other  but  of  tenne  or  twelve  tunne,  but  the  most  of  thirty  or 
forty  tunne,  which  all  had  entercourse  betweene  Carthagene 
and  Nombre  de  Dios,  the  most  of  w^hich,  during  our  abode  in 
those  parts,  wee  tooke,  and  some  of  them  twice  or  thrice  each, 
yet  never  burnt  nor  suncke  any,  unless  they  were  made  out 
men-of-warre  against  us.  .  .  .  Many  strange  birds,  beastes, 
and  fishes,  besides,  fruits,  trees,  plants  and  the  like  were 
scene  and  observed  of  us  in  this  journey,  which,  willingly, 
wee  pretermit,  as  hastening  to  the  end  of  our  voyage,  which 
from  this  Cape  of  St.  Anthony  wee  intended  to  finish  by  sayl- 
ing  the  directest  and  speediest  way  homeward,  and  accord- 
ingly even  beyonde  our  owne  expectation  most  happily  per- 
formed. For  whereas  our  captaine  had  purposed  to  touch 
at  New-found-land,  and  there  to  have  watered,  which  would 
have  been  some  let  unto  us,  though  wee  stood  in  great  want 
of  water,  yet  God  Almighty  so  provided  for  us,  by  giving  us 
good  store  of  raine  water,  that  wee  were  sufficiently  furnished; 
and  within  twenty-three  dayes  wee  past  from  the  Cape  of 
Florida  to  the  lies  of  Silley,  and  so  arriv^ed  at  Plimouth  on 
Sunday,  about  sermon-time,  August  the  Ninth,  1573,  at  what 
time  the  newes  of  our  captaine's  returne  brought  unto  his" 

*  Italian  ftregata,"  I  believe  polished  sided"  ship,  for  swiftness^ 
fricata  ;  **  but  the  derivation  is  uncertain. 


FOES  CLAVIOERA, 


301 


(people  ?)  did  so  speedily  pass  over  all  the  church,  and  sur- 
pass their  mindes  with  desire  and  delight  to  see  him,  that 
very  fewe  or  none  remained  with  the  preacher,  all  hastening 
to  see  the  evidence  of  God's  love  and  blessing  towards  our 
gracious  Queene  and  countrey,  by  the  fruite  of  our  captaines 
labour  and  successe.    Soli  Deo  gloria." 

I  am  curious  to  know,  and  hope  to  find,  that  the  deserted 
preacher  was  Mr.  Philip  Nichols,  the  compiler  afterwards  of 
this  log-book  of  Sir  Francis. 

Putting  out  of  the  question,  then,  this  mode  of  their  liveli- 
hood, you  will  find  all  these  squires  essentially  "captaines," 
head,  or  chief  persons,  occupied  in  maintaining  good  order, 
and  putting  things  to  rights,  so  that  they  naturally  become 
chief  Lawyers  without  Wigs,  (otherwise  called  Kings),  in  the 
districts  accessible  to  them.  Of  whom  I  have  named  first, 
the  Athenian  Theseus,  setter  to  rights,"  or  "settler,"  his 
name  means  ;  he  being  both  the  founder  of  the  first  city 
whose  history  you  are  to  know,  and  the  first  true  Ruler  of 
beasts  :  for  his  mystic  contest  with  the  Minotaur  is  the  fable 
through  which  the  Greeks  taught  what  they  knew  of  the 
more  terrible  and  mysterious  relations  between  the  lower 
creatures  and  man  ;  and  the  desertion  of  him  by  Ariadne, 
(for  indeed  he  never  deserted  her,  but  she  him, — involun- 
taiily,  poor  sweet  maid, — Death  calling  her  in  Diana's  name,) 
is  the  conclusive  stroke  against  him  by  the  Third  Fors. 

Of  this  great  squire,  then,  you  shall  really  have  some  ac- 
count in  next  letter.  I  have  only  further  time  now  to  tell  you 
that  this  month's  frontispiece  is  a  facsimile  of  two  separate 
parts  of  an  engraving  originally  executed  by  Sandro  Botti- 
celli. An  impression  of  Sandro's  own  plate  is  said  to  exist 
in  the  Vatican  ;  I  have  never  seen  one.  The  ordinarily  extant 
impressions  are  assuredly  from  an  inferior  plate,  a  copy  of 
Botticelli's.  But  his  manner  of  enfjravinof  has  been  imi- 
tated  by  the  copyist  as  far  as  he  understood  it,  and  the 
important  qualities  of  the  design  are  so  entirely  preserved 
that  the  work  has  often  been  assigned  to  the  master  him- 
self. 

It  represents  the  seven  works  of  Mercy,  as  completed  by  an 


302 


FGRS  CLAVIGEEA. 


eighth  work  in  the  centre  of  all  ;  namely,  lending  without 
interest,  from  the  Mount  of  Pity  accumulated  by  generous 
alms.  In  the  upper  part  of  the  design  are  seen  the  shores 
of  Italy,  with  the  cities  which  first  built  Mounts  of  Pity  : 
Venice,  chief  of  all  ; — then  Florence,  Genoa,  and  Castruccio's 

Lucca  ;  in  the  distance  prays 
the  monk  of  Ancona,  who  first 
thought — inspired   of  heaven 
' — of  such  war  with  usurers ; 
|V5W^^  and  an  angel  crowns  him,  as 
^^'v     you     see.    The  little  dashes, 
tkiL  which    form    the  dark  back- 

ground, represent  waves  of 
the  Adriatic  ;  and  thev,  as  well 


THE  MOUNT  OF  COMPASSION.  AND  CORONATION  OP  ITS  BUILDER. 
Drawn  thus  by  Sandbo  Botticelli. 


as  all  the  rest,  are  rightfully  and  manfully  engraved,  though 
you  may  not  think  it  ;  but  I  have  no  time  to-day  to  give 
you  a  lecture  on  engraving,  nor  to  tell  you  the  story  of 
Mounts  of  Pity,  which  is  too  pretty  to  be  spoiled  by  haste  ; 
but  I  hope  to  get  something  of  Theseus  and  Frederick  the 
Second,  preparatorily,  into  next  letter.    Meantime  I  must 


FORS  CLAVIGKUA. 


303 


close  this  one  by  answering  two  requests,  which,  though 
made  to  ine  privately,  I  think  it  right  to  state  my  reasons 
for  refusing  publicly. 

The  first  was  indeed  rather  the  offer  of  an  honour  to  me,  than 
a  request,  in  tiie  proposal  that  I  should  contribute  to  the 
Maurice  Memorial  Fund. 

I  loved  Mr.  Maurice,  learned  much  from  him,  worked  under 
his  guidance  and  authority,  and  liave  deep  regard  and  respect 
for  some  persons  whose  names  I  see  on  the  Memorial  Com- 
mittee. 

But  I  must  decline  joining  them  :  first,  because  I  dislike 
all  memorials,  as  such  ;  thinking  that  no  man  who  deserves 
them,  needs  them  ;  and  secondly,  because,  though  I  affec- 
tionately remember  and  honour  Mr.  Maurice,  I  liave  no  mind 
to  put  his  bust  in  Westminster  Abbey.  For  I  do  not  think  of 
him  as  one  of  the  great,  or  even  one  of  the  leading,  men  of 
the  England  of  his  day  ;  but  only  as  the  centre  of  a  group  of 
students  whom  his  amiable  sentimentalism  at  once  exalted 
and  stimulated,  while  it  relieved  them  from  any  painful  neces- 
sities of  exact  scholarship  in  divinit3\  And  as  he  was  always 
honest,  (at  least  in  intention),  and  unfailingly  earnest  and 
kind,  he  was  harmless  and  soothing  in  error,  and  vividly  help- 
ful wdien  unerrinsr.  I  have  above  referred  vou,  and  most 
thankfully,  to  his  sermon  on  the  relations  of  man  to  inferior 
creatures  ;  and  I  can  quite  understand  how  pleasant  it  was 
for  a  disciple  panic-struck  by  the  literal  aspect  of  the  doc- 
trine of  justification  by  faith,  to  be  told,  in  an  earlier  dis- 
course, that  "  We  speak  of  an  anticipation  as  justified  by  the 
event.  Supposing  that  anticipation  to  bo  something  so  inward, 
so  essential  to  me,  that  my  own  very  existence  is  involved  in 
it,  I  am  justified  by  it."  But  consolatory  equivocations  of 
this  kind  have  no  enduring  place  in  literature  ;  nor  has  Mr. 
Maurice  more  real  right  to  a  niche  in  Westminster  Abbey 
than  any  other  tender-hearted  Christian  gentleman,  who  has 
successfully,  for  a  time,  promoted  the  charities  of  iiis  faith, 
and  parried  its  discussion. 

I  have  been  also  asked  to  contribute  to  the  purchase  of  the 
Alexandra  Park  ;  and  I  will  not  :  and  beg  you,  my  working 


304 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


readers,  to  understand,  once  for  all,  that  I  wish  your  homes  to 
be  comfortable,  and  refined  ;  and  that  I  will  resist,  to  the  ut- 
most of  my  power,  all  schemes  founded  on  the  vile  modern 
notion  that  you  are  to  be  crowded  in  kennels  till  you  are  nearly 
dead,  that  other  people  may  make  money  by  your  work,  and 
then  taken  out  in  squads  by  tramway  and  railway,  to  be  re- 
vived and  refined  by  science  and  art.  Your  first  business  is 
to  make  your  homes  healthy  and  delightful  :  then,  keep  your 
wives  and  children  there,  and  let  your  return  to  them  be 
your  daily  "  holy  day." 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKTN. 


LETTER  XXIII. 

Brantwood, 

Mr  Friends,  October 

At  breakfast  this  morning,  which  I  was  eating  sulkily, 
because  I  had  final  press-corrections  to  do  on  Fors  (and  the 
last  are  always  worst  to  do,  being  without  repentance.)  I 
took  up  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  for  the  21st,  and  chanced  on 
two  things,  of  which  one  much  interested,  the  other  mucli 
pleased  me,  and  both  are  to  our  present  purpose. 

What  interested  me  was  the  statement  in  the  column  of 
"  This  Evening's  News,"  made  by  a  gentleman  much  ac- 
quainted with  naval  business,  that  Mr.  Goschen  is  the  one 
man  to  whom,  and  to  whom  alone,  we  can  as  a  nation  look 
even  for  permission  to  retain  our  power  at  sea." 

Whether  entirely,  or,  as  I  apprehend,  but  partially,  true, 
this  statement  is  a  remarkable  one  to  appear  in  the  journals 
of  a  nation  which  has  occupied  its  mind  lately  chiefly  on  the 
subject  of  its  liberties  ;  and  I  cannot  but  wonder  what  Sir 
Francis  Drake  would  have  thought  of  such  a  piece  of  Even- 
ing's News,  communicated  in  form  to  him! 

What  he  would  have  thought — if  you  can  fancy  it — would 
be  very  proper  for  you  also  to  think,  and  much  to  our 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


305 


eventual  purpose.  But  the  part  of  the  contents  of  the  Pall 
Mall  which  I  found  to  bear  on  the  subject  of  this  letter,  was 
the  address  by  a  mangled  convict  to  a  benevolent  gentle- 
man. The  Third  Fors  must  assuredly  have  determined  that 
this  letter  should  be  pleasing  to  the  Touchstone  mind, — the 
gods  will  have  it  poetical  ;  it  ends  already  with  rhyme,  and 
must  begin  in  like  manner,  for  these  first  twelve  verses  of 
the  address  are  much  too  precious  to  be  lost  among  "  news," 
whether  of  morning  or  evening. 

Mr.  P.  Taylor,  honnered  Sir, 

Accept  these  verses  I  indict, 
Thanks  to  a  gentle  mother  dear 

Whitch  taught  these  infant  hands  to  rite. 


And  thanks  unto  the  Cliaplin  here, 

A  heminent  relidjous  man, 
As  kind  a  one  as  ever  dipt 
A  beke  into  the  flowing  can. 

He  points  out  to  me  most  clear 

How  sad  and  sinfull  is  my  ways. 
And  numerous  is  the  briney  tear 
Whitch  for  that  man  I  nigtly  prays. 

**  *  Cohen,'  he  ses,  in  sech  a  voice  ! 

*  Your  lot  is  hard,  your  stripes  is  sore ; 
But  Cohen,'  he  ses,  *  rejoice  !  rejoice  1 
And  never  never  steale  no  more  ! ' 

His  langwidge  is  so  kind  and  good. 
It  works  so  strong  on  mo  inside, 

I  woold  not  do  it  if  I  could, 
I  coold  not  do  it  if  I  tryed. 

Ah,  wence  this  moisteur  im  my  eye 
Whot  makes  me  turn  agin  my  food  V 

O,  Mister  Taylor,  arsk  not  why, 
Ime  so  cut  up  with  gratitood. 

Fansy  a  gentleman  like  you, 
No  paultry  Beak,  but  a  M.  P. , 

A  riggling  in  your  heasy  chair 
The  riggles  they  put  onto  me. 

SO 


306 


F0R8  CLAVIGEEA. 


I  see  thee  shudderin  ore  thy  wine, — 

You  hardly  Jcnow  what  you  are  at, 
Whenere  you  think  of  Us  empiyin 

The  bloody  and  unhenglish  Cat. 

Well  may  your  indigernation  rise  ! 

I  call  it  Manley  what  you  feeled 
At  seein  Briton's  n-k-d  b-cks 

By  brutial  jailors  acked  and  weald. 

^'  Habolish  these  yere  torchiers ! 
Dont  have  no  horgies  any  more 
Of  arf  a  dozen  orficers 

All  wallerin  in  a  fellers  goar. 

^*  Inprisonment  alone  is  not 

A  thing  of  whitch  we  woold  complane ; 
Add  ill-conwenience  to  our  lot, 
But  do  not  give  the  convick  pain. 

And  well  you  know  that's  not  the  wust, 
Not  if  you  went  and  biled  us  whole ; 

The  Lash's  degeradation  ! — that's 
What  cuts  us  to  the  wery  soul  I" 

The  questions  respecting  punishment  and  reformation, 
which  these  verses  incidentally  propose,  are  precisely  the 
same  which  had  to  be  determined  three  thousand  vears  ag-o 
in  the  city  of  Athens — (the  only  difference  of  any  impor- 
tance beino-  that  the  instrument  of  execution  discussed  was 
club  instead  of  cat);  and  their  determination  gave  rise  to 
the  peculiar  form  in  which  the  history  of  the  great  Athenian 
Squire,  Theseus, — our  to-day's  subject — was  presented  to 
mankind. 

The  story  is  a  difficult  one  to  tell,  and  a  more  difficult  one 
still  to  understand.  The  likeness,  or  imagined  likeness,  of  the 
hero  himself,  as  the  Greeks  fancied  him,  you  may  see,  when 
you  care  to  do  so,  at  the  British  Museum,  in  simple  guise 
enough. 

Miss  Edgeworth,  in  her  noble  last  novel,  Helen^  makes  her 
hero  fly  into  a  passion  at  even  being  suspected  of  wishing 
to  quote  the  too  trite  proverb  that  No  man  is  a  hero  to  his 
valet-de-chambre."    But  Mr.  Beauclerk  disclaims  it  for  its 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


307 


triteness  only,  when  he  ought  rather  to  have  disclaimed  it 
for  its  untruth.  Every  truly  great  man  that  ever  I  heard  of, 
was  a  principal  hero  to  his  servants,  and  most  heroic  to 
those  most  intimate  with  him.  At  all  events,  the  Greeks 
meant  all  the  world  to  be  to  their  hero  as  valets-de-chambre, 
for  he  sits  mother-naked.  Under  wdiich  primitive  aspect,  in- 
deed, I  would  fain  show  you,  mentally  as  well  as  bodily, 
every  hero  I  give  you  account  of.  It  is  the  modern  metliod, 
in  order  to  give  you  more  inviting  pictures  of  people,  to 
dress  them — often  very  correctly,  in  the  costume  of  the  time, 
wuth  such  old  clothes  as  the  masquerade  shops  keep.  But 
my  own  steady  aim  is  to  strip  them  for  you,  that  you  may 
see  if  they  are  flesh,  indeed,  or  dust.  Similarly,  I  shall  try 
to  strip  theories  bare,  and  facts,  such  as  you  need  to  know. 

Mother-naked  sits  Theseus :  and  round  about  him,  not 
nmch  more  veiled,  ride  his  Athenians,  in  Pan-x\thenaic  pro- 
cession, honouring  their  Queen-Goddess.  Admired,  beyond 
all  other  marble  shapes  in  the  world  ;  for  which  reason,  the 
gentlemen  of  my  literary  club  here  in  I.ondon,  j>rofessing  de- 
votion to  the  same  i^oddess,  decorate  their  verv  comfortable 
corner  liouso  in  Pall  Mall  with  a  copy  of  this  A*:tic  sculpt- 
ure. 

Being  therein,  themselves,  Attic  in  no  wise,  but  essentially 
barbarous,  pilfering  what  they  cannot  imitate  :  for  a  truly 
Attic  mind  would  have  induced  them  to  pourtray  tfiemselves^ 
as  they  appear  in  their  own  Pan-Chi  istian  procession,  when- 
ever and  wherever  it  may  be  : — presumably,  to  Epsom  downs 
on  the  Derby  day. 

You  may  see,  I  said,  the  statue  of  Theseus  whenever  you 
care  to  do  so.  I  do  not  in  the  least  know  whv  vou  should 
care.  But  for  years  back,  you,  or  your  foolish  friends,  have 
been  making  a  mighty  fuss  to  get  yourselves  into  the  British 
Museum  on  Sundays  :  so  I  suppose  you  want  to  see  the 
Theseus,  or  the  stuffed  birds,  or  the  crabs  and  spiders,  or  the 
skeleton  of  the  gorilla,  or  the  parched  alligator-skins  ;  and 
you  imagine  these  contemplations  likely  to  improve,  and 
sanctify,  that  is  to  say,  recreate,  your  minds. 

But  are  you  quite  sure  you  have  got  any  minds  yet  to  be 


308 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


recreated  ?  Before  you  expect  edification  from  that  long 
gallery  full  of  long-legged  inconceivable  spiders,  and  colossal 
blotchy  crabs,  did  you  ever  think  of  looking  with  any  mind, 
or  mindfulness,  at  the  only  too  easily  conceivable  short-legged 
spider  of  your  own  English  acquaintance  ?  or  did  you  ever 
so  much  as  consider  why  the  crabs  on  Margate  sands  were 
minded  to  go  sideways  instead  of  straightforward  ?  Have 
you  so  much  as  watched  a  spider  making  his  cobweb,  or,  if 
you  have  not  yet  had  leisure  to  do  that,  in  the  toil  of  your 
own  cobweb-making,  did  you  ever  think  how  he  threw  his 
first  thread  across  the  corner  ? 

No  need  for  you  to  go  to  the  British  Museum  yet,  my 
friends,  either  on  Sundays  or  any  other  day. 

"  Well,  but  the  Greek  sculpture  ?  We  can't  see  that  at 
home  in  our  room  corners." 

And  what  is  Greek  sculpture,  or  any  sculpture,  to  you  ? 
Are  your  own  legs  and  arms  not  handsome  enough  for  you 
to  look  at,  but  you  must  go  and  stare  at  chipped  and  smashed 
bits  of  stone  in  the  likenesses  of  legs  and  arms  that  ended 
their  walks  and  work  two  thousand  years  ago  ? 

Your  own  legs  and  arms  are  not  as  handsome  as — you 
suppose  they  ought  to  be,"  say  you  ? 

No  ;  I  fancy  not  :  and  you  will  not  make  them  handsomer 
by  sauntering  with  your  hands  in  your  pockets  through  the 
British  Museum.  I  suppose  you  will  have  an  agitation,  next, 
for  leave  to  smoke  in  it.  Go  and  walk  in  the  fields  on  Sun- 
day, making  sure,  first,  therefore,  that  you  have  fields  to  walk 
in  :  look  at  living  birds,  not  at  stuffed  ones  ;  and  make  your 
own  breasts  and  shoulders  better  worth  seeing  than  the  Elgin 
Marbles. 

Which  to  effect,  remember,  there  are  several  matters  to  be 
thought  of.  The  shoulders  will  get  strong  by  exercise.  So 
indeed  will  the  breast.  But  the  breast  chiefly  needs  exercise 
inside  of  it — of  the  lungs,  namely,  and  of  the  heart ;  and  this 
last  exercise  is  very  curiously  inconsistent  with  many  of  the 
athletic  exercises  of  the  present  day.  And  the  reason  I  do 
want  you,  for  once,  to  go  to  the  British  Museum,  and  to  look 
at  that  broad  chest  of  Theseus,  is  that  the  Greeks  imagined 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


309 


it  to  have  something  better  than  a  Lion's  Heart  beneath  its 
breadth — a  Hero's  heart,  duly  trained  in  every  pulse. 

They  imagined  it  so.  Your  modern  extremely  wise  and 
liberal  historians  will  tell  you  it  never  was  so  : — that  no  real 
Theseus  ever  existed  then  ;  and  that  none  can  exist  now, 
or,  rather,  that  everybody  is  himself  a  Theseus  and  a  little 
more. 

All  the  more  strange  then,  all  the  more  instructive,  as  the 
disembodied  Cicinnatus  of  the  Roman,  so  this  disembodied 
Theseus  of  the  Ionian  ;  though  certainly  Mr.  Stuart  Mill 
could  not  consider  him,  even  in  that  ponderous  block  of 
marble  imagery,  a  utility  fixed  and  embodied  in  a  material 
object."  Not  even  a  disembodied  utility — not  even  a  ghost 
— if  he  never  lived.  An  idea  only  ;  yet  one  that  has  ruled 
all  minds  of  men  to  this  hour,  from  the  hour  of  its  first  being 
born,  a  dream,  into  this  practical  and  solid  world. 

Ruled,  and  still  rules,  in  a  thousand  ways,  which  you  know 
no  more  than  the  paths  by  which  the  winds  have  come  that 
blow  in  your  face.  But  you  never  pass  a  day  without  being 
brought,  somehow,  under  the  power  of  Theseus. 

You  cannot  pass  a  china-shop,  for  instance,  nor  an  uphol- 
sterer's, without  seeing,  on  some  mug  or  plate,  or  curtain, 
or  chair,  the  pattern  known  as  the  "  Greek  fret,"  simple  or 
complex.  I  once  held  it  in  especial  dislike,  as  the  chief 
means  by  which  bad  architects  tried  to  make  their  buildings 
look  classical  ;  and  as  ugly  in  itself.  Which  it  is  :  and  it 
has  an  ugly  meaning  also  ;  but  a  deep  one,  which  I  did  not 
then  know  ;  having  been  obliged  to  write  too  young,  when  I 
knew  only  half  truths,  and  was  eager  to  set  them  forth  by 
what  I  thought  fine  words.  People  used  to  call  me  a  good 
writer  then  ;  now  they  say  I  can't  write  at  all  ;  because,  for 
instance,  if  I  think  anybody's  house  is  on  fire,  I  only  say, 
"  Sir,  your  house  is  on  fire  ; "  whereas  formerly  I  used  to 
say,  Sir,  the  abode  in  which  you  probably  passed  the  de- 
lightful days  of  youth  is  in  a  state  of  inflammation,"  and 
everybody  used  to  like  the  effect  of  the  two  p's  in  "  probably 
passed,"  and  of  the  two  d's  in  "  delightful  days." 

Well,  that  Greek  fret,  ugly  in  itself,  has  yet  definite  and 


310 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


noble  service  in  decorative  v^^ork,  as  black  has  among  colours ; 
much  more,  lias  it  a  significance,  very  precious,  though  very 
solemn,  when  you  can  read  it. 

There  is  so  much  in  it,  indeed,  that  I  don't  well  know 
where  to  begin.  Perhaps  it  will  be  best  to  go  back  to  our 
cathedral  door  at  Lucca,  where  we  have  been  already.  For 
as,  after  examining  the  sculpture  on  the  bell,  with  the  help 
of  the  sympathetic  ringer,  I  was  going  in  to  look  at  the 
golden  lamp,  my  eyes  fell  on  a  slightly  traced  piece  of  sculpt- 
ure and  legend  on  the  southern  wall  of  the  porch,  which, 
partly  feeling  it  out  with  my  finger,  it  being  worn  away  by 
the  friction  of  many  passing  shoulders,  broad  and  narrow, 
these  six  hundred  years  and  more,  I  drew  for  you,  and  Mr. 
Burgess  has  engraved. 

The  straggling  letters  at  the  side,  read  straight,  and  with 
separating  of  the  words,  run  thus  : — 

HIC  QVEM  CRETICVS  EDIT  DEDALVB  EST  LABERINTHVS 
DE  QVO  NYLLVS  VADERE  QVIVIT  QVI  FVIT  INTVS 
NI  THESEVS  GRATIS  ADRIANE  STAMINE  JVTVS. 

which  is  in  English  : — 

This  is  the  labyrinth  which  the  Cretan  Dedalus  built. 
Out  of  which  nobody  could  get  who  was  inside, 
Except  Theseus;  nor  could  he  have  done  it,  unless  he  had  been 
helped  with  a  thread  by  Adraine,  all  for  love. 

Upon  which  you  are  to  note,  first,  that  the  grave  announce- 
ment, "  This  is  the  labyrinth  which  the  Cretan  Dedalus  built," 
may  possibly  be  made  interesting  even  to  some  of  your  chil- 
dren, if  reduced  from  mediaeval  sublimity,  into  your  more 
popular  legend — This  is  the  house  that  Jack  built."  The 
cow  with  the  crumpled  horn  will  then  remind  them  of  the 
creature  who,  in  the  midst  of  this  labyrinth,  lived  as  a  spider 
in  the  centre  of  his  web  ;  and  the  "maiden  all  forlorn"  may 
stand  for  Ariadne,  or  Adriane — (either  name  is  given  her  by 
Chaucer,  as  he  chooses  to  have  three  syllables  or  two) — while 
the  gradual  involution  of  the  ballad,  and  necessity  of  clear- 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA, 


311 


TTiindedness  as  well  as  clear  utterance  on  the  part  of  its 
singer,  is  a  pretty  vocal  imitation  of  the  deepening  labyrinth. 
Theseus,  being  a  pious  hero,  and  the  first  Athenian  knight 


who  cut  his  hair  short  in  front,  may  not  inaptly  be  repre- 
sented by  the  priest  all  shaven  and  shorn  ;  the  cock  that 
crew  in  the  morn  is  the  proper  Athenian  symbol  of  a  pugna- 
cious mind  ;  and  the  malt  that  lay  in  the  house  fortunately 


312 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA, 


indicates  the  connection  of  Theseus  and  the  Athenian  power 
with  the  mysteries  of  Eleusis,  where  corn  first,  it  is  said, 
grew  in  Greece.  And  by  the  way,  I  am  more  and  more 
struck  every  day,  by  the  singular  Grecism  in  Shakspeare's 
mind,  contrary  in  many  respects  to  the  rest  of  his  nature  ; 
yet  compelling  him  to  associate  English  fairyland  with  the 
great  Duke  of  Athens,  and  to  use  the  most  familiar  of  all 
English  words  for  land,  "  acre,"  in  the  Greek  or  Eleusinian 
sense,  not  the  English  one  ! 

**  Between  the  acres  of  the  rye, 
These  pretty  country-folks  do  lie — 

and  again — *^  search  every  acre  in  the  high  grown  field," 
meaning  "  ridge,"  or  crest,"  not  "  ager,"  the  root  of  ag- 
riculture." Lastly,  in  our  nursery  rhyme,  observe  that  the 
name  of  Jack,  the  builder,  stands  excellently  for  Dsedalus, 
retaining  the  idea  of  him  down  to  the  phrase,  "  Jack-of-all- 
Trades."  Of  this  Greek  builder  you  will  find  some  account 
at  the  end  of  my  Aratra  Pentelici  :  to-day  I  can  only  tell  you 
he  is  distinctively  the  power  of  finest  human,  as  opposed 
to  Divine,  workmanship  or  craftsmanship.  Whatever  good 
there  is,  and  whatever  evil,  in  the  labour  of  the  hands,  sepa- 
rated from  that  of  the  soul,  is  exemplified  by  his  history  and 
performance.  In  the  deepest  sense,  he  was  to  the  Greeks, 
Jack  of  all  trades,  yet  Master  of  none  ;  the  real  Master  of 
every  trade  being  always  a  God.  His  own  special  work  or 
craft  was  inlaying  or  dove-tailing,  and  especially  of  black  in 
white. 

And  this  house  which  he  built  was  his  finest  piece  of  invo- 
lution, or  cunning  workmanship  ;  and  the  memory  of  it  is 
kept  by  the  Greeks  for  ever  afterwards,  in  that  running  bor- 
der of  theirs,  involved  in  and  repeating  itself,  called  the 
Greek  fret,  of  which  you  will  at  once  recognise  the  character 
in  these  two  pictures  of  the  labyrinth  of  Daedalus  itself,  on 
the  coins  of  the  place  where  it  was  built,  Cnossus,  in  the 
island  of  Crete  ;  and  which  you  see,  in  the  frontispiece,  sur- 
rounding the  head  of  Theseus,  himself,  on  a  coin  of  the  samo 
city. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


313 


Of  course  frets  and  returning  lines  were  used  in  ornamen- 
tation when  there  were  no  labyrinths — probably  long  before 
labyrinths.  A  symbol  is  scarcely  ever  invented  just  when  it 
is  needed.  Some  already  recognised  and  accepted  form  or 
thing  becomes  symbolic  at  a  particular  time.  Horses  had 
tails,  and  the  moon  quarters,  long  before  there  were  Turks  ; 


but  the  horse-tail  and  crescent  are  not  less  definitely  symbolic 
to  the  Ottoman.  So,  the  early  forms  of  ornament  are  nearly 
alike,  among  all  nations  of  any  capacity  for  design  :  they  put 
meaning  into  them  afterwards,  if  they  ever  come  themselves 
to  have  any  meaning.  Vibrate  but  the  point  of  a  tool  against 
an  unbaked  vase,  as  it  revolves,  set  on  the  wheel, — you  have 
a  wavy  or  zigzag  line.  The  vase  revolves  once  ;  the  ends  of 
the  wavy  line  do  not  exactly  tally  when  they  meet  ;  you  get 
over  the  blunder  by  turning  one  into  a  liead,  the  other  into 
a  tail, — and  have  a  symbol  of  eternity — if,  first,  which  is 
wholly  needful,  you  have  an  idea  of  eternity  ! 

Again,  the  free  sweep  of  a  pen  at  the  finish  of  a  large  let- 
ter has  a  tendency  to  throw  itself  into  a  spiral.  There  is  no 
particular  intelligence,  or  spiritual  emotion,  in  the  production 
of  this  line.  A  worm  draws  it  with  his  coil,  a  fern  with  its 
bud,  and  a  periwinkle  with  his  shell.  Yet,  completed  in  the 
Ionic  capital,  and  arrested  in  the  bending  point  of  the  acan- 
thus leaf  in  the  Corintiiian  one,  it  has  become  the  primal  ele- 
ment of  beautiful  architecture  and  ornament  in  all  the  ages  ; 
and  is  eloquent  with  endless  symbolism,  representing  the 
power  of  the  winds  and  waves  in  Athenian  work,  and  of  the 
old  serpent,  which  is  the  Devil  and  Satan,  in  Gothic  work  : 
or,  indeed,  often  enough,  of  both,  the  Devil  being  held  prince 


314 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


of  the  power  of  the  air — as  in  the  story  of  Job,  and  the  lovely 
story  of  Buonconte  of  Montefeltro,  in  Dante  :  nay,  in  this 
very  tail  of  Theseus,  as  Chaucer  tells  it, — having  got  hold, 
by  ill  luck,  only  of  the  later  and  calumnious  notion  that 
Theseus  deserted  his  saviour-mistress,  he  wishes  him  Devil- 
speed  instead  of  God-speed,  and  that,  energetically — 

''A  iwenty-dival  way  the  wind  him  drive.'* 

For  which,  indeed,  Chaucer  somewhat  deserved,  (for  he  ought 
not  to  "have  believed  such  things  of  Theseus,)  the  God  of 
Love's  anger  at  his  drawing  too  near  the  daisy.  I  will  write 
the  pretty  lines  partly  in  modern  spelling  for  you,  that  you 
may  get  the  sense  better  : — 

I,  kneeling  by  this  flower,  in  good  intent, 

Abode,  to  know  what  all  the  people  meant, 

As  still  as  any  stone  ;  till  at  the  last 

The  God  of  Love  on  me  his  eyen  cast 

And  said,     Who  kneeleth  there  ?      And  I  answered 

Unto  his  asking. 

And  said,  ^'  Sir,  it  am  I,"  and  came  him  near 

And  salued  him. — Quoth  he,     What  dost  thou  here 

So  nigh  mine  own  flower,  so  boldly  ? 

It  were  better  worthy,  truly, 

A  worm  to  nighen  near  my  flower  than  thou." 

And  why.  Sir,"  quoth  I,     an  it  like  you  ?  " 

For  thou,"  quoth  he,  "  art  nothing  thereto  able, 
It  is  my  relike.  digne,  and  delitable. 
And  thou  my  foe,  and  all  my  folk  worriest.  * 
And  of  mine  old  servants  thou  missayest." 

But  it  is  only  for  evil  speaking  of  ladies  that  Chaucer  felt 
his  conscience  thus  pricked, — chiefly  of  Gressida  ;  whereas, 
I  have  written  the  lines  for  you  because  it  is  the  very  curse 
of  this  age  that  we  speak  evil  alike  of  ladies  and  knights, 
and  all  that  made  them  noble  in  past  days  ; — nay,  of  saints 
also  ;  and  I  have,  for  first  business,  next  January,  to  say  what 

*  Chaucer's  real  word  means  "  warrest  with  all  my  folk  ;  "  but  it  was 
80  closely  connected  with  weary"  and  "worry"  in  association  of 
sound,  in  his  dajys,  that  I  take  the  last  as  nearest  the  sense. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


315 


I  can  for  our  own  St.  George,  against  the  enlightened  modem 
American  view  of  him,  that  he  was  nothing  better  than 
a  swindling  bacon-seller  (good  enough,  indeed,  so,  for  us, 
now  ! ) 

But  to  come  back  to  the  house  that  Jack  built.  You  will 
want  to  know,  next,  whether  Jack  ever  did  build  it.  I  be^ 
lieve,  in  veritable  bricks  and  mortar — no  ;  in  veritable  lime- 
stone and  cave-catacomb,  perhaps,  yes  ;  it  is  no  matter  how  ; 
somehoio^  you  see,  Jack  must  have  built  it,  for  there  is  the 
picture  of  it  on  the  coin  of  the  town.  He  built  it,  just  as  St. 
George  killed  the  dragon  ;  so  that  you  put  a  picture  of  him 
also  on  the  coin  of  your  town. 

Not  but  that  the  real  and  artful  labyrinth  might  have  been, 
for  all  we  know.  A  very  real  one,  indeed,  was  built  by  twelve 
brotherly  kings  in  Egypt,  in  two  stories,  one  for  men  to  live 
in,  the  other  for  crocodiles  ; — and  the  upper  story  was  visi- 
ble and  wonderful  to  all  eyes,  in  authentic  times  :  whereas, 
we  know  of  no  one  who  ever  saw  Jack's  labyrinth  :  and  yet, 
curiously  enough,  the  real  labyrinth  set  the  pattern  of  noth- 
ing ;  while  Jack's  ghostly  labyrinth  has  set  the  pattern  of 
almost  everything  linear  and  complex,  since  ;  and  the  pretty 
spectre  of  it  blooms  at  this  hour,  in  vital  hawthorn  for  you, 
every  spring,  at  Hampton  Court. 

Now,  in  the  pictures  of  this  imaginary  maze,  you  are  to 
note  that  both  the  Cretan  and  Lucchese  designs  agree  in  be- 
ing composed  of  a  single  path  or  track,  coiled,  and  recoiled, 
on  itself.  Take  a  piece  of  flexible  chain  and  lay  it  down, 
considering  the  chain  itself  as  the  path  :  and,  without  an  in- 
terruption, it  will  trace  any  of  the  three  figures.  (The  two 
Cretan  ones  are  indeed  the  same  in  design,  except  in  being, 
one  square,  and  the  other  round.)  And  recollect,  upon  tiiis, 
that  the  word     Labyrinth  "  properly  means  "  rope- walk,"  or 

coil-of-rope-walk,"  its  first  syllable  being  probably  also  tiie 
same  as  our  English  name  Laura,"  '  the  path,'  and  its 
method  perfectly  given  by  Chaucer  in  the  single  line — And, 
for  the  house  is  crenkled  to  and  fro."  And  on  this,  note 
farther,  first,  that  had  the  walls  been  real,  instead  of  ghostly, 
there  would  have  been  no  difficulty  whatever  in  getting 


316 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA, 


either  out  or  in,  for  you  could  go  no  other  way.  But  if  th« 
walls  were  spectral,  and  yet  the  transgression  of  them  made 
your  final  entrance  or  return  impossible,  Ariadne's  clue  was 
needful  indeed. 

Note,  secondly,  that  the  question  seems  not  at  all  to  have 
been  about  getting  in  ;  but  getting  out  again.  The  clue,  at 
all  events,  could  be  helpful  only  after  you  had  carried  it  in  ; 
and  if  the  spider,  or  other  monster  in  midweb,  ate  you,  the 
help  in  your  clue,  for  return,  would  be  insignificant.  So  that 
this  thread  of  Ariadne's  implied  that  even  victory  over  the 
monster  would  be  vain,  unless  you  could  disentangle  yourself 
from  his  web  also. 

So  much  you  may  gather  from  coin  or  carving  :  next,  we 
try  tradition.  Theseus,  as  I  said  before,  is  the  great  settler 
or  law-giver  of  the  Athenian  state  ;  but  he  is  so  eminently 
as  the  Peace-maker,  causing  men  to  live  in  fellowship  who 
before  lived  separate,  and  making  roads  passable  that  were 
infested  bv  robbers  or  wild  beasts.  He  is  the  exterminator 
of  every  bestial  and  savage  element,  and  the  type  of  human, 
or  humane  power,  which  power  3'ou  will  find  in  this,  and  all 
my  other  books  on  policy,  summed  in  the  terms,  "  Gentleness 
and  Justice."  The  Greeks  dwelt  chiefly  in  their  thoughts  on 
tlie  last,  and  Theseus,  representing  the  first,  has  therefore 
most  difficulty  in  dealing  with  questions  of  punishment,  and 
criminal  justice. 

Now  the  justice  of  the  Greeks  was  enforced  by  three  great 
judges,  who  lived  in  three  islands,  ^acus  who  lived  in  the 
island  of  ^Egina,  is  the  administrator  of  distributive,  or  *  di- 
viding '  justice  ;  which  relates  chiefly  to  property,  and  his 
subjects,  as  being  people  of  industrious  temper,  were  once 
ants  ;  afterwards  called  Ant-people,  or  *  Myrmidons.' 

Secondly,  Minos,  who  lived  in  the  island  of  Crete,  was  the 
judge  who  punished  crime,  of  whom  presently  ;  finally,  Rhad- 
amanthus,  called  always  by  Homer  golden,"  or  "glowing" 
Rhadamanthus,  was  the  judge  who  rewarded  virtue  ;  and  he 
lived  in  a  blessed  island  covered  with  flowers,  but  which  eye 
of  man  hath  not  yet  seen,  nor  has  any  living  ear  beard  lisji 
of  waye  on  that  shore. 


FORS  CLAVIGEEA. 


317 


For  the  very  essence  and  primal  condition  of  virtue  is  that 
it  shall  not  know  of,  nor  believe  in,  any  blessed  islands,  till 
it  firnd  them,  it  may  be,  in  due  time. 

And  of  these  three  judges,  two  were  architects,  but  the 
third  only  a  gardener,  ^acus  helped  the  gods  to  build  the 
walls  of  Troy.  Minos  appointed  the  labyrinth  in  coils  round 
the  Minotaur  ;  but  Rhadamanthus  only  set  trees,  with  golden 
fruit  on  them,  beside  waters  of  comfort,  and  overlaid  the 
calm  waves  with  lilies. 

They  did  these  things,  I  tell  you,  in  very  truth,  cloud-hidden 
indeed  ;  but  the  things  themselves  are  with  us  to  this  day. 
No  town  on  earth  is  more  real  than  that  town  of  Troy.  Her 
prince,  long  ago,  was  dragged  dead  round  the  walls  that 
^acus  built  ;  but  her  princedom  did  not  die  with  him.  Only 
a  few  weeks  since,  I  was  actually  standing,  as  I  told  you, 
with  my  good  friend  Mr.  Parker,  watching  the  lizards  play 
among  the  chinks  in  the  walls  built  by  JEacus,  for  his  wan- 
dering Trojans,  by  Tiber  side.  And,  perhaps  within  memory 
of  man,  some  of  you  may  have  walked  up  or  down  Tower 
Street,  little  thinking  that  its  tower  was  also  built  by  abacus, 
for  his  wandering  Trojans  and  their  C;vsar,  by  Thames  side: 
and  on  Tower  Hill  itself — where  I  had  my  pocket  picked  only 
the  other  day  by  some  of  the  modern  ^acidae — stands  the 
English  Mint,  ''dividing"  gold  and  silver  which  yEacus,  first 
of  all  Greeks,  divided  in  his  island  of  yEgina,  and  struck  into 
intelligible  money-stamp  and  form,  that  men  might  render 
to  Cagsai  the  thins^s  which  are  Caesar's. 

But  the  Minos  labyrinth  is  more  real  yet  ;  at  all  events, 
more  real  for  us.  And  what  it  was,  and  is,  as  you  have  seen 
at  Lucca,  you  shall  hear  at  Florence,  where  you  are  to  learn 
Dante's  opinion  upon  it,  and  Sandro  Botticelli  shall  draw 
it  for  us. 

That  Hell,  which  so  many  people  think  the  only  place 
Dante  gives  any  account  of  (yet  seldom  know  his  account 
even  of  that),  was,  he  tells  you,  divided  into  upper,  midmost, 
and  nether  pits.  You  usually  lose  sight  of  this  main  division 
of  it,  in  the  more  complex  one  of  the  nine  circles  ;  but  re- 
member, these  are  divided  in  diminishing  proportion  \  six  of 


318 


FORS  CLAYIGERA. 


them  are  the  upper  hell  ;  two,  the  midmost  ;  one,  the  lowest.* 
You  will  find  this  a  very  pretty  and  curious  proportion.  Here 
it  is  in  labyrinthine  form,  putting  the  three  dimensions  at 
right  angles  to  each  other,  and  drawing  a  spiral  round  them. 
I  show  you  it  in  a  spiral  line,  because  the  idea  of  descent  is 
in  Dante's  mind,  spiral  (as  of  a  worm's  or  serpent's  coil) 

throughout  ;  even  to  the  mode  of 
Geryon's  flight,  "  ruota  e  discende  ;  " 
and  Minos  accordingly  indicates  which 
circle  any  sinner  is  to  be  sent  to,  in  a 
most  graphically  labyrinthine  manner, 
by  twisting  his  tail  round  himself  so 
many  times,  necessarily  thus  marking 
the  level. 

The  uppermost  and  least  dreadful 
hell,  divided  into  six  circles,  is  the  hell 
of  those  who  cannot  rightly  govern 
themselves,  but  have  no  mind  to  do 
\  mischief  to  any  one  else.  In  the  low- 
j  est  circle  of  this,  and  within  the  same 
^  walls  with  the  more  terrible  mid-hell, 
whose  stench  even  comes  up  and 
reaches  to  them,  are  people  who  have  not  rightly  governed 
their  thoughts:  and  these  are  buried  for  ever  in  fiery  tombs, 
and  their  thoughts  thus  governed  to  purpose  ;  which  you, 
my  friends,  who  are  so  fond  of  freedom  of  thought,  and  free- 
dom of  the  press,  may  wisely  meditate  on. 

Then  the  two  lower  hells  are  for  those  who  have  wilfully 
done  mischief  to  other  people.  And  of  these,  some  do  open 
injury,  and  some,  deceitful  injury,  and  of  these  the  rogues 
are  put  the  lower  ;  but  there  is  a  greater  distinction  in  the 
manner  of  sin,  than  its  simplicity  or  roguery  : — namely. 

*  The  deepening  orders  of  sin,  in  the  nine  circles,  are  briefly  these, 
— 1.  Unredeemed  nature  ;  2.  Lust ;  8.  Gluttony  ;  4.  Avarice  ;  5.  Dis- 
content ;  6.  Heresy ;  7.  Open  violence ;  8.  Fraudf  ul  violence ;  9. 
Treachery.  Bat  they  are  curiously  dove-tailed  together,— serpent- 
tailed,  I  should  say, — by  closer  coil,  not  expanding  plume.  You  shall 
imderstand  the  joiner's  work,  next  month. 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


319 


whether  it  be  done  in  hot  blood  or  in  cold  blood.  The  in- 
jurious sins,  done  in  hot  blood — that  is  to  say,  under  the 
influence  of  passion — are  in  the  midmost  hell  ;  but  the  sins 
done  in  cold  blood,  without  passion,  or,  more  accurately 
contrary  to  passion,  far  down  below  the  freezing  point,  are 
put  in  the  lowest  hell  :  the  ninth  circle. 

Now,  little  as  you  may  think  it,  or  as  the  friend  thought 
it,  who  tried  to  cure  me  of  jesting  the  other  day,  I  should 
not  have  taken  upon  me  te  write  this  if  I  had  not,  in 

some  degree,  been  cured  of  jesting  long  ago  ;  and  in  the 
same  way  that  Dante  was, — for  in  my  poor  and  faltering  path 
I  have  myself  been  taken  far  enough  down  among  the  dimin- 
ished circles  to  see  this  nether  hell — the  hell  of  Traitors  ;  and 
to  know,  what  people  do  not  usually  know  of  treachery,  that 
it  is  not  the  fraud,  but  the  cold-hear tedness^  which  is  chiefly, 
dreadful  in  it.  Therefore,  this  nether  Hell  is  of  ice,  not  fire  ; 
and  of  ice  that  nothing  can  break. 

Oh,  ill-Btarred  folk. 
Beyond  all  others  wretched,  who  abide 
In  Buch  a  mansion  as  scarce  thought  finds  words 
To  speak  of,  better  had  ye  here  on  earth 
Been  flocks,  or  mountain  goats. 

4c  «  «  «c 

I  saw,  before,  and  underneath  my  feet, 
A  lake,  whose  frozen  j-urface  liker  seemed 
To  glass  than  water.    Not  so  thick  a  veil 
In  winter  e'er  hath  Austrian  Danube  spread 
O'er  his  still  course,  nor  Tanais,  far  remote 
Under  the  chilling  sky.    Rolled  o'er  that  mass 
Had  Taberuich  or  Pietrapana  fallen 
Not  even  its  rim  had  creaked. 

As  peeps  the  frog. 
Croaking  above  the  wave, — what  time  in  dreams 
The  village  gleaner  oft  pursues  her  toil, — 
Blue-pinched,  and  shrined  in  ice,  the  spirits  stood. 
Moving  their  teeth  in  shrill  note,  like  the  stork." 

No  more  wandering  of  the  feet  in  labyrinth  like  this,  and 
the  eyes,  once  cruelly  tearless,  novV  blincl  with  frozen  tears. 
But  the  midmost  hell,  for  hot-blooded  sinners,  has  other  sort 


320 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


of  lakes, — -as,  for  instance,  you  saw  a  little  while  ago,  of  hot 
pitch,  in  which  one  bathes  otherwise  than  in  Serchio — (the 
Serchio  is  the  river  at  Lucca,  and  Pietrapana  a  Lucchese 
mountain).  But  observe, — for  here  we  get  to  our  main  work 
again, — the  great  boiling  lake  on  the  Phlegethon  of  this 
upper  hell  country  is  redj  not  black  ;  and  its  source,  as  well 
as  that  of  the  river  which  freezes  beneath,  is  in  this  island  of 
Crete  !  in  the  Mount  Ida,  "  joyous  once  with  leaves  and 
streams."  You  must  look  to  the  passage  yourselves — In- 
ferno^ XIV.  (line  120  in  Carey) — for  I  have  not  room  for  it 
now.  The  first  sight  of  it,  to  Dante,  is  as  "a  little  brook, 
whose  crimsoned  wave  Yet  lifts  my  hair  with  horror."  Virgil 
makes  him  look  at  this  spring  as  the  notablest  thing  seen  by 
him  in  hell,  since  he  entered  its  gate  ;  but  the  great  lake  of 
it  is  under  a  ruinous  mountain,  like  the  fallen  Alp  through 
which  the  iVdige  foams  down  to  Verona  ; — and  on  the  crest 
of  this  ruin  lies  crouched  the  enemy  of  Theseus — the  Mino- 
taur : 

' '  And  there. 
At  point  of  the  disparted  ridge,  lay  stretched 
The  infamy  of  Crete — at  sight  of  us 
It  gnawed  itself,  as  one  mth  rage  distract. 
To  him  my  guide  exclaimed,  *  Perchance  thou  deem'st 
The  King  of  Athens  here.'  " 

Of  whom  and  of  his  enemv,  I  have  time  to  tell  vou  no  more 
to-day — except  only  that  this  Minotaur  is  the  type  or  em- 
bodiment of  the  two  essentially  bestial  sins  of  Anger  and 
Lust  ; — that  both  these  are  in  the  human  nature,  interwoven 
inextricably  with  its  chief  virtue.  Love,  so  that  Dante  makes 
this  very  ruin  of  the  Rocks  of  hell,  on  which  the  Minotaur  is 
couched,  to  be  wrought  on  them  at  the  instant  when  "the 
Universe  was  thrilled  with  love," — (the  last  moment  of  the 
Crucifixion) — and  that  the  labyrinth  of  these  passions  is  one 
not  fabulous,  nor  only  pictured  on  coins  of  Crete.  And  the 
right  interweaving  of  Anger  with  Love,  in  criminal  justice, 
is  the  main  question  in  earthly  law,  which  the  Athenian  law- 
giver had  to  deal  with.  Look,  if  you  can,  at  my  introduc- 
tory Lectures  at  Oxford,  p.  83  ;  and  so  I  must  leave  Theseus 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA, 


321 


for  this  time  ; — in  next  letter,  which  will  be  chiefly  on  Christ- 
mas cheer,  I  must  really  try  to  get  as  far  as  his  vegetable  soup. 

As  for  -<^acus,  and  his  coining  business,  we  must  even  let 
them  alone  now,  till  next  year ;  only  I  have  to  thank  some 
readers  who  have  written  to  me  on  the  subject  of  interest  of 
money  (one  or  two  complaining  that  I  had  dismissed  it  too 
summarily,  when,  alas  !  I  am  only  at  the  threshold  of  it  !), 
and,  especially,  my  reader  for  the  press,  who  has  referred  me 
to  a  delightful  Italian  book,  Teoremi  di  Politica  Cristiana, 
(Naples,  1830),  and  copied  out  ever  so  much  of  it  for  me  ; 
and  Mr.  Sillar,  for  farther  most  useful  letters,  of  which  to- 
day I  can  only  quote  this  postscript  : — 

Please  note  that  your  next  number  of  Fors  Clavigera 
ought  to  be  in  the  hands  of  your  readers  on  Friday,  the  1st, 
or  Saturday,  the  2nd,  of  November.  The  following  day 
being  Sunday,  the  3rd,  there  will  be  read  in  every  church  in 
England,  or  in  the  world,  where  the  Church  Service  is  used, 
the  15th  Psalm,  which  distinctly  declares  the  man  who  shall 
ascend  to  God's  holy  hill  to  be  him  who,  amongst  other 
things,  has  not  put  forth  his  money  upon  usury  ;  a  verse 
impiously  ignored  in  most  of  the  metrical  versions  of  the 
Psalms  ;  those  adapted  to  popular  tunes  or  popular  preju- 
dices." 

I  think,  accordingly,  that  some  of  my  readers  may  be  glad 
to  have  a  sounder  version  of  that  Psalm  ;  and  as  the  14th  is 
much  connected  with  it,  and  will  be  variously  useful  to  us 
afterwards,  here  they  both  are,  done  into  verse  by  an  Eng- 
lish squire, — or  his  sister,  for  they  alike  could  rhyme  ;  and 
the  last  finished  singing  what  her  brother  left  unsung,  the 
Third  Fors  having  early  put  seal  on  his  lips. 

PSALM  {Dixit  Insipieiis,) 

The  foolish  man  by  flesh  and  fancy  ledd, 
His  guilty  hart  with  this  fond  thought  hath  fed : 
There  is  noe  God  that  raigneth. 

And  so  thereafter  he  and  all  his  mates 
Do  workes,  which  earth  corrupt,  and  Heaven  hates  s 
Not  one  that  good  reniaineth. 

21 


523 


F0R8  CLAVIGEMA. 


Even  God  him  self  sent  down  his  piercing  ey. 
If  of  this  clayy  race  he  could  espy 

One.  that  his  wisdome  leameth* 

And  loe,  he  fiDds  that  all  a  strayeng  went : 
All  plung'd  in  stincking  filth,  not  one  well  bent, 
Not  one  that  God  discemeth. 

O  maddnes  of  these  folkes,  thus  loosly  ledd  I 
These  caniballs,  who,  as  if  they  were  bread, 
Gods  people  do  devower : 

Nor  ever  call  on  God  ;  but  they  shall  quake 
More  than  they  now  do  bragg,  when  he  shall  take 
The  just  into  his  power. 

Indeede  the  poore,  opprest  by  you,  you  mock  : 
Their  councells  are  your  common  jesting  stock  : 
But  God  is  their  reeomfort. 

Ah,  when  from  Syon  shall  the  Saver  come 
That  Jacob,  freed  by  thee,  may  glad  become 
And  Israel  full  of  comfort  ? 


PSALM  XV. — {Dominey  quis  haUtaUU) 

In  tabernacle  thine,  O  Lord,  who  shall  remaine  ? 

Lord,  of  thy  holy  hill,  who  shall  the  rest  obtain  ? 

Ev'n  he  that  leades  a  life  of  uncorrupted  traine, 

Whose  deeds  of  righteous  hart,  whose  harty  wordes  be  plain  : 

Who  with  deceitfuU  tongue  hath  never  us'd  to  faine  ; 

Nor  neighboure  hurtes  by  deede,  nor  doth  with  slander  stain : 

Whose  eyes  a  person  vile  doth  hold  in  vile  disdain e. 

Bat  doth,  with  honour  greate,  the  godly  entertaine  : 

Who  othe  and  promise  given  doth  faithfully  maintain, 

Although  some  worldly  losse  thereby  he  may  sustain ; 

From  bityng  usury  who  ever  doth  refraine : 

Who  sells  not  guiltlesse  cause  for  filthy  love  of  gain, 

Who  thus  proceedes  for  ay,  in  sacred  mount  shall  raign. 

You  may  not  like  this  old  English  at  first  ;  but,  if  you 
can  find  anybody  to  read  it  to  you  yvho  has  an  ear,  its  ca- 
dence is  massy  and  grand,  more  than  that  of  most  verse  I 
know,  and  never  a  word  is  lost.  Whether  you  like  it  or  not, 
the  sense  of  it  is  true,  and  the  way  to  the  sacred  mount  (of 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


323 


which,  mounts  whether  of  Pity,  or  of  Roses,  are  but  shad- 
ows,) told  you  for  once,  straight-forvvardly, — on  which  road 
I  wish  you  Godspeed. 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


LETTER  XXIV. 

Corpus  Ciiristi  Coll., 

November  Wi,  1^1^. 

My  Friends, 

I  SHALL  not  call  you  so  any  more,  after  this  Christmas  ; 
first,  because  things  have  chanced  to  me,  of  late,  which  have 
made  me  too  sulky  to  be  friends  with  anybody  ;  secondly, 
because  in  the  two  years  during  which  I  have  been  writing 
these  letters,  not  one  of  you  has  sent  me  a  friendly  word  of 
answer  ;  lastly,  because,  even  if  you  xoere  my  friends,  it 
would  be  waste  print  to  call  you  so,  once  a  month.  Nor  shall 
I  sign  myself  "  faithfully  yours"  any  more  ;  being  very  far 
from  faithfully  my  own,  and  having  found  most  other  peo- 
ple anything  but  faithfully  mine.  Nor  shall  I  sign  my  name, 
for  I  never  like  the  look  of  it  ;  being,  I  apprehend,  only 
short  for  "Rough  Skin,"  in  the  sense  of  "  Pigskin  ;"  (  and 
indeed,  the  planet  under  which  I  was  born,  Saturn,  has  su- 
preme power  over  pigs,) — nor  can  I  find  historical  mention 
of  any  other  form  of  the  name,  except  one  I  made  no  refer- 
ence to  when  it  occurred,  as  that  of  the  leading  devil  of  four, 
Red-skin — Blue-skin — and  I  forget  the  skins  of  the  other  two 
— who  performed  in  a  religious  play,  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury, which  was  nearly  as  comic  as  the  religious  earnest  of  our 
own  century.  So  that  the  letters  will  begin,  henceforward, 
without  address  ;  and  close  without  signature.  You  will 
probably  know  whom  they  come  from,  and  I  don't  in  the 
least  care  whom  they  go  to. 

I  was  in  London,  all  day  yesterday,  wliere  the  weather  was 
as  dismal  as  is  its  wont  ;  and,  returning  here  by  the  evening 
train,  saw,  with  astonishment,  the  stars  extricate  themselves 


^24 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


from  the  fog,  and  the  moon  glow  for  a  little  while  in  her  set- 
ting, over  the  southern  Berkshire  hills,  as  I  breathed  on  the 
platform  of  the  Reading  station  ; — (for  there  were  six  people 
in  the  carriage  and  they  had  shut  both  windows). 

When  I  got  to  Oxford,  the  sky  was  entirely  clear  ;  the 
great  Bear  was  near  the  ground  under  the  pole,  and  the 
Charioteer  higli  over-head,  the  principal  star  of  him  as  bright 
as  a  gas-lamp. 

It  is  a  curious  default  in  the  stars,  to  my  mind,  that  there 
is  a  Charioteer  among  them  \vithout  a  chariot,  and  a  Waggon 
with  no  waggoner  ;  nor  any  waggon,  for  that  matter,  except 
the  Bear's  stomach  ;  but  I  have  always  wanted  to  know  the 
history  of  the  absent  Charles,  who  must  have  stopped,  I  sup- 
pose to  drink,  while  his  cart  went  on,  and  so  never  got  to  be 
stellified  himself.  I  wish  I  knew  ;  but  I  can  tell  you  less 
about  him  than  even  about  Theseus.  The  Charioteer's  storv 
is  pretty,  however  :  he  gave  his  life  for  a  kiss,  and  did  not 
get  it  ;  got  made  into  stars  instead.  It  would  be  a  dainty 
tale  to  tell  you  under  the  mistletoe  :  perhaps  I  may  have 
time  next  year  :  to-day  it  is  of  the  stars  of  Ariadne's  crown 
I  want  to  speak. 

But  that  giving  one's  life  for  a  kiss,  and  not  getting  it,  is 
indeed  a  general  abstract  of  the  Greek  notion  of  heroism, 
and  its  reward  ;  and,  by  the  way,  does  it  not  seem  to  you  a 
grave  defect  in  the  stars,  at  Christmas  time,  that  all  their 
stories  are  Greek — not  one  Christian  ?  In  all  the  east,  and 
all  the  west,  there  is  not  a  space  of  heaven  with  a  Christian 
story  in  it  ;  the  star  of  the  Wise  men  having  risen  but  once^ 
and  set,  it  seems,  for  ever  ;  and  the  stars  of  Foolish  men,  in- 
numerable, but  unintelligible,  forming,  I  suppose,  all  across 
the  sky  that  broad  way  of  Asses'  milk  ;  while  a  few  Greek 
heroes  and  hunters,  a  monster  or  two,  and  some  crustaceous 
animals,  occupy,  here  in  the  north,  our  heaven's  compass, 
down  to  the  very  margin  of  the  illuminated  book.  A  sky 
quite  good  enough  for  us,  nevertheless,  for  all  the  use  we 
make  of  it,  either  by  night  or  day — or  any  hope  we  have  of 
getting  into  it — or  any  inclination  we  have,  while  still  out  of 
it,  to  "  take  stars  for  our  money." 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


325 


Yet,  with  all  deference  to  George  Herbert,  I  will  take 
them  for  nothing  of  the  sort.  Money  is  an  entirely  pleasant 
and  proper  thing  to  have,  itself  ;  and  the  first  shilling  I  ever 
got  in  my  life,  I  put  in  a  pill-box,  and  put  it  under  my  pil- 
low, and  couldn't  sleep  all  night  for  satisfaction.  I  couldn't 
have  done  that  with  a  star  ;  though  truly  the  pretty  sys- 
tem of  usury  makes  the  stars  drop  down  something  else 
than  dew.  I  got  a  note  from  an  arithmetical  friend  the 
other  day,  speaking  of  the  death  of  "  an  old  lady,  a  cousin 
of  mine,  who  left — left,  because  she  could  not  take  it  with 
her — 200,000/.  On  calculation,  I  found  this  old  lady  who 
has  been  lying  bedridden  for  a  year,  was  accumulating  money 
(^.  e,  the  results  of  other  people's  labour),  at  the  rate  of  4d. 
a  minute  ;  in  other  words,  she  awoke  in  the  morning  ten 
pounds  richer  than  she  went  to  bed."  At  which,  doubtless, 
and  the  like  miracles  throughout  the  world,  the  stars  with 
deep  amaze,  stand  fixed  with  stedfast  gaze  :  "  for  this  is,  in- 
deed, a  Nativity  of  an  adverse  god  to  the  one  you  profess  to 
honour,  with  them,  and  the  angels,  at  Christmas,  by  over- 
eating yourselves. 

I  suppose  that  is  the  quite  essential  part  of  the  religion 
of  Christmas  ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  about  the  most  religious 
thing  you  do  in  the  year  ;  and  if  pious  people  would  under- 
stand, generally,  that,  if  there  be  indeed  any  other  God  than 
Mammon,  He  likes  to  see  people  comfortable,  and  nicely 
dressed,  as  much  as  Mammon  likes  to  see  tliem  fasting  and 
in  rags,  they  might  set  a  wiser  example  to  everybody  than 
they  do.  I  am  frightened  out  of  my  wits,  every  now  and  then, 
here  at  Oxford,  by  seeing  something  come  out  of  poor  peo- 
ples's  houses,  all  dressed  in  black  down  to  the  ground  ;  which, 
(having  been  much  thinking  of  wicked  things  lately),  I  at 
first  take  for  the  Devil,  and  tlien  find,  to  my  extreme  relief 
and  gratification,  that  it's  a  Sister  of  Charity.  Indeed,  the 
only  serious  disadvantage  of  eating,  and  fine  dressing,  con- 
sidered as  religious  ceremonies,  whether  at  Christmas,  or  on 
Sunday,  in  the  Sunday  dinner  and  , Sunday  gown, — is  that 
you  don't  always  clearly  understand  what  the  eating  and 
dressing  signify.    For  example:  why  should  Sunday  be  kept 


326 


FORH  CLAVIGEUA. 


otherwise  than  Christinas,  and  be  less  merry  ?  Because  it  is 
a  day  of  rest,  commemorating  the  fulfilment  of  God's  easy 
work,  while  Christmas  is  a  day  of  toil,  commemorating  the 
beginning  of  his  difficult  work  ?  Is  that  the  reason  ?  Or 
because  Christmas  commemorates  His  stooping  to  thirty 
years  of  sorrow,  and  Sunday  His  rising  to  countless  years  of 
joy  ?  Which  should  be  the  gladdest  day  of  the  two,  think 
you,  on  either  ground  ?  Why  haven't  you  Sunday  panto- 
mimes ? 

It  is  a  strait  and  sore  question  with  me,  for  when  I  was  a 
child,  I  lost  the  pleasure  of  some  three-sevenths  of  my  life 
because  of  Sunday  ;  for  I  always  had  a  way  of  looking  for- 
ward to  things,  and  a  lurid  shade  was  cast  over  the  whole  of 
Friday  and  Saturday  by  the  horrible  sense  that  Sunday  was 
coming,  and  inevitable.  Not  that  I  was  rebellious  against 
my  good  mother  or  aunts  in  any  wise  ;  feeling  only  that  we 
were  all  crushed  under  a  relentless  fate  ;  which  was  indeed 
the  fact,  for  neither  they  nor  I  had  the  least  idea  what  Holi- 
ness meant,  beyond  what  I  find  stated  very  clearly  by  Mr. 
David — the  pious  author  of  "  the  Paradezeal  system  of  Bot- 
any, an  arrangement  representing  the  whole  globe  as  a  vast 
blooming  and  fruitful  Paradise,"  that  "  Holiness  is  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  Ho's." 

My  mother,  indeed,  never  went  so  far  as  my  aunt  ;  nor 
carried  her  religion  down  to  the  ninth  or  glacial  circle  of 
Holiness,  by  giving  me  a  cold  dinner  ;  and  to  this  day,  I  am 
apt  to  over-eat  myself  with  Yorkshire  pudding,  in  remem- 
brance of  the  consolation  it  used  to  afford  me  at  one  o'clock. 
Good  Friday,  also,  was  partly  intermedled,"  as  Chaucer 
would  call  it,  with  light  and  shade,  because  there  were  hot- 
cross-buns  at  breakfast,  though  we  had  to  go  to  church  after- 
wards. And,  indeed,  I  observe,  happening  to  have  under 
my  hand  the  account  in  the  Daily  Telegraph  of  Good  Friday 
at  the  Crystal  Palace,  in  1870,  that  its  observance  is  for  your 
sakes  also  now  intermedled  "  similarly,  with  light  and  shade, 
by  conscientious  persons  :  for,  in  that  year,  "  whereas  in 
former  years  the  performances  had  been  exclusively  of  a 
religious  character,  the  directors  had  supplemented  their 


F0R8  CLAVIGEHA. 


327 


programme  with  secular  amusements."  It  was,  I  suppose, 
considered  "secular"  that  the  fountains  should  play  (though 
I  liave  noticed  tiiat  natural  ones  persist  in  that  profane  prac- 
tice on  Sunday  also),  and  accordingly,  "  there  was  a  very 
abundant  water-supply,  while  a  brilliant  sun  gave  many 
lovely  prismatic  effects  to  the  fleeting  and  changeful  spray" 
(not  careful,  even  the  sun,  for  his  part,  to  remember  how 
once  he  became  black  as  sackcloth  of  hair").  "A  striking 
feature  presented  itself  to  view  in  the  shape  of  the  large  and 
handsome  pavilion  of  Howe  and  Cushing's  American  circus. 
This  vast  pavilion  occupies  the  whole  centre  of  the  grand 
terrace,  and  was  gaily  decorated  with  bunting  and  fringed 
with  the  show-carriages  of  the  circus,  which  were  bright 
with  gilding,  mirrors,  portraits,  and  scarlet  panels.  The  out- 
door amusements  began  " — (the  English  public  always  re- 
taining a  distinct  impression  that  this  festival  was  instituted 
in  the  East) — "  with  an  Oriental  procession  " — (by  the  way, 
why  don't  we  always  call  Wapping  the  Oriental  end  of  Lon- 
don ?) — of  fifteen  camels  from  the  circus,  mounted  by  negroes 
wearing  richly-coloured  and  bespangled  Eastern  costume. 
The  performances  then  commenced,  and  continued  through- 
out tlie  day,  the  attractions  comprising  the  trained  wolves, 
the  wonderful  monkeys,  and  tlie  usual  scenes  in  the  circle." 

There  was  darkness  over  all  the  earth  until  the  ninth 
hour."  I  often  wonder,  myself,  how  long  it  will  be,  in  the 
crucifixion  afresh,  which  all  the  earth  has  now  resolved  upon, 
crying  with  more  unanimous  shout  than  ever  the  Jews,  "Not 
this  man,  but  Barabbas" — before  the  Ninth  Hour  comes. 

Assuming,  however,  that,  for  the  nonce,  trained  wolves 
and  wonderful  monkeys  are  proper  entertainments  on  Good 
Friday,  pantomimes  on  Boxing-day,  and  sermons  on  Sunday, 
have  you  ever  considered  what  observance  mig'ht  be  due  to 
Saturday, — the  day  on  whicli  He  "  preached  to  tlie  spirits  in 
prison*"  ?  for  that  seems  to  me  quite  the  part  of  the  three 
days'  work  which  most  of  us  might  first  hope  for  a  share  in. 
I  don't  know  whether  any  of  you  perceive  that  your  spirits 
are  in  prison.  I  know  mine  is,  and  that  I  would  fain  have  it 
preached  to,  and  delivered,  if  it  be  possible,    For,  however 


328 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA, 


far  and  steep  the  slope  may  have  been  into  the  hell  which 
you  say  every  Sunday  that  you  believe  He  descended  into, 
there  are  places  trenched  deep  enough  now  in  all  our  hearts 
for  the  hot  lake  of  Phlegethon  to  leak  and  ooze  into  :  and 
the  rock  of  their  shore  is  no  less  hard  than  In  Dante's 
time. 

And  as  your  winter  rejoicings,  if  they  mean  anything  at 
all,  mean  that  you  have  now,  at  least,  a  chance  of  deliverance 
from  that  prison,  I  will  ask  you  to  take  the  pains  to  under- 
stand what  the  bars  and  doors  of  it  are,  as  the  wisest  man 
who  has  yet  spoken  of  them  tells  you. 

There  is  first,  observe,  this  great  distinction  in  his  mind 
between  the  penalties  of  the  Hell,  and  the  joy  of  Paradise. 
The  penalty  is  assigned  to  definite  act  of  hand  ;  the  joy,  to 
definite  state  of  mind.  It  is  questioned  of  no  one,  either  in 
the  Purgatory  or  the  Paradise,  what  he  has  done  ;  but  only 
what  evil  feeling  is  still  in  his  heart,  or  what  good,  when 
purified  wholly,  his  nature  is  noble  enough  to  receive. 

On  the  contrary.  Hell  is  constituted  such  by  the  one  great 
negative  state  of  being  without  Love  or  Fear  of  God  ; — 
there  are  no  degrees  of  that  State  ;  but  there  are  more  or 
less  dreadful  sins  which  can  be  done  in  it,  according  to  the 
degradation  of  the  unredeemed  Human  nature.  And  men 
are  judged  according  to  their  works. 

To  give  a  single  instance.  The  punishment  of  the  fourth 
circle  in  Hell  is  for  the  Misuse  of  Money,  for  having  either 
sinfully  kept  it,  or  sinfully  spent  it.  But  the  pain  in  Purga- 
tory is  only  for  Laving  sinfully  Loved  it  :  and  the  hymn  of 
repentance  is,  My  soul  cleaveth  unto  the  dust  ;  quicken 
thou  me." 

Farther,  and  this  is  very  notable.  You  might  at  first 
think  that  Dante's  divisions  were  narrow  and  artificial  in  as* 
signing  each  circle  to  one  sin  only,  as  if  every  man  did  not 
variously  commit  many.  But  it  is  always  one  s*n,  the 
favourite,  which  destroys  souls.  That  conquered,  all  others 
fall  with  it  ;  that  victorious,  all  others  follow  with  it. 
Nevertheless,  as  I  told  you,  the  joiner's  w^ork,  and  inter- 
woven walls  of  Dante's  Inferno,  marking  double  forms  of  sin, 


FOItS  CLAVIGERA. 


329 


and  their  overlapping,  as  it  were,  when  they  meet,  is  one  of 
the  subtlest  conditions  traceable  in  his  whole  design. 

Look  back  to  the  scheme  I  gave  you  in  last  number.  The 
Minotaur,  spirit  of  lust  and  anger,  rules  over  the  central  hell. 
But  the  sins  of  lust  and  anger,  definitely  and  limitedly  de- 
scribed as  such,  are  punished  in  the  upper  hell,  in  the  second 
and  fifth  circles.    Why  is  this,  think  you  ? 

Have  you  ever  noticed — enough  to  call  it  noticing  seri- 
ously— the  expression,  "  fulfilling  the  desires  of  the  flesh 
and  of  the  mind?  "  There  is  one  lust  and  one  anger  of  the 
flesh  only  ;  these,  all  men  must  feel  ;  rightly  feel,  if  in  tem- 
perance ;  wrongly,  if  in  excess  ;  but  even  then,  not  neces- 
sarily to  the  destruction  of  their  souls.  But  there  is  another 
lust,  and  another  anger,  of  the  heart  ;  and  these  are  the 
Furies  of  Phlegethon — wholly  ruinous.  Lord  of  these,  on 
the  shattered  rocks,  lies  couched  the  infamy  of  Crete.  For 
when  the  heart,  as  well  as  the  flesh,  desires  what  it  should 
not,  and  the  heart,  as  well  as  the  flesh,  consents  and  kindles 
to  its  wrath,  the  whole  ipan  is  corrupted,  and  his  heart's 
blood  is  fed  in  its  veins  from  the  lake  of  fire. 

Take  for  special  example,  this  sin  of  usury  with  which  we 
have  ourselves  to  deal.  The  punishment  in  the  fourth  circle 
of  the  upper  hell  is  on  Avarice,  not  Usury.  For  a  man 
may  be  utterly  avaricious, — greedy  of  gold — in  an  instinctive, 
fleshly  way,  yet  not  corrupt  his  intellect.  Many  of  the  most 
good-natured  men  are  misers  :  my  first  shilling  in  the  pill- 
box and  sleepless  night  did  not  at  all  mean  that  I  was  an  ill- 
natured  or  illiberal  boy  ;  it  did  mean,  what  is  true  of  me 
still,  that  I  should  have  great  delight  in  counting  money,  and 
laying  it  in  visible  heaps  and  rouleaux.  I  never  part  with  a 
new  sovereign  without  a  sigh  :  and  if  it  were  not  that  I  am 
afraid  of  thieves,  1  would  positively  and  seriously,  at  this 
moment,  turn  all  I  have  into  gold  of  the  newest,  and  dig  a 
hole  for  it  in  my  garden,  and  go  and  look  at  it  every  morn- 
ing and  evening,  like  the  man  in  ^sop's  Fables,  or  Silas 
Marner  :  and  where  I  think  thieves  will  not  break  through 
nor  steal,  I  am  always  laying  up  for  myself  treasures  upon 
earth,  with  the  most  eager  appetite  :  tliat  bit  of  gold  and 


330 


FOnS  CLAVIGEEA, 


diamonds,  for  instance  (lY.  46.),  and  the  most  gilded  mas&i 
books,  and  such  like,  I  can  get  hold  of  ;  the  acquisition 
of  a  Koran,  with  two  hundred  leaves  richly  gilt  on  both 
sides,  only  three  weeks  since,  afforded  me  real  consolation 
under  variously  trying  circumstances. 

Truly,  my  soul  cleaves  to  the  dust  of  such  things.  But  I 
have  not  so  perverted  my  soul,  nor  palsied  my  brains,  as  to 
expect  to  be  advantaged  by  that  adhesion.  I  don't  expect, 
because  I  have  gathered  much,  to  find  Nature  or  man  gather- 
ing for  me  more  : — to  find  eighteen-pence  in  my  pill-box  in 
the  morning,  instead  of  a  shilling,  as  a  "  reward  for  conti- 
nence ;  "  or  to  make  an  income  of  my  Koran  by  lending  it  to 
poor  scholars.  If  I  think  a  scholar  can  read  it, — (N.B.,  I 
can't,  myself,) — and  would  like  to — and  wdll  carefully  turn 
the  leaves  by  the  outside  edge,  he  is  welcome  to  read  it  for 
nothing  :  if  he  has  got  into  the  habit  of  turning  leaves  by 
the  middle,  or  of  wetting  his  finger,  and  shuffling  up  the 
corners,  as  I  see  my  banker's  clerks  do  with  their  ledgers, 
for  no  amount  of  money  shall  he  read  it.  (Incidentally, 
note  the  essential  vulgarism  of  doing  anythmg  in  a 
hurry.) 

So  that  my  mind  and  brains  are  in  fact  untainted  and  un- 
warped  by  lust  of  money,  and  I  am  free  in  that  resjject  from 
the  power  of  the  Infamy  of  Crete. 

I  used  the  words  just  above — ^Furies  of  Phlegethon.  You 
are  beginning  to  know  something  of  the  Fates  :  of  the  Furies 
also  you  must  know  something*. 

The  pit  of  Dante's  central  hell  is  reserved  for  those  who 
have  actually  committed  malicious  crime,  involving  merci- 
lessness  to  their  neighbour,  or,  in  suicide,  to  themselves. 
But  it  is  necessary  to  serpent-tail  this  pit  with  the  upper 
hell  by  a  district  for  insanity  without  deed  ;  the  Fury  w^hich 
has  brought  horror  to  the  eyes,  and  hardness  to  the  heart, 
and  yet,  having  possessed  itself  of  noble  persons,  issues  in  no 
malicious  crime.  Therefore  the  sixth  circle  of  the  upper  hell 
is  walled  in,  together  with  the  central  pit,  as  one  grievous 
city  of  the  dead  ;  and  at  the  gates  of  it  the  warders  are 
fiends,  and  the  watchers  Furies. 


FOnS  CLAVIGERA, 


331 


Watchers^  observe,  as  sleepless.  Once  in  their  companion- 
ship, 

Nor  poppy,  nor  maudragora, 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world, 
Shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
Which  thou  ovved'st  yesterday. 

Sleepless  and  merciless  ;  and  yet  in  the  Greek  vision  of 
them  which  -^schylus  wrote,  they  are  first  seen  asleep  ;  and 
they  remain  in  the  city  of  Theseus,  in  mercy. 

Elsewhere,  furies  that  make  the  eyes  evil  and  the  heart 
hard.  Seeing  Dante  from  their  watch-tower,  they  call  for 
Medusa.  *'So  will  we  make  flint  of  him"  enamel,"  rather 
— which  has  been  in  the  furnace  first,  then  hardened);  but 
Virgil  puts  his  hands  over  his  eyes. 

Thus  the  upper  hell  is  knitted  to  the  central.  The  central 
is  half  joined  to  the  lower  by  the  power  of  Fraud  :  only  in 
the  central  hell,  though  in  a  deeper  pit  of  it,  (Phlegethon 
falls  into  the  abyss  in  a  Niagara  of  blood)  Fraud  is  still 
joined  with  human  passion,  but  in  the  nether  hell  is  passion- 
ate no  more  ;  the  traitors  have  not  natures  of  flesh  or  of  fire, 
but  of  earth  ;  and  the  earth-giants,  the  first  enemies  of 
Athena,  the  Greek  spirit  of  Life,  stand  about  the  pit, 
speechless,  as  towers  of  war.  In  a  bright  morning,  this  last 
midsummer,  at  Bologna,  I  was  standing  in  the  shade  of  the 
tower  of  Garisenda,  which  Dante  says  they  were  like.  The 
sun  had  got  just  behind  its  battlements,  and  sent  out  rays 
round  them  as  from  behind  a  mountain  peak,  vast  and  grey 
against  the  morning  sky.  I  may  be  able  to  get  some  pict- 
ure of  it,  for  the  January  Fors,  perhaps  ;  and  perchance  the 
sun  may  some  day  rise  for  us  from  beliind  our  Towers  of 
Treacher3\ 

Note  but  this  farther,  and  then  we  will  try  to  get  out  of 
Hell  for  to-day.  The  divisions  of  the  central  fire  are  under 
three  creatures,  all  of  them  partly  man,  partly  animal.  The 
Minotaur  has  a  man's  body,  a  bull's  head,  (which  is  precisely 
the  general  type  of  the  English  nation  to-day).  The  Centaur 
Chiron  has  a  horse's  body  ;  a  man's  head  and  breast.  The 


332 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


Spirit  of  Fraud,  Geryon,  lias  a  serpent's  body,  his  face  is 
that  of  a  just  man,  and  his  breast  chequered  like  a  lizard's, 
with  labyrinthine  lines. 

All  these  three  creatures  signify  the  mingling  of  a  brutal 
instinct  with  the  human  mind  ;  but,  in  the  Minotaur,  the 
brute  rules,  the  humanity  is  subordinate  ;  in  the  Centaur^ 
the  man  rules,  and  the  brute  is  subordinate  ;  in  the  third, 
the  man  and  the  animal  are  in  harmony  ;  and  both  false. 

Of  the  Centaurs,  Chiron  and  Nessus,  one,  the  type  of  hu- 
man gentleness,  justice,  and  wisdom,  stooping  to  join  itself 
with  the  nature  of  animals,  and  to  be  healed  by  the  herbs  of 
the  ground, — the  other,  the  destruction  of  Hercules, — you 
shall  be  told  in  the  Fors  of  January  :  to-day  I  must  swiftly 
sum  the  story  of  Theseus. 

His  conquest  of  the  Minotaur,  the  chief  glory  of  his  life,  is 
possible  only  to  him  through  love,  and  love's  hope  and  help. 
But  he  has  no  joy  either  of  love  or  victory.  Before  he  has 
once  held  Ariadne  in  his  arms,  Diana  kills  her  in  the  isle  of 
Naxos.  Jupiter  crowns  her  in  heaven,  where  there  is  no  fol- 
lowino^  her.    Theseus  returns  to  Athens  alone. 

The  ship  which  hitherto  had  carried  the  Minotaur's  victims 
only,  bore  always  a  black  sail.  Theseus  had  received  from 
his  father  a  purple  one,  to  hoist  instead,  if  he  returned  vic- 
torious. 

The  common  and  senseless  story  is  that  he  forgot  to  hoist 
it.  Forgot  !  A  sail  is  so  inconspicuous  a  part  of  a  ship  ! 
and  one  is  so  likely  to  forget  one's  victory,  returning,  with 
home  seen  on  the  horizon  !  But  he  returned  not  victorious, 
at  least  for  himself  ; — Diana  and  Death  had  been  too  strong 
for  him.  He  bore  the  black  sail.  And  his  father,  when  he 
saw  it,  threw  himself  from  the  rock  of  Athens,  and  died. 

Of  which  the  meaning  is,  that  we  must  not  mourn  for  our- 
selves,  lest  a  worse  thing  happen  to  us, — a  Greek  lesson  much 
to  be  remembered  by  Christians  about  to  send  expensive  or- 
ders to  the  undertaker  :  unless,  indeed,  they  mean  by  their 
black  vestments  to  tell  the  world  that  they  think  their  friends 
are  in  hell.  If  in  heaven,  with  Ariadne  and  the  gods,  are  we 
to  mourn  ?    And  if  they  were  fit  for  Heaven,  are  we,  for 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


333 


ourselves,  ever  to  leave  off  mourning  ?  Yet  Theseus,  touch- 
ing the  beach,  is  too  just  and  wise  to  mourn  there.  He  sends 
a  herald  to  the  city  to  tell  his  father  he  is  safe  ;  stays  on  the 
shore  to  sacrifice  to  the  gods,  and  feast  his  sailors.  He  sac- 
rifices ;  and  makes  pottage  for  them  there  on  the  sand.  The 
herald  returns  to  tell  him  his  father  is  dead  also.  Such  wel- 
come has  he  for  his  good  work,  in  the  islands,  and  on  the  main. 

In  which  work  he  persists,  no  less,  and  is  redeemed  from 
darkness  by  Hercules,  and  at  last  helps  Hercules  himself  in 
his  sorest  need — as  you  shall  hear  afterwards.  I  must  stop 
to-day  at  the  vegetable  soup, — which  you  would  think,  1 
suppose,  poor  Christmas  cheer.  .  Plum-pudding  is  an  Egyp- 
tian dish  ;  but  have  you  ever  thought  how  many  stories  were 
connected  with  this  Athenian  one,  pottage  of  lentils  ?  A 
bargain  of  some  importance,  even  to  us,  (especially  as  usu- 
rers) ;  and  the  healing  miracle  of  Elisha  ;  and  the  vision  of 
Habakkuk  as  he  was  bearing  their  pottage  to  the  reapers, 
and  had  to  take  it  far  away  to  one  who  needed  it  more  ;  and, 
chiefly  of  all,  the  soup  of  the  bitter  herbs,  with  its  dipped 
bread  and  faithful  company, — "  he  it  is  to  whom  I  shall  give 
the  sop,  when  I  have  dipped  it."  The  meaning  of  which 
things,  roughly,  is,  first,  that  we  are  not  to  sell  our  birth- 
rights for  pottage,  though  we  fast  to  death  ;  hut  are  dili- 
gently to  know  and  keep  them  :  secondly,  that  we  are  to 
poison  no  man's  pottage,  mental  or  real  :  lastly,  that  we  look 
to  it  lest  we  betray  the  hand  which  gives  us  our  daily  bread. 

Lessons  to  be  pondered  on  at  Christmas  time  over  our  pud- 
ding ;  and  the  more,  because  the  sops  we  are  dipping  for  each 
other,  and  even  for  our  own  children,  are  not  always  the  most 
nourishing',  nor  are  the  rooms  in  which  we  make  ready  their 
last  supper  always  carefully  furnished.  Take,  for  instance, 
this  example  of  last  supper — (no,  I  see  it  is  breakfast) — in 
Chicksand  Street,  Mile  End  : — 

On  Wednesday  an  inquest  was  held  on  the  body  of  Annie 
Redfern,  aged  twenty-eight,  who  was  found  dead  in  a  cellar 
at  5,  Chicksand  Street,  Mile  End,  on  the  morning  of  last 
Sundav.    This  unfortunate  woman  was  a  fruit-seller,  and 


334 


FOBS  CLAVIGEHA, 


rented  the  cellar  in  which  she  died  at  Is,  9d.  per  week — her 
only  companion  being  a  little  boy,  aged  three  years,  of  whom 
she  vvas  the  mother.  It  appeared  from  the  evidence  of  the 
surgeon  who  was  summoned  to  see  the  deceased  when  her 
body  was  discovered  on  Sunday  morning  that  slie  had  been 
dead  some  hours  before  his  arrival.  Her  knees  were  drawn 
up  and  her  arms  folded  in  such  a  position  as  to  show  that  she 
died  with  her  child  clasped  in  her  arms.  The  room  was  very 
dark,  without  any  ventilation,  and  w^as  totallv  unfit  for  hu- 
man  habitation.  The  cause  oi  death  was  effusion  of  serum 
into  the  pericardium,  brough.t  on  greatly  by  living  in  such  a 
wretched  dwellino*.  The  coroner  said  that  as  there  were  so 
many  of  these  wretched  dwellings  about,  he  hoped  the  jury- 
men v>^ho  were  connected  with  the  vestry  would  take  care  to 
represent  the  case  to  the  proper  authorities,  and  see  that  the 
place  was  not  let  as  a  dwelling  again.  This  remark  from  the 
coroner  incited  a  juryman  to  reply,  "  Oh,  if  we  were  to  do 
that  we  might  empty  half  the  houses  in  London  ;  there  are 
thousands  more  like  that,  and  worse."  Some  of  the  jurors 
objected  to  the  room  being  condemned ;  the  majority,  how- 
ever, refused  to  sign  the  papers  unless  this  w^as  done,  and  a 
verdict  was  returned  in  accordance  with  the  evidence.  It 
transpired  that  the  body  had  to  be  removed  to  save  it  from 
the  rats.  If  the  little  child  who  lay  clasped  in  his  dead 
mother's  arms  has  not  been  devoured  by  these  animals,  he  is 
probably  now  in  the  workhouse,  and  will  remain  a  burden  on 
the  ratepayers,  who  unfortunately  have  no  means  of  making 
the  landlord  of  the  foul  den  that  destroyed  his  mother  answer- 
able for  his  support. 

I  miss,  out  of  the  column  of  the  Pall  Mall  for  the  1st  of 
this  month,  one  paragraph  after  this,  and  proceed  to  the  next 
but  one,  which  relates  to  the  enlightened  notion  among  Eng- 
lish young  women,  derived  from  Mr.  J.  Stuart  Mill — that  the 
"career"  of  the  Madonna  is  too  limited  a  one,  and  that  mod« 
ern  political  economy  can  provide  them,  as  the  I^all  Mall 
observes,  with  much  more  lucrative  occupations  than  that 
of  nursing  the  baby."  But  you  must  know,  first,  that  the 
Athenians  always  kept  memory  of  Theseus'  pot  of  vegetable 
soup,  and  of  his  sacrifice,  by  procession  in  spring-time,  bear- 
ing a  rod  wreathed  with  lambs'-wool,  and  singing  an  Easter 
carol,  in  these  words  : — 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


833 


"Fair  staff,  may  tlie  gods  grant,  by  tliee,  the  bringing  of 
figs  to  us,  and  buttery  cakes,  and  honey  in  bulging  cups,  and 
the  sopping  of  oil,  and  wine  in  flat  cups,  easy  to  lift,  that 
thou  mayest "  (meaning  that  we  may,  but  not  clear  which  is 
which,)     get  drunk  and  sleep." 

Which  Mr.  Stuart  Mill  and  modern  political  economy  have 
changed  into  a  pretty  Christmas  carol  for  English  children, 
lambs  for  whom  the  fair  staff  also  brinos  wine  of  a  certain 

o 

sort,  in  flat  cups,  "  that  they  may  get  drunk,  and  sleep." 
Here  is  the  next  paragraph  from  the  Pall  Mall : — 

One  of  the  most  fertile  causes  of  excessive  infant  mortality 
is  the  extensive  practice  in  manufacturing  districts  of  insidi- 
ously narcotising  young  children  that  they  may  be  the  more 
conveniently  laid  aside  when  more  lucrative  occupations  pre- 
sent themselves  than  that  of  nursing  the  baby.  Hundreds 
of  gallons  of  opium  in  various  forms  are  sold  weekly  in  many 
districts  for  this  purpose.  Nor  is  it  likely  that  the  practice 
will  be  checked  until  juries  can  be  induced  to  take  a  rather 
severe  view  of  the  suddenly  fatal  misadventures  which  this 
sort  of  chronic  poisoning  not  unfrequently  produces.  It  ap- 
pears, however,  to  be  very  difficult  to  persuade  them  to  look 
upon  it  as  other  than  a  venial  offence.  An  inquest  was  re- 
cently held  at  Chapel  Gate  upon  the  body  of  an  infant  who 
had  died  from  the  administration  by  its  mother  of  about 
twelve  times  the  proper  dose  of  laudanum.  The  bottle  was 
labelled  carefully  wuth  a  caution  that  ''opium  should  not  be 
given  to  children  under  seven  years  of  age."  In  this  case 
five  drops  of  laudanum  were  given  to  a  baby  of  eighteen 
months.  The  medical  evidence  was  of  a  quite  unmistakable 
character,  and  the  coroner  in  summing  up  read  to  the  jury  a 
definition  of  manslaughter,  and  told  them  tliat  "a  lawful  act 
if  dangerous,  not  attended  with  such  care  as  would  render 
the  probability  of  danger  very  small,  and  resulting  in  death, 
would  amount  to  manslaughter  at  the  least.  Then  in  tliis 
case  thev  must  return  a  verdict  of  manslauo^hter  unless  thev 
could  find  any  circumstance  which  would  take  it  out  of  the 
rule  of  law  he  had  laid  down  to  them.  It  was  not  in 
evidence  that  the  mother  had  used  any  caution  at  all  in 
administering  the  poison."  Nevertheless,  the  jury  re- 
turned, after  a  short  interval,  the  verdict  of  homicide  by 
misadventure. 


836 


FOBS  CLAYIGEUA. 


Hush-a-bye,  baby,  upon  the  tree-top,"  my  mother  used 
to  sing  to  me  ;  and  I  remember  the  dawn  of  intelligence  in 
which  I  began  to  object  to  the  bad  rhyme  which  followed — 
*^  when  the  wind  blows,  the  cradle  will  rock."  But  the 
Christmas  winds  must  blow  rudely,  and  warp  the  waters 
askance  indeed,  which  rock  our  English  cradles  now. 

Mendelssohn's  songs  without  w^ords  have  been,  I  believe, 
lately  popular  in  musical  circles.  We  shall,  perhaps,  require 
cradle  songs  with  very  few  words,  and  Christmas  carols  with 
very  sad  ones,  before  long  ;  in  fact,  it  seems  to  me,  we  are 
fast  losing  our  old  skill  in  carolling.  There  is  a  different 
tone  in  Chaucer's  notion  of  it  (though  this  carol  of  his  is  in 
spring-time  indeed,  not  at  Christmas): — 

Then  weut  I  forth  on  my  right  hand, 
Down  by  a  little  path  I  found, 
Of  Mintes  full,  and  Fennel  green. 

♦  ♦  >i>  «  ♦ 

Sir  Mirth  I  found,  and  right  anon 

Unto  Sir  Mirth  gan  I  gone. 

There,  where  he  was,  him  to  solace : 

And  with  him,  in  that  happy  place, 

So  fair  folke  and  so  fresh,  had  he, 

That  when  I  saw,  I  wondered  me 

From  whence  such  folke  might  come, 

So  fair  were  they,  all  and  some  ; 

For  they  were  like,  as  in  my  sight 

To  angels,  that  be  feathered  bright. 

These  folk,  of  which  I  tell  you  so, 

Upon  a  karole  wenten  tho,* 

A  ladie  karoled  them,  that  hight  f 

Gladnesse,  blissful  and  light. 

She  could  make  in  song  such  refraining 

It  sate  her  wonder  well  to  sing, 

Her  voice  full  clear  was,  and  full  sweet, 

She  was  not  rude,  nor  unmeet, 

But  couth  X  enough  for  such  doing, 

As  longeth  unto  karoUing  ; 

For  she  was  wont,  in  every  place, 

To  singen  first,  men  to  solace. 


*  Went  then  in  measure  of  a  carol-dance, 
t  Was  called.  X  Skilful 


FOnS  CLAVIOERA. 


For  singing  most  she  gave  her  to, 
No  craft  had  she  so  lefe  *  to  do. 

Mr.  Stuart  Mill  would  have  set  her  to  another  craft,  I 
fancy  (not  but  that  singing  is  a  lucrative  one,  now-a-day,  if 
it  be  shrill  enough)  ;  but  you  will  not  get  your  wives  to  sing 
thus  for  nothing,  if  you  send  them  out  to  earn  their  dinners 
(instead  of  earning  them  yourself  for  them),  and  put  their 
babies  summarily  to  sleep. 

It  is  curious  how  our  English  feeling  seems  to  be  changed 
also  towards  two  other  innocent  kind  of  creatures.  In  nearly 
all  German  pictures  of  the  Nativity,  (I  have  given  you  an 
Italian  one  of  the  Magi  for  a  frontispiece,  this  time),  the 
dove  is  one  way  or  other  conspicuous,  and  the  little  angels 
round  the  cradle  are  nearly  always,  when  they  are  tired,  al- 
lowed by  the  Madonna  to  play  with  rabbits.  And  in  the 
very  garden  in  wliich  Ladie  Gladness  leads  her  karol-dance, 
"  connis,"  as  well  as  squirrels,  are  among  the  happy  com- 
pany ;  frogs  only,  as  you  shall  hear,  not  being  allowed  ;  the 
French  says,  no  flies  either,  of  the  watery  sort  !  For  the 
path  among  the  mint  and  fennel  greene  leads  us  into  this 
garden  : — 

The  garden  was  hy  measuring, 
Right  even  and  square  in  compasing : 
It  was  long  as  it  was  large, 
Of  fruit  had  every  tree  his  charge, 
And  many  homely  trees  there  were,  f 
That  peaches,  coineSjJ  and  apples  bare, 
Medlers^  plommes,  pecres,  chesteinis, 
Cherise,  of  which  many  one  faine  §  is, 
With  many  a  high  laurel  and  pine 
Was  ranged  clean  all  that  gardene. 
There  might  men  Does  and  Roes  see, 
And  of  squirrels  ful  great  plentee 
From  bough  to  bough  alway  leping  ; 
Connis  there  were  also  playing 
And  maden  many  a  tourneying 
Upon  the  fresh  grass  springing. 

Fond. 

f  There  were  foreigfn  trees  besides.    I  insert  bits  here  and  there, 
without  putting  stars,  to  interrupt  the  pieces  given. 
X  Quinces.  §  Fond. 

23 


338 


FOES  CLAVIQEEA. 


In  places  saw  I  weiis  there 
In  which  no  f  rogges  were. 
There  sprang  the  violet  all  new 
And  fresh  pervinke,  rich  of  hue, 
And  flowers  yellow,  white  and  rede, 
Such  plentj^  grew  there  ne-ver  in  mede, 
Full  gay  was  all  the  ground,  and  quaint, 
And  poudred,  as  men  had  it  peint 
With  many  a  fresh  and  sundry  flour 
That  castes  up  full  good  savour. 

So  far  for  an  old  English  garden,  or  "pleasance/'  and  the 
pleasures  of  it.  Novr  take  a  bit  of  description  written  this 
year,  of  a  modern  English  garden  or  pleasance,  and  the  pleas* 
ures  of  ity  and  newly  invented  odours  : — 

In  a  short  time  the  sportsmen  issued  from  the  (new  ?)  hall, 
and,  accompanied  by  sixty  or  seventy  attendants,  bent  their 
steps  towards  that  part  of  the  park  in  wdiicli  the  old  hall  is 
situate.  Here  were  the  rabbit  covers — large  patches  of  rank 
fern,  three  or  four  feet  in  height,  and  extending  over  many 
acres.  The  doomed  rabbits,  assiduously  driven  from  the  bur- 
rows during  the  preceding  w^eek  by  the  keepers,  forced  from 
their  lodgings  beneath  the  tree-roots  by  the  sulfocating  fumes 
of  sulphur,  and  deterred  from  returning  thither  by  the  appli- 
cation of  gas-tar  to  the  runs,"  had  been  forced  to  seek  shel- 
ter in  the  fern  patch  ;  and  here  they  literally  swarmed.  At 
the  edge  of  the  ferns  a  halt  was  called,  and  the  head  game- 
keeper proceeded  to  arrange  his  assistants  in  the  most  ap- 
proved "beating"  fashion.  The  shooting  party,  nine  in 
number,  including-  the  prince,  distributed  themselves  in  ad- 
vance of  the  line  of  beaters,  and  the  word  "Forward  !"  was 
given.  Simultaneously  the  line  of  beaters  moved  ir^to  the 
cover,  vigorously  thrashing  the  long  ferns  with  their  stout 
sticks,  and  giving  vent  to  a  variety  of  uncouth  ejaculations, 
which  it  w^as  supposed  were  calculated  to  terrify  the  hidden 
rabbits.  Hardly  had  the  beaters  proceeded  half-a-dozen  yards 
when  the  cover  in  front  of  them  became  violently  agitated, 
and  rabbits  were  seen  running  in  all  directions.  The  quantity 
of  game  thus  started  was  little  short  of  marvellous — the  very 
ground  seemed  to  be  alive.  Simultaneously  with  the  appear- 
ance of  the  terrified  animals  the  slaugliter  commenced.  Each 
sportsman  carried  a  double-barrelled  breechloader,  and  an 
attendant  followed  him  closely,  bearing  an  additional  gun, 


F0R8  CLAVIOEllA, 


339 


ready  loaded.  The  shooter  discliarged  both  barrels  of  his 
gun,  in  some  cases  with  only  the  interval  of  a  second  or  two, 
and  immediately  exchanged  it  for  a  loaded  one.  Rabbits  fell 
in  all  directions.  The  warning  cry  of  Rabbit  !"  from  the 
relentless  keepers  was  heard  continuously,  and  each  cry  was 
as  quickly  followed  by  the  sliarp  crack  of  a  gun — a  pretty 
sure  indication  that  the  rabbit  referred  to  had  come  to  an  un- 
timely end,  as  the  majority  of  the  sportsmen  were  crack  shots. 

Of  course  all  this  is  quite  natural  to  a  sporting  people  who 
have  learned  to  like  the  smell  of  gunpowder,  sulphur,  and 
gas-tar,  better  than  that  of  violets  and  thyme.  But,  putting 
the  baby-poisoning,  pigeon-shooting,  and  rabbit-shooting  of 
to-day  in  comparison  with  the  pleasures  of  the  German  Ma- 
donna, and  her  simple  company  ;  and  of  Chaucer  and  his 
carolling  company :  and  seeing  that  the  present  effect  of  peace 
upon  earth,  and  well-pleasing  in  men,  is  that  every  nation 
now  spends  most  of  its  income  in  machinery  for  shooting  the 
best  and  bravest  men,  just  when  they  were  likely  to  have  be- 
come of  some  use  to  their  fathers  and  mothers,  I  put  it  to 
you,  my  friends  all,  calling  you  so,  I  suppose,  for  the  last 
time,  (unless  you  are  disposed  for  friendship  with  Ilerod  in- 
stead of  Barabbas,)  whether  it  would  not  be  more  kind,  and 
less  expensive,  to  make  the  machinery  a  little  smaller  ;  and 
adapt  it  to  spare  opium  now,  and  expenses  of  maintenance 
and  education  afterwards,  (besides  no  end  of  diplomacy)  by 
taking  our  sport  in  shooting  babies  instead  of  rabbits  ? 

Believe  me. 

Faithfully  yours, 

J.^^RUSKIN. 


LETTER  XXV. 

Brantwood, 

January  4^7i,  1873. 

The  Third  Fors,  having  been  much  adverse  to  me,  and  more 
to  many  who  wish  me  well,  during  the  whole  of  last  year,  has 
turned  my  good  and  helpful  printer  adrift  in  the  last  month 


340 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


of  it  ;  and,  with  that  grave  inconvenience  to  him,  contrived 
for  me  the  minor  one  of  being  a  fortnight  late  vs^ith  my  New 
Year's  letter.  Under  which  provocation  I  am  somewhat  con- 
soled this  morning  by  finding  in  a  cookery  book,  of  date  1791, 
written  purely  from  practice,  and  dedicated  to  the  Hon. 
Lady  Elizabeth  Warburton,  whom  the  author  lately  served 
as  housekeeper,"  a  receipt  for  Yorkshire  Goose  Pie,  with 
which  I  think  it  will  be  most  proper  and  delightful  to  begin 
my  economical  instructions  to  you  for  the  current  year.  I  am, 
indeed,  greatly  tempted  to  give  precedence  to  the  receipt 
for  making  ^'  Fairy  Butter,"  and  further  disturbed  by  an  ex- 
treme desire  to  tell  you  how  to  construct  an  "  Apple  Float- 
ing-Island ; "  but  will  abide,  nevertheless,  by  my  Goose  Pie. 

"  Take  a  large  fat  goose,  split  it  down  the  back,  and  take 
all  the  bones  out ;  bone  a  turkey  and  two  ducks  the  same 
way,  season  them  very  well  with  pepper  and  salt,  with  six 
woodcocks  ;  lay  the  goose  down  on  a  clean  dish,  with  the 
skin-side  down  ;  and  lay  the  turkey  into  the  goose,  with  the 
skin  down  ;  have  ready  a  large  hare,  cleaned  well,  cut  in 
pieces,  and  stewed  in  the  oven,  with  a  pound  of  butter,  a 
quarter  of  an  ounce  of  mace,  beat  fine,  the  same  of  white 
pepper,  and  salt  to  your  taste,  till  the  meat  will  leave  the 
bones,  and  scum  the  butter  off  the  gravy,  pick  the  meat  clean 
off,  and  beat  it  in  a  marble  mortar  very  fine,  with  the  butter 
3^ou  took  off,  and  lay  it  in  the  turkey  ;  take  twenty-four 
pounds  of  the  finest  flour,  six  pounds  of  butter,  half-a-pound 
of  fresh  rendered  suet,  make  the  paste  pretty  thick,  and  raise 
the  pie  oval  ;  roll  out  a  lump  of  paste,  and  cut  it  in  vine- 
leaves  or  what  form  you  please  ;  rub  the  pie  with  the  yolks 
of  eggs,  and  put  your  ornaments  on  the  walls  ;  then  turn  the 
hare,  turkey,  and  goose  upside  down,  and  lay  them  in  your 
pie,  with  the  ducks  at  each  end,  and  the  woodcocks  on  the 
sides  ;  make  your  lid  pretty  thick,  and  put  it  on  ;  you  may 
lay  flowers,  or  the  shape  of  the  fowls  in  paste,  on  the  lid,  and 
make  a  hole  in  the  middle  of  3^our  lid  ;  the  walls  of  the  pie 
are  to  be  one  inch  and  a  half  higher  than  the  lid  ;  then  rub 
it  all  over  with  the  yolks  of  eggs,  and  bind  it  round  with 
threefold  paper,  and  lay  the  same  over  the  top  ;  it  will  take 


FORS  CLAVIGEEA. 


341 


four  hours'  baking  in  a  brown-bread  oven  ;  when  it  comes 
out,  melt  two  pounds  of  butter  in  the  gravy  that  comes  from 
the  hare,  and  pour  it  hot  in  the  pie  through  a  tun-dish  ;  close 
it  well  up,  and  let  it  be  eight  or  ten  days  before  you  cut  it  ; 
if  you  send  it  any  distance,  make  up  the  hole  in  the  middle 
with  cold  butter,  to  prevent  the  air  from  getting  iu." 

Possessed  of  these  instructions,  I  immediately  went  to  my 
cook  to  ask  how  far  we  could  faithfully  carry  them  out.  But 
she  told  me  nothinof  could  be  done  without  a  brown-bread 
oven  ;  "  which  I  shall  therefore  instantly  build  under  the 
rocks  on  my  way  down  to  the  lake  :  and,  if  T  live,  we  will 
have  a  Lancashire  goose-pie  next  Michaelmas.  You  may, 
perhaps,  think  this  affair  irrelevant  to  the  general  purposes 
of  '  Fors  Claviorera'  :  but  it  is  not  so  bv  anv  means  :  on  the 
contrary,  it  is  closely  connected  with  its  primary  intentions  ; 
and,  besides,  may  interest  some  readers  more  than  weightier, 
or,  I  should  rather  say,  lighter  and  more  spiritual  matters. 
For,  indeed,  during  twenty-three  months,  I  had  been  writing 
to  you,  fellow-workmen,  of  matters  affecting  your  best  in- 
terests in  this  world,  and  all  the  interests  vou  had  anywhere 
else  : — explaining,  as  I  could,  wliat  the  shrewdest  of  you, 
liitherto,  have  thought,  and  the  best  of  you  have  done  ; — 
what  the  most  selfish  liave  gained,  and  the  most  generous 
have  suffered.  Of  all  tliis,  no  notice  whatever  is  taken.  In 
my  twenty-fourtli  letter,  incidentally,  I  mentioned  the  fact 
of  my  being  in  a  bad  humour,  (which  I  nearly  always  am, 
and  which  it  matters  little  to  anybody  whether  I  am  or  not, 
so  long  as  I  don't  act  upon  it,)  and  forthwith  I  got  quite  a 
little  mailcartful  of  consolation,  reproof,  and  advice.  Much 
of  it  kind, — nearly  all  of  it  helpful,  and  some  of  it  wise  ;  but 
very  little  bearino-  on  matters  in  hand  :  an  easfer  Irish  cor- 
respondent  offers  immediately  to  reply  to  anything,  "though 
he  has  not  been  fortunate  enough  to  meet  with  the  book  ;  " 
one  working  man's  letter,  for  self  and  mates,  is  answered  in 
the  terminal  notes; — could  not  be  answered  before  for  want  of 
address; — another,  from  a  south-country  clergyman,  could  not 
be  answered  an\'way,  for  he  would  not  read  any  more,  he  said, 
of  such  silly  stuff  as  *  Fors ' ;  — but  would  have  been  glad  to  heai 


342 


FOJiS  CLAVIOERA. 


of  any  scheme  for  giving  people  a  sound  practical  education. 
I  fain  would  learn,  myself,  either  from  this  practical  Divine,  or 
any  of  his  mates,  what  the  ecclesiastical  idea  of  a  sound 
practical  education  is  ; — that  is  to  say,  v>^hat — in  week-dav 
schools  ( — the  teaching  in  Sunday  ones  being  necessarily  to 
do  no  manner  of  work) — our  clergy  think  that  boys  and 
girls  should  be  taught  to  practice,  in  order  that,  when  grown 
up,  they  may  with  dexterity  perform  the  same.  For  indeed, 
the  constant  object  of  these  letters  of  mine,  from  their  be- 
ginning, has  been  to  urge  you  to  do  vigorously  and  dex- 
trously  what  was  useful  ;  and  nothing  but  that.  And  I  have 
told  you  of  Kings  and  Heroes,  and  now  am  about  to  tell  you 
what  I  can  of  a  Saint,  because  I  believe  such  persons  to  have 
done,  sometimes,  more  useful  things  than  you  or  I  :  begging 
your  pardon  always  for  not  addressing  you  as  heroes,  which 
I  believe  you  all  think  yourselves,  or  as  kings,  which  I  pre- 
sume you  all  propose  to  be,  or  at  least,  if  you  cannot,  to  let 
nobody  else  be.  Come  what  may  of  such  proposal,  I  wish 
you  would  consider  with  me  to-day  what  form  of  "  sound 
practical  education,"  if  any,  would  enable  you  all  to  be 
Saints  ;  and  whether,  such  form  proving  discoverable,  you 
would  really  like  to  be  put  through  it,  or  whether,  on  the  con- 
trary, both  the  clergy  and  you  mean,  verily,  and  in  your 
hearts,  nothing  by  "  practical  education  "  but  how  to  lay  one 
penny  upon  another.  Not  but  that  it  does  my  heart  good 
to  hear  modern  divines  exhorting  to  a^iy  kind  of  practice — 
for,  as  far  as  I  can  make  out,  there  is  nothing  they  so  much 
dread  for  their  congregations  as  their  getting  into  their 
heads  that  God  expects  them  to  do  anything,  beyond  killing 
rabbits  if  they  are  rich,  and  being  content  with  bad  wages, 
if  they  are  poor.  But  if  any  virtue  more  than  these,  (and 
the  last  is  no  small  one)  be  indeed  necessary  to  Saint-ship — 
may  we  not  prudently  ask  what  such  virtue  is,  and,  at  this 
Holiday  time,  make  our  knowledge  of  the  Hos  more  precise  ? 
Nay,  in  your  pleading  for  perennial  Holiday, — in  your  ten 
hours  or  eight  hours  bills,  might  you  not  urge  your  point  with 
stouter  conscience  if  you  were  all  Saints,  and  the  hours  of  rest 
you  demanded  became  a  realization  of  Baxter's  Saints'  Rest  ? 


FORS  CLAVIGKRA. 


Suppose  we  do  rest,  for  a  few  minutes,  from  that  process 
of  laying'  one  penny  upon  another,  (those  of  us,  at  least,  who 
have  learned  the  trick  of  it,)  and  look  with  some  attention  at 
the  last  penny  we  laid  on  the  pile — or,  if  we  can  do  no  bet- 
ter, at  the  first  of  the  pile  we  mean  to  lay. 

Show  me  a  penny — or,  better,  show  me  the  three  pages  of 
our  British  Bible — penny,  shilling,  and  pound,  and  let  us  try 
what  we  can  read  on  them  toofether.  You  see  how  rich  thev 
are  in  picture  and  legend  :  surely  so  practical  a  nation,  in  its 
most  valued  Scriptures,  cannot  have  written  or  pictured  any- 
thing but  with  discretion,  and  to  the  benefit  of  all  beholders. 

We  begin  with  the  penny  ; — not  that,  except  under  pro- 
test, I  call  such  a  thing  as  that  a  Penny  !  Our  farthings, 
when  we  were  boys,  were  as  big  as  that  ;  and  two-pence 
filled  our  waistcoat  pockets.  Who,  then,  is  this  lady,  whom 
it  represents,  sitting,  apparently,  on  tlie  edge  of  a  dish-cover  ? 
Britannia?  Yes, — of  course.  But  who  is  Britannia?  and 
what  has  she  got  on  her  head,  in  her  hand,  and  on  her  seat  ? 

"Don't  I  know  who  Britannia  is?"  Not  I;  and  much 
doubt  if  you  do  !  Is  she  Great  Britain, — or  Little  Britain  ? 
Is  she  England,  Scotland,  Ireland,  Canada,  and  the  Indies, — 
or  a  small,  dishonest,  tailoring  and  engineering  firm,  with  no 
connection  over  the  way,  and  publicly  fined  at  the  police 
court  for  sneakingly  supplying  customers  it  had  engaged  not 
to  ?  Is  she  a  Queen,  or  an  Actress,  or  a  slave  ?  Is  she  a 
Nation,  mother  of  nations  ;  or  a  slimy  polype,  multiplying 
by  involuntary  vivisection,  and  dropping  half  putrid  pieces 
of  itself  wherever  it  crawls  or  contracts  ?  In  the  world-feasts 
of  the  Nativity,  can  she  sit.  Madonna-like,  saying:  "  Behold,  I, 
and  the  children  whom  the  Lord  hath  given  me  "  ?  Or  are  her 
lips  capable  of  such  utterance — of  any  utterance — no  more 
the  musical  Rose  of  them  cleft  back  into  the  lonof  dumb 
trench  of  the  lizard's  ;  her  motherhood  summed  in  saying 
that  she  makes  all  the  world's  ditches  dirtier  with  her  spawn  ? 

And  what  has  she  on  her  head,  in  her  hand,  or  on  that, — • 
Shield,  I  believe  it  is  meant  for, — which  she  sits  on  the  edge 
of  ?  A  most  truly  symbolic  position  !  For,  you  know,  all  those 
ftrmour-plates  and  guns  you  p?-y  for  so  pleasantly  are  indeed 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


made,  wlien  you  look  into  the  matter,  not  at  all  to  defend 
voLi  against  anybody — (no  one  ever  ])retends  to  say  distinctly 
tliat  the  newest  of  them  could  protect  you  for  twelve  hours); 
but  they  are  made  that  the  iron  masters  may  get  commission 
on  the  iron,  and  the  manufacturers  commission  on  the  manu- 
facture. And  so  the  Ironmongering  and  Manufacturing 
Britannia  does  very  literally  sit  upon  her  Shield  :  the  cogni« 
zance  whereof,  or — now  too  literally — the  "Bearing," — so 
obscured,  becomes  of  small  importance.  Probably,  in  a  little 
while,  a  convenient  cushion — or,  what  not — may  be  substi- 
tuted for  St.  George's  Cross  ;  to  the  public  satisfaction. 

I  must  not  question  farther  what  any  of  these  symbols 
may  come  to  mean  ;  I  will  tell  you,  briefly,  what  they  meant 
once,  and  are  yet,  by  courtesy,  supposed  to  mean. 

They  where  all  invented  by  the  Greeks  ;  and  all,  except 
the  Cross,  some  twelve  hundred  years  before  the  first  Christ- 
mas ;  they  became  intelligible  and  beautiful  first  about  The- 
seus' time. 

The  Helmet  crest  properly  signifies  the  adoption  by  man 
of  the  passions  of  pride  and  anger  w^iich  enable  nearly  all 
the  lower  creatures  to  erect  some  spinous  or  plumose  ridge 
upon  their  heads  or  backs.  It  is  curiously  associated  with 
the  story  of  the  Spartan  Phalanthus,  the  first  colonist  of 
Tarentum,  which  might  have  been  the  port  of  an  Italia  rul- 
ing the  waves,  instead  of  Britannia,  had  not  the  crest  fallen 
from  the  helmet  of  the  Swabian  prince,  Manfred,  in  his 
death-battle  with  Charles  of  Anjou.  He  had  fastened  it  that 
morning,  he  said,  with  his  own  hand, — you  may  think,  if  his 
armourer  had  fastened  it,  it  would  have  staid  on,  but  kings 
could  do  things  with  their  own  hands  in  those  days  ; — how- 
beit^  it  fell,  and  Manfred,  that  night,  put  off  his  armour  for 
evermore,  and  the  evil  French  King  reigned  in  his  stead  : 
and  South  Italy  has  lain  desert  since  that  day,  and  so  must 
lie,  till  the  crest  of  some  King  rise  over  it  again,  who  will  be 
content  with  as  much  horse-hair  as  is  needful  for  a  crest,  and 
not  wear  it,  as  our  English  Squires  have  done  lately  (or  per* 
haps  even  the  hair  of  an  animal  inferior  to  the  horse), 
on  their  heads,  instead  of  their  helmets. 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


345 


Of  the  trident  in  Britannia's  hand,  and  why  it  must  be  a 
trident,  that  is  to  say,  have  tiiree  prongs,  and  no  more  ;  and 
in  what  use  or  significance  it  differs  from  other  forks,  (as  foi 
pitching,  or  toasting) — we  will  enquire  at  another  time.  Tako 
up  next  the  shilling,  or,  more  to  our  purpose,  tiie  double  shiU 
ling, — get  a  new  florin,  and  examine  the  sculpture  and  legend 
on  that. 

The  Legend,  you  perceive,  is  on  the  one  side  English, — on 
the  other  Lf*,tin.  The  latter,  I  presume,  you  are  not  intended 
to  read,  for  not  only  it  is  in  a  dead  language,  but  two  words 
are  contracted,  and  four  more  indicated  only  by  their  first 
letters.  This  arrangement  leaves  room  for  the  ten  decorative 
letters,  an  M,  and  a  D,  and  three  Cs,  and  an  L,  and  the  sign 
of  double  stout,  and  two  I's  ;  of  which  ten  letters  the  total 
function  is  to  inform  you  that  the  coin  was  struck  this  year, 
(as  if  it  mattered  either  to  you  or  to  me,  when  it  was  struck  I) 
But  the  poor  fifth  part  of  ten  letters,  preceding — the  F  and 
D,  namely — have  for  function  to  inform  you  that  Queen  Vic- 
toria is  the  Defender  of  our  Faith.  Whicli  is  an  all-important 
fact  to  you  and  me,  if  it  be  a  fact  at  all ; — nay,  an  all-impor- 
tant brace  of  facts  ;  each  letter  vocal,  for  its  part,  with  one. 
F,  that  we  have  a  Faith  to  defend  ;  1),  that  our  monarch  can 
defend  it,  if  we  chance  to  have  too  little  to  say  for  it  our- 
selves. For  both  which  facts,  Heaven  be  praised,  if  they  be 
indeed  so, — nor  dispraised  by  our  shame,  if  they  have  ceased 
to  be  so  :  only,  if  they  be  so,  two  letters  are  not  enough  to 
assert  them  clearly  ;  and  if  not  so,  are  more  than  enough  to 
lie  with.  On  the  reverse  of  the  coin,  however,  the  legend  is 
full,  and  clear.  "  One  Florin."  "  One  Tenth  of  a  Pound." 
Yes;  that  is  all  very  practical  and  instructive.  But  do  we 
know  either  what  a  pound  is,  or  what  a  florin  or  "  Fiorino  " 
was,  or  why  this  particular  coin  should  be  called  a  Florin,  or 
whether  we  have  any  right  to  call  any  coin  of  England,  now, 
by  that  name  ?  And,  by  the  way,  how  is  it  that  I  get  con- 
tinually reproved  for  writing  above  the  level  of  the  learning 
of  my  general  readers,  when  here  I  find  the  most  current  of 
all  our  books  written  in  three  languages,  of  which  one  is 
dead,  another  foreign,  and  the  third  written  in  defunct  let* 


346 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


ters,  so  that  anybody  with  two  shillings  in  his  pocket  is  sup 
posed  able  to  accept  information  conveyed  in  contracted 
Latin,  Roman  numerals,  old  English,  and  spoiled  Italian  ? 

How  practical,  and  how  sentimental,  at  once  !  For  indeed 
we  have  no  right,  except  sentimentally,  to  call  that  coin  a 
florin, — that  is  to  say,  a  "  flower  (lily -flower)  piece,"  or  Flor^ 
ence-piece.  What  have  we  any  more  to  do  with  Lilies?  Do 
you  ever  consider  how  they  grow — or  care  how  they  die  ? 
Do  the  very  water-lilies,  think  you,  keep  white  now,  for  an 
hour  after  they  open,  in  any  stream  in  England  ?  And  for 
the  heraldry  of  the  coin,  neither  on  that,  nor  any  other,  have 
we  courage  or  grace  to  bear  the  Fleur-de-Lys  any  more,  it 
having  been  once  our  first  bearing  of  all.  For  in  the  first 
quarter  of  our  English  shield  we  used  to  bear  three  golden 
lilies  on  a  blue  ground,  being  the  regal  arms  of  France  ;  (our 
great  Kings  being  Frenchmen,  and  claiming  France  as  their 
own,  before  England).  Also  these  Fleur-de-Lys  were  from 
the  beginning  the  ensigns  of  a  King  ;  but  those  three  Lions 
which  you  see  are  yet  retained  for  the  arms  of  England  on 
two  of  the  shields  in  your  false  florin,  (false  in  all  things,  for 
heaven  knows,  we  have  as  little  right  to  lions  now  as  to  lilies,) 
"  are  deduced  onely  from  Dukedomes  :  *  I  say  deduced,  be- 
cause the  Kings  of  England  after  the  conquest  did  beare  two 
leopards  (the  ensigns  of  the  Dukedome  of  Normandy)  till  the 
time  of  Kino;  Henrv  the  Second,  who,  accordino^  to  the  re- 
ceived  opinion,  by  marriage  of  Eleanor,  daughter  and  heire 
of  the  duke  of  Aquitaine  and  Guyon  "  (Guienne)  "  annexed 
tlie  Lyon,  her  paternail  coate,  being  of  the  same  Field,  Metall, 
and  Forme  with  the  Leopards,  and  so  from  thence  forward 
they  were  jointly  marshalled  in  one  Shield  and  Blazoned 
three  Lyons."  Also  "  at  the  first  quartering  of  these  coats 
by  Edward  the  Third,  question  being  moved  of  his  title  to 
France,  the  King  had  good  cause  to  put  that  coat  in  the 
first  ranke,  to  show  his  most  undoubted  Title  to  that  King-- 
dom,  and  therefore  would  have  it  the  most  perspicuous  place 
of  his  Escocheon." 

But  you  see  it  is  now  on  our  shield  no  more, — we  having 
*  Guillim,  Ed.  1688. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


347 


been  beaten  into  cowardly  and  final  resignation  of  it,  at  the 
peace  of  Amiens,  in  George  III.'s  time,  and  precisely  in  the 
first  year  of  this  supreme  nineteenth  century.  He,  as  mon- 
arch of  England,  being  unable  to  defend  our  Lilies,  and  the 
verbal  instruction  of  the  pacific  angel  Gabriel  of  Amiens,  as 
he  dropped  his  lilies,  being  to  the  English  accordingly,  that 
thenceforward  they  were  to  liate  a  Frenchman  as  they  did 
the  Devil,"  which,  as  you  know,  was  Nelson's  notion  of  the 
spirit  in  which  England  expected  every  man  to  do  his  duty. 

Next  to  the  three  Lions,  however  (all  of  them,  you  find, 
French),  there  is  a  shield  bearing  one  Lion,  "  Rampant " — 
that  is  to  say,  climbing  like  a  vine  on  a  wall.  Remember 
that  the  proper  sense  of  the  word  "rampant  "  is  "creeping," 
as  you  say  it  of  ground  ivy,  and  such  plants  :  and  that  a  lion 
rampant — whether  British,  or  as  this  one  Scotch,  is  not  at 
all,  for  his  part,  in  what  you  are  so  fond  of  getting  into — "  an 
independent  position,"  nor  even  in  a  specifically  leonine  one, 
but  rather  generally  feline,  as  of  a  cat,  or  other  climbing  ani- 
mal, on  a  tree  ;  whereas  the  three  French  Lions,  or  Lioncels, 
are  "  passant-gardant,"  "  passing  on  the  look  out,"  as  beasts 
of  chase. 

Round  the  rampant  Scottish  animal  (1  can't  find  why  the 
Scotch  took  him  for  their  type)  you  observe  farther,  a  double 
line,  with — thouofh  almost  too  small  to  be  seen — fleur-de-Lvs 
at  the  knots  and  corners  of  it.  This  is  the  tressure,  or  bind- 
ing belt,  of  the  great  Cliarles,  who  has  really  been  to  both 
English  and  Scottisli  lions  what  that  absent  Charles  of  the 
polar  skies  must,  1  suppose,  have  been  to  their  Bear,  and  who 
entirely  therefore  deserves  to  be  stellified  by  British  astrono- 
mers. 

The  Tressure,  heraldically,  records  alliance  of  that  Charle- 
maorne  with  the  Scottish  Kins:  Achaius,  and  the  vision  bv  the 
Scottish  army  of  St.  Andrew's  cross — and  the  adoption  of 
the  same,  with  the  Thistle  and  Rue,  for  their  national  de- 
vice ;  of  all  which  the  excellent  Scotch  clergyman  and  his- 
torian, Robert  Henry,  giving  no  particular  account,  prefers 
to  note,  as  an  example  of  such  miraculous  appearances  in 
Scotland,  the  introduction,  by  King  Kenneth,  the  son  of  Al- 


348 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


pine,  of  a  shining  figure  clothed  in  the  skins  of  dried  fish, 
which  shone  in  the  dark,"  to  his  nobility  and  councillors,  to 
give  them  heavenly  admonitions  after  they  had  composed 
themselves  to  rest."  Of  course  a  Presbyterian  divine  must 
Iiave  more  pleasure  in  recording  a  miracle  so  connected  with 
the  existins:  national  interests  of  the  herrinsf  and  salmoni  fish- 
eries,  than  the  tradition  of  St.  Andrew's  cross  ;  and  that 
tradition  itself  is  so  confused  among  Rodericks,  Alpines,  and 
Ferguses,  that  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake  '  is  about  as  trust- 
worthy historical  readinor.  But  St.  x\ndrew's  Cross  and  the 
Thistle — (I  don't  know  when  the  Rue,  much  the  more  hon- 
ourable bearing  of  the  two,  was  dropped) — are  there,  you  see, 
to  this  day  ;  and  you  must  learn  their  story — but  I've  no 
time  to  go  into  that,  now. 

For  England,  the  tressure  really  implies,  though  not  in 
heraldry,  more  than  for  Scotland.  For  the  Saxon  seven 
kingdoms  had  fallen  into  quite  murderous  anarchy  in  Charle- 
magne's time,  and  especially  the  most  religious  of  them, 
Northumberland  ;  which  then  included  all  the  country  be- 
tween the  Frith  of  Forth  and  the  Cheviots  commanded  bv 
the  fortress  of  Edwin's  Burg,  (fortress  now  always  standing 
in  a  rampant  manner  on  its  hind-legs,  as  the  Modern  Athens). 
But  the  pious  E^dwin's  spirit  had  long  left  his  burg,  and  the 
state  of  the  whole  district  from  which  the  Saxon  angels — 
(non  Angli) — had  gone  forth  to  win  the  pity  of  Rome,  was 
so  distracted  and  hopeless  that  Charlemagne  called  them 

worse  than  heathens,"  and  had  like  to  have  set  his  hand  to 
exterminate  them  altogether  ;  but  the  Third  Fors  ruled  it 
otherwise,  for  luckily,  a  West  Saxon  Prince,  Egbert,  being 
driven  to  Charles's  court,  in  exile,  Charles  determined  to 
make  a  man  of  him,  and  trained  him  to  such  true  knight- 
liood,  that,  recovering  the  throne  of  the  West  Saxons,  the 
French-bred  youth  conquered  the  Heptarchy,  and  became  the 
first  King  of  "England"  {all  England)  ; — and  the  Grand- 
father of  Alfred. 

Such  belt  of  lilies  did  the  French  chivalry  bind  us  with  \ 
the    tressure  "  of  Charlemagne. 

Of  the  fourth  shield,  bearing  the  Irish  Harp,  and  the  har- 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


349 


tnonious  psalmody  of  which  that  instrument  is  significant,  I 
have  no  time  to  speak  to-day  ;  nor  of  the  vegetable  heraldry 
between  the  shields  ; — but  before  you  lay  the  florin  down  I 
must  advise  you  that  the  very  practical  motto  or  war-cry 
which  it  now  bears — "one  tenth  of  a  pound,"  was  not 
anciently  the  motto  round  the  arms  of  England,  that  is  to 
say,  of  English  kings^  (for  republican  England  has  no  shield)  ; 
but  a  quite  different  one — to  wit — "Accursed  (or  evil-spoken 
of,  maledictus,  opposed  to  well-spoken  of,  or  benedictus,)  be 
He  who  thinks  Evil  ;  "  and  that  this  motto  ought  to  be  writ- 
ten on  another  Tressure  or  band  than  Charlemagne's,  sur- 
rounding the  entire  shield — namely,  on  a  lady's  garter  ; 
specifically  the  garter  of  the  most  beautiful  and  virtuous 
English  lady,  Alice  of  Salisbury,  (of  whom  soon)  ;  and  that 
without  this  tressure  and  motto,  the  mere  shield  of  Lions  is 
but  a  poor  defence. 

For  this  is  a  very  great  and  lordly  motto  ;  marking  the  ut- 
most point  and  acme  of  honour,  w^hich  is  not  merely  in 
doing  no  evil,  but  in  thinking  none  ;  and  teaching  that  the 
first — as  indeed  the  last — nobility  of  Education  is  in  the  rule 
over  our  Thoughts,  on  which  matter,  I  must  digress  for  a 
minute  or  two. 

Among  the  letters  just  received  by  me,  as  I  told  you,  is 
one  from  a  working  man  of  considerable  experience,  which 
laments  that,  in  his  part  of  the  country,  "  literary  institutes 
are  a  failure." 

Indeed,  your  literary  institutes  must  everywhere  fail,  as 
long  as  you  think  that  merely  to  buy  a  book,  and  to  know  your 
letters,  will  enable  yo\i  to  read  the  book.  Not  one  word  of 
any  book  is  readable  by  you  except  so  far  as  your  mind  is  one 
with  its  author's,  and  not  merely  his  words  like  your  words, 
but  his  thouo^hts  like  vour  thouofhts. 

For  instance,  the  other  day,  at  a  bookstall,  I  bought  a 
shilling  Shakespeare.  To  such  degree  of  wealth,  ingenuity, 
and  literary  spirit,  has  the  nineteenth  century  reached,  that 
it  has  a  shilling  to  spare  for  its  Shakespeare — can  produce 
its  Shakespeare  in  a  pocketable  shape  for  that  sum — and  is 
ready  to  invest  its  earnings  in  a  literature  to  that  extent 


350 


FOBS  GLAVIOERA. 


Good.  You  have  now  your  Shakespeare,  complete,  in  your 
pocket  ;  you  will  read  the  greatest  of  dramatic  authors  at 
your  leisure,  and  form  your  literary  taste  on  that  model. 

Suppose  we  read  a  line  or  two  together  then,  you  and  I; — • 
it  may  be,  that     cannot,  unless  you  help  me. 

**  And  there,  at  Venice,  gave 
His  body  to  that  pleasant  country^s  earth, 
And  his  pure  soul  unto  his  Captain,  Christ, 
Under  whose  colours  he  had  fought  so  long." 

What  do  you  suppose  Shakespeare  means  by  calling  Venice 
a  "  pleasant  "  country  ?  What  sort  of  country  was,  or  would 
have  been,  pleasant  to  him?  The  same  that  is  pleasant  to 
you,  or  another  kind  of  country  ?  Was  there  any  coal  in 
that  earth  of  Venice,  for  instance  ?  Any  gas  to  be  made  out 
of  it  ?    Any  iron  ? 

Again.  What  does  Shakespeare  mean  by  a  "  pure  "  soul, 
or  by  Purity  in  general?  How  does  a  soul  become  pure,  or 
clean,  and  how  dirty  ?  Are  you  sure  that  your  own  soul  is 
pure  ?  if  not,  is  its  opinion  on  the  subject  of  purity  likely  to 
he  the  same  as  Shakespeare's  ?  And  might  you  not  just  as 
well  read  a  mure  soul,  or  demure,  or  a  scure  soul,  or  obscure, 
as  a  pure  soul,  if  you  don't  know  what  Shakespeare  means 
by  the  word  ? 

Again.  What  does  Shakespeare  mean  by  a  captain,  or 
head-person  ?  What  were  his  notions  of  head-sliip,  shoulder- 
ship,  or  foot-ship,  either  in  human  or  divine  persons?  Have 
you  yourselves  ever  seen  a  captain,  think  you — of  the  true 
quality  ;  (see  above,  XXIT.  299  ;)  and  did  you  know  him 
when  you  saw  him  ? 

Or  again.  What  does  Shakespeare  mean  by  colours  ? 
The  ^'gaily  decorative  bunting"  of  Howe  and  Cushing's 
American  Circus  ?  Or  the  banners  with  invigorating  in- 
scriptions concerning  Temperance  and  Free-trade,  under 
w^hich  you  walk  in  procession,  sometimes,  after  a  band  ?  Or 
colours  more  dim  and  tattered  than  these  ? 

What  he  does  mean,  in  all  these  respects,  we  shall  best 
understand  by  reading  a  little  bit  of  the  history  of  one  of 
those  English  Squires,  named  above,  for  our  study  ;  (XXII, 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


299,)  Edward  III.  of  England,  namely  ;  since  it  was  he  who 
first  quartered  our  arms  for  us  ;  whom  I  cannot  more  honour- 
ably first  exhibit  to  you  than  actually  fighting  under  cap- 
tainship and  colours  of  his  own  choice,  in  the  fashion  Shake- 
speare meant. 

Under  captainship,  mark  you,  though  himself  a  King,  and 
a  proud  one.  Which  came  to  pass  thus  :  "When  the  King 
of  England  heard  these  news "  (that  Geoffrey  of  Chargny 
was  drawing  near  his  dear  town  of  Calais,  and  that  Amery 
of  Pavia,  the  false  Lombard,  was  keeping  him  in  play.) 
"then  the  King  set  out  from  England  with  300  men  at 
armSj  and  600  archers,  and  took  ship  at  Dover,  and  by 
vespers  arrived  at  Calais,  and  put  his  people  in  ambush  in 
the  castle,  and  was  with  them  himself.  And  said  to  the  Lord 
de  Manny  :  ^Master  Walter,  I  will  that  you  should  be  the 
head  in  this  need,  for  I  and  my  son  will  figlit  under  your 
banner.'*  Now  My  Lord  Geoffrey  of  Chargny  had  left 
Arras  on  the  last  day  of  December,  in  the  evening,  with  all 
his  gens-d'-armes,  and  came  near  Calais  about  one  in  the 
morning, — and  he  said  to  his  knights  f  *Let  the  Lombard 
open  the  gates  quickly — he  makes  us  die  of  cold.'  'In  God's 
name,'  said  Pepin  de  Werre,  *  the  Lombards 
are  cunning  folks  ; — he  will  look  at  your 
florins  first,  to  see  that  none  are  false.'" 
(You  see  how  important  this  coin  is  ;  here 
is  one  engraved  for  you  therefore — pure 
Florentine  gold — that  you  may  look  at  it 
honestly,  and  not  like  a  Lombard.)  "  And  at 
these  words  came  the  King  of  England,  and  his  son  at  his 
side,  under  the  banner  of  Master  Walter  de  Manny  ;  and 
there  were  other  banners  with  them,  to  wit,  the  Count  of 
Stafford's,  the  Count  of  Suffolk's,  My  Lord  John  de  Mon- 
tagu's, My  Lord  Beauchamp's,  and  the  Lord  de  la  Werre's, 

*  The  reason  of  this  honour  to  Sir  Walter  was  that  he  had  been  the 
first  English  knight  who  rode  into  France  after  the  king  had  quartered 
the  Fleur-de-Lys. 

f  I  omit  much,  without  putting  stars,  in  these  bits  of  translation.  By 
the  way,  in  last  '  Fors.'  p.  '387,  noto,  for  "insert,*'  read  ''omit.** 


FOBS  CLAVIGEJRA. 


and  no  more,  that  clay.  When  the  French  saw  them  como 
out,  and  heard  the  cry,  '  Manny,  to  the  rescue,'  they  knew 
they  were  betrayed.*  Then  said  Master  Geoffrey  to  his 
people,  *  Lords,  if  we  fly,  we  are  lost  ;  it  is  best  to  light 
with  good  will  ; — hope  is,  we  may  gain  the  day.'  *By  St. 
George,'  said  the  English,  ^  you  say  true,  and  evil  be  to  him 
who  flies.'  Whereupon  they  drew  back  a  little,  being  too 
crowded,  and  dismounted,  and  let  their  horses  go.  And  the 
King  of  England,  under  the  banner  of  Master  Walter  de 
Manny,  came  with  his  people,  all  on  foot,  to  seek  his 
enemies  ;  who  were  set  close,  their  lances  cut  short  by  five 
feet,  in  front  of  them "  (set  with  the  stumps  against  the 
ground  and  points  forward,  eight  or  ten  feet  long,  still, 
though  cut  short  by  five).  At  the  first  coming  there  was 
hard  encounter,  and  the  King  stopped  under"  (opposite) 
^'  My  Lord  Eustace  of  Ribaumont,  who  was  a  strong  and 
brave  chevalier.  And  he  fought  the  King  so  long  that  it 
was  a  wonder  ;  yes,  and  much  pleasure  to  see.  Then  they 
all  joined  battle,"  (the  English  falling  on,  I  think,  because 
the  King  found  he  had  enough  on  his  hands,  though  with- 
out question  one  of  the  best  knights  in  Europe,)  "  and 
there  was  a  great  coil,  and  a  hard, — and  there  fought  well, 
of  the  French,  My  Lord  Geoffrey  of  Chargny  and  My  Lord 
John  of  Landas,  and  My  Lord  Gawain  of  Bailleul,  and  the 
Sire  of  Cresques  ;  and  the  others  ;  but  My  Lord  Eustace  of 
Ribaumont  passed  all, — who  that  day  struck  the  King  to  his 
knees  twice  ;  but  in  the  end  gave  his  sword  to  the  King, 
saying,  '  Sire  Chevalier,  I  render  me  your  prisoner,  for  the 
day  must  remain  to  the  English.'  For  by  that  time  they 
were  all  taken  or  killed  who  were  with  My  Lord  Geoffrey  of 
Chargny  ;  and  the  last  who  was  taken,  and  who  had  done 
most,  was  Master  Eustace  of  Ribaumont. 

"  So  when  the  need  f  was  past,  the  King  of  England  drew 

*  Not  unfairly  ;  only  having  to  fight  for  their  Calais  instead  of  get- 
ting in  for  a  bribe. 

f  Besogne.  **  The  thing  that  has  to  be  done  " — word  used  still  in  house- 
hold service,  but  impossible  to  translate  ;  we  have  no  such  concentrated 
one  in  English. 


FOBS  CLAVTOERA. 


353 


back  into  Calais,  into  the  castle  ;  and  made  be  brought  all 
the  prisoner-knights  thither.  Awdi  then  the  French  knew 
that  the  King  of  England  had  been  in  it,  in  person,  under 
the  banner  of  Master  Walter  de  Manny.  So  also  the  KinGT 
sent  to  say  to  them,  as  it  was  the  New-year's  night,  he  would 
give  them  all  supper  in  his  castle  of  Calais.  So  when  the 
supper  time  came,"  (early  afternoon,  1st  January,  1349)  the 
King  and  his  knights  dressed  themselves,  and  all  put  on  new 
robes  ;  and  the  French  also  made  themselves  greatly  splendid, 
for  so  the  King  wished,  though  they  were  prisoners.  The 
King  took  seat,  and  set  those  knights  beside  him  in  much 
honour.  And  the  gentle  *  Prince  of  Wales  and  the  knights 
of  England  served  them,  at  the  first  course  ;  and  at  the 
second  course,  went  away  to  another  table.  So  they  were 
served  in  peace,  and  in  great  leisure.  When  they  had  supped 
they  took  away  the  tables  ;  but  the  King  remained  in  the 
hall  between  those  French  and  EnMish  knio^hts  :  and  he  was 
bareheaded;  only  wearing  a  chaplet  of  pearls.f  And  he 
began  to  go  from  one  to  another  ;  and  when  he  addressed 
himself  to  Master  Geoffrey  of  Chargny,  he  altered  counte- 
nance somewhat,  and  looking  askance  at  him,  said,  *  Master 
Geoffrey, — I  owe  you  by  right,  little  love,  when  you  would 
have  stolen  by  night  what  had  cost  me  so  dear.  So  glad  and 
joyous  I  am,  that  I  took  you  at  the  trial.'  At  these  words 
he  passed  on,  and  let  Master  Geoffrey  alone,  who  answered 
no  word  ;  and  so  came  the  King  to  Master  Eustace  of  Ribau- 
raont,  to  whom  he  said  joyously,  '  Master  Eustace,  you  are 
the  chevalier  whom  in  all  the  world  I  have  seen  most  valiantlv 
attack  his  enemy  and  defend  his  body  :  neither  did  I  ever  find 
in  battle  any  one  who  gave  me  so  much  work,  body  to 
body,  as  you  did  to-day.  So  I  give  you  the  prize  of  the  day. 
and  that  over  all  the  knights  of  my  own  court,  by  just  sen- 

*  The  passage  is  entirely  spoiled  in  Johnes*  translation  by  the  use  of 
the  word  'gallant'  instead  of  'gentle'  for  the  French  *gentil.'  The 
boy  was  not  yet  nineteen,  (born  at  Woodstock,  June  15,  1330,)  and  his 
father  thirty-six  :  fancy  how  pretty  to  see  the  one  waiting  on  the  other, 
with  the  French  knights  at  his  side. 

f  Sacred  fillet,  or    diadema,''  the  noblest,  as  the  most  ancient,  crown. 
88 


354 


FOBS  CLAVIGEUA, 


tence.'  Thereupon  the  King  took  off  the  chaplet,  that  he 
wore,  (which  was  good  and  rich,)  and  put  it  on  the  head  of 
My  Lord  Eustace  ;  and  said,  '  My  Lord  Eustace,  I  give  you 
this  chaplet,  for  that  you  have  been  the  best  fighter  to-day 
of  all  those  without  or  within,  and  I  pray  you  that  you  wear 
it  all  this  year  for  the  love  of  me.  I  know  well  that  you  are 
gay,  and  loving,  and  glad  to  be  among  dames  and  damsels. 
So  therefore  say  to  them  whither-soever  you  go,  that  I  gave 
it  you  ;  and  so  I  quit  you  of  your  prison,  and  you  may  set 
forth  to-morrow  if  it  please  you.' " 

Now,  if  you  have  not  enjoyed  this  bit  ^f  historical  study, 
I  tell  you  frankly,  it  is  neither  Edward  the  Third's  fault,  nor 
Froissart's,  nor  mine,  but  your  own,  for  not  having  cheer- 
fulness, loyalty,  or  generosity  enough  in  you  to  understand 
what  is  going  on.  But  even  supposing  you  have  these,  and 
do  enjoy  the  story  as  now  read,  it  does  not  at  ail  follow  that 
you  would  enjoy  it  at  your  Literary  Institute.  There  you 
would  find,  most  probably,  a  modern  abstract  of  the  matter 
given  in  polished  language.  You  would  be  fortunate  if  you 
chanced  on  so  good  a  history  as  Robert  Henry's  above  referred 
to,  which  I  always  use  myself,  as  intelligent,  and  trustworthy 
for  general  reference.  But  hear  his  polished  account  of  this 
supper  at  Calais. 

"  As  Edward  was  a  great  admirer  of  personal  valour,  he 
ordered  all  the  French  knights  and  gentlemen  to  be  feasted 
by  the  Prince  of  Wales,  in  the  great  hall  of  the  castle.  The 
king  entered  the  hall  in  the  time  of  the  banquet,  and  discov- 
ered to  his  prisoners  that  he  had  been  present  in  the  late 
conflict,  and  was  the  person  who  had  fought  hand  to  hand 
with  the  Sieur  Ribaumont.  Then,  addressing  himself  to  that 
gentleman,  he  gave  him  his  liberty,  presented  him  with  a 
chaplet  adorned  with  pearls,  which  he  desired  him  to  wear  ioi 
his  sake,  and  declared  him  to  be  the  most  expert  and  valor- 
ous knight  with  whom  he  had  ever  engaged." 

Now,  supposing  you  can  read  no  other  history  than  sucb 
as  this,  you  had — with  profoundest  earnestness  I  say  it — in- 
finitely better  read  none.    It  is  not  the  least  necessary  ii 
you  to  know  anything  about  Edward  III.  ;  but  quite  neces* 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


355 


saiy  for  you  to  know  something  vital  and  real  about  some- 
body ;  and  not  to  have  polished  language  given  you  instead 
of  life.  "  But  you  do  enjoy  it,  in  Froissart  ?  "  And  you 
think  it  would  have  been,  to  you  also,  a  pleasure  to  see  " 
that  fight  between  Edward  and  the  Sieur  de  Ribaumont  ?  So 
be  it  :  now  let  us  compare  with  theirs,  a  piece  of  modern 
British  fighting,  done  under  no  banner,  and  in  no  loyalty  nor 
obedience,  but  in  the  independent  spirit  of  freedom,  and  yet 
which,  I  think,  it  would  have  been  no  pleasure  to  any  of  us 
to  see.  As  we  compared  before,  loyal  with  free  justice,  so 
let  us  now  compare  loyal  wuth  free  fighting.  The  most  active 
of  the  contending  parties  are  of  your  own  class,  too,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  and  that  the  Telegraph  (16th  Dec.)  calls  them 
many  hard  names  ;  but  I  can't  remedy  this  without  too  many 
inverted  commas. 

Four  savages — four  brute  beasts  in  human  form  we  should 
rather  say — named  Slane,  Rice,  Hays,  and  Beesley,  rang- 
ing in  age  between  thirty-two  and  nineteen  years,  have 
been  sentenced  to  death  for  the  murder  on  the  6th  of  Novem- 
ber last,  at  a  place  called  Spennymoor,  of  one  Joseph  Waine, 
The  convicts  are  Irishmen,  and  liad  been  working  as  puddlers 
in  the  iron  foundries.  The  principal  offender  was  the  ruffian 
Slane,  who  seems  to  have  had  some  spite  against  the  de- 
ceased, a  very  sober,  quiet  man,  about  forty  years  of  age, 
who,  with  his  wife  and  son,  kept  a  little  chandler's  shop  at 
Spennymoor.  Into  this  shop  Slane  came  one  night,  grossly 
insulted  Waine,  ultimately  dragged  him  from  the  shop  into 
a  dark  passage,  tripped  him  up,  holding  his  head  between 
his  legs,  and  then  whistled  for  his  three  confederates.  When 
Rice,  Hays,  and  Beesley  appeared  on  the  scene,  they  were 
instructed  by  the  prime  savage  to  hold  Waine  down — the 
wretch  declaring,  "If  I  get  a  running  kick  at  him,  it  shall  be 
his  last."  The  horrible  miscreant  did  get  a  running  kick" 
— nay,  more  than  a  dozen — at  his  utterly  powerless  victim  ; 
and  when  Slane's  strength  was  getting  exhausted,  the  other 
three  wretclies  set  upon  Waine,  kicking  liim  in  the  body 
with  their  hob-nailed  boots,  while  the  poor  agonized  wife 
strove  vainly  to  save  her  husband.  A  lodger  in  the  house, 
named  Wilson,  at  last  interfered,  and  the  savages  ran  away. 
The  object  of  their  brutality  lived  just  twenty-five  minutes 
after  the  outrage,  and  the  post-mortem  examination  showed 


356 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


that  all  the  organs  were  perfectly  healthy,  and  that  death 
could  only  have  arisen  from  the  violence  Inflicted  on  Waine 
by  these  fiends,  who  were  plainly  identified  by  the  widow 
and  her  son.  It  may  be  noticed,  however,  as  a  painfully 
significant  circumstance,  that  the  lodger  Wilson,  who  was 
likewise  a  labouring  man,  and  a  most  important  witness  for 
the  prosecution,  refused  to  give  evidence,  and,  before  the 
trial  came  on,  absconded  altogether. 

Among  the  epithets  bestowed  by  the  Telegraphy — very 
properly,  but  unnecessarily — on  these  free  British  Operatives, 
there  is  one  which  needs  some  qualification  ; — that  of  "  Mis- 
creant," or  "  Misbeliever,"  which  is  only  used  accurately  of 
Turks  or  other  infidels,  whereas  it  is  probable  these  Irish- 
men were  zealously  religious  persons,  Evangelical  or  Catholic. 
But  the  perversion  of  the  better  faith  by  passion  is  indeed 
a  worse  form  of  "misbelieving"  than  the  obedient  keeping 
of  a  poorer  creed  ;  and  thus  the  word,  if  understood  not  of 
any  special  heresy,  but  of  powerlessness  to  believe,  with 
strength  of  imagination,  in  anything^  goes  to  the  root  of  the 
matter  ;  which  I  must  wait  till  after  Christmas  to  dig  for, 
having  much  else  on  my  hands. 

^Uh  December,  1872,  8,  Morning, 

The  first  quiet  and  pure  light  that  has  risen  this  many  a 
day,  was  increasing  through  the  tall  stems  of  the  trees  of  our 
garden,  which  is  walled  by  the  walls  of  old  Oxford  ;  and  a 
bird, — ( I  am  going  to  lecture  on  ornithology  next  term,  but 
don't  know  what  bird,  and  couldn't  go  to  ask  the  gardener,) 
singing  steady,  sweet,  momentary  notes,  in  a  way  that  would 
have  been  very  pleasant  to  me,  once.  And  as  I  was  breath- 
ing out  of  the  window,  thrown  up  as  high  as  I  could,  (for  my 
servant  had  made  me  an  enormous  fire,  as  servants  alwavs  do 
on  hot  mornings,)  and  looking  at  the  bright  sickle  of  a 
moon,  fading  as  she  rose,  the  verse  came  into  my  mind, — I 
don't  in  the  least  know  why, — "  Lifting  up  holy  hands,  with- 
out wrath  and  doubting  ;  " — which  chanced  to  express  in  the 
most  precise  terms,  what  I  want  you  to  feel,  about  Edward 
IIL's  fighting,  (though  St.  Paul  is  speaking  of  prayer,  not  of 


FOMS  GLAVIGEEA, 


357 


fighting,  but  it's  all  the  same  ;)  as  opposed  to  this  modern 
British  fighting,  which  is  the  lifting  up  of  unholy  hands, — 
feet,  at  least, — in  wrath,  and  doubting.  Also,  just  the  minute 
before,  I  had  upset  my  lucifer-matcli  box,  a  nasty  brown  tin 
thing,  containing, — as  the  spiteful  Third  Fors  w^ould  have  it 
— just  two  hundred  and  sixt3'-six  wax  matches,  half  of  which 
being  in  a  heap  on  the  floor,  and  the  rest  all  at  cross-pur- 
poses, had  to  picked  up,  put  straight  and  repacked,  and  at 
my  best  time  for  other  work.  During  this  operation,  neces- 
sarily deliberate,  I  was  thinking  of  my  correspondent's  query, 
(see  terminal  notes,)  respecting  what  I  meant  by  doing  any- 
thing "in  a  hurry."  I  mean  essentially  doing  it  in  hurry  of 
mi?id, — doubting"  whether  we  are  doing  it  fast  enough, — 
not  knowing  exactly  how  fast  we  can  do  it,  or  liow  slowly  it 
7nust  be  done,  to  be  done  well.  You  cannot  pack  a  lucifer- 
box,  nor  make  a  dish  of  stir-about,  nor  knead  a  brown  loaf, 
but  with  patience  ;  nor  meet  even  the  most  pressing  need 
but  with  coolness.  Once,  when  mv  father  was  comin<r  homo 
from  Spain,  in  a  merchant  sliip,  and  in  mid-bay  of  Biscay, 
tlie  captain  and  passengers  being  at  dinner,  the  sea  did 
something  or  other  to  the  ship  which  showed  tiiat  the  steers- 
man was  not  minding  what  he  was  about.  The  captain 
jumped  straight  over  the  table,  went  on  deck,  and  took  tl;e 
helm.  Now  I  do  not  mean  that  he  ought  to  have  gone 
round  the  table,  but  that,  if  a  good  captain,  as  he  took  the 
wheel,  he  would  not  miss  his  grasp  of  the  spokes  by  snatch- 
ing at  them  an  instant  too  soon. 

And  you  will  find  that  St.  Paul's  ''without  doubting" — 
for  which,  if  you  like,  you  may  substitute,  "  by,  or  in,  faith," 
covers  nearly  every  definition  of  right  action — and  also  that 
it  is  not  possible  to  have  this  kind  of  faith  unless  one  can 
add — as  he  does — "  havinor  faith  and  a  orood  conscience."  It 
does  not  at  all  follow  that  one  must  be  doing  a  right  thing  ; 
that  will  depend  on  one's  sense  and  information  ;  but  one 
must  be  doing  deliberately  a  thing  we  entirely  suppose  to  be 
right,  or  we  shall  not  do  it  becomingly. 

Thus,  observe,  I  enter  into  no  question  at  present  as  to  the  . 
absolute  rightness  of  King  Edward's  fighting,  which  caused, 


358 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA, 


that  day,  at  Calais,  the  deaths  of  more  than  four  hundred 
innocent  men  ;  nor  as  to  the  absolute  wrongness  of  the  four 
Irishmen's  fighting,  which  causes  only  the  death  of  one,  ( — who 
also  may,  for  aught  I  know,  have  done  something  really 
seeming  evil  to  the  dull  creatures) — hut  there  is  no  doubt  that 
the  Kinof  fouofht  whollv  without  wrath,  and  without  doubt- 
ing  his  Tightness  ;  and  they  w^ith  vile  wrath  and  miserable 
consciousness  of  doing  wrong  ;  and  that  you  have  in  the  two 
scenes,  as  perfect  types  as  I  can  put  before  you  of  entirely 
good  ancient  French  breeding,  and  entirely  bad  modern 
British  breeding. 

Breeding  ; — observe  the  word  ;  I  mean  it  literally  ;  involv- 
ing first  the  race — and  then  the  habits  enforced  in  youth  : 
entirely  excluding  intellectual  conclusions.  The  "  breeding  " 
of  a  man  is  what  he  gets  from  the  Centaur  Chiron  ;  the 
"beastly  "  part  of  him  in  a  good  sense  ; — that  which  makes 
him  courageous  b}^  instinct,  true  by  instinct,  loving  by  in- 
stinct, as  a  Dog  is  ;  and  therefore  felicitously  above  or  below 
(whichever  you  like  to  call  it,)  all  questions  of  philosophy 
and  divinity. 

And  of  both  the  Centaur  Chiron,  and  St.  George,  one,  the 
typical  Greek  tutor  of  gentlemen,  and  the  other,  the  type  of 
Christian  gentlemen,  I  meant  to  tell  you  in  this  letter  ;  and 
the  Third  Fors  won't  let  me,  yet,  and  I  scarcely  know  when  ; 
for  before  we  leave  King  Edward,  lest  you  should  suppose  I 
mean  to  set  him  up  for  a  saint  instead  of  St.  George,  you  must 
hear  the  truth  of  his  first  interview  w^ith  Alice  of  Salisbury, 
— (he  had  seen  her  married,  but  not  noticed  her  then,  particu- 
larly,)— wherein  you  will  see  him  becoming  doubtful,  and  of 
little  faith,  or  distorted  faith,  "  miscreant  ;  "  but  the  lady 
Alice  no  wise  doubtful  ;  wherefore  she  becomes  worthy  to 
give  the  shield  of  England  its  tressure  "  and  St.  George's 
company  their  watchword,  as  aforesaid. 

But  her  story  must  not  be  told  in  the  same  letter  with  that 
of  our  modern  British  courage  ;  and  now  that  I  think  of  it, 
St.  George's  had  better  be  first  told  in  February,  when,  I  hope, 
some  crocuses  will  be  up,  and  an  amaryllis  or  two,  St.  George 
having  much  interest  in  both. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


359 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


In  an  interesting  letter  for  self  and  mates  "  a  Manchester  working 
man  asks  me  the  meaning  of  ^'Fors  Clavigera "  (surely  enough  ex- 
plained in  II.  16  ?)  and  whether  I  mean  by  vulgarity  ''commonness," 
and  why  I  say  that  doing  anything  in  a  hurry  is  vulgar.  I  do  not  mean 
by  vulgarity,  commonness.  A  daisy  is  common  ;  and  a  baby,  not  un- 
common. Neither  are  vulgar.  Has  my  correspondent  really  no  per- 
ception of  the  difference  between  good  breeding  and  vulgarity  ? — if  he 
will  tell  me  this,  I  will  try  to  answer  him  more  distinctly  :  meantime, 
if  in  the  Salford  Library  there  is  a  copy  of  my  Modern  Painters,  let 
him  look  at  Vol.  V.,  Part  IX.,  Chap.  VII. 

He  says  also  that  he  and  his  mates  mmt  do  many  things  in  a  hurry. 

I  know  it.  But  do  they  suppose  such  compulsion  is  a  law  of  Heaven  ? 
or  that,  if  not,  it  is  likely  to  last  ? 

I  was  greatly  pleased  V)y  Mr.  Affleck's  letter,  and  would  have  told  him 
so ;  only  he  gave  me  his  address  in  Gordon  Street,  without  telling  me 
of  what  town.  His  post-mark  was  Galashiels,  which  I  tried,  and  Edin- 
burgh ;  but  only  with  embarrassment  to  Her  Majesty's  service. 

Another  communication,  very  naive  and  honest,  came  from  a  Repub- 
lican of  literary  tastes,  who  wished  to  assist  me  in  the  development  of 
my  plans  in  '  Fors  ;  '  and,  in  the  course  of  resulting  correspondence, 
expressed  his  willingness  to  answer  any  questions  I  might  wish  to  put 
to  him.  I  answered  that  I  imagined  myself,  as  far  as  I  thought  need- 
ful for  me,  acquainted  with  his  opinions;  but  that  perhaps  he  might 
wish  to  know  something  more  definite  about  mine,  and  that  if  he  liked 
to  pat  any  questions  to  me,  I  would  do  my  best  to  reply  intelligibly. 
Whereupon,  apparently  much  pleased,  he  sent  mo  the  following  eleven 
interrogations,  to  each  of  which  I  have  accordingly  given  solution,  to 
the  best  of  my  ability. 

1.  "  Can  the  world — its  oceans,  seas,  lakes,  rivers,  continents,  islands, 
or  portions  thereof,  be  rightfully  treated  by  human  legislators  as  the 
*  private  property  '  of  individuals  ?  " 

Alls.  Certainly.  Else  would  man  be  more  wretched  than  the  beasts, 
who  at  least  have  dens  of  their  own. 

2.  "  Should  cost  be  the  limit  of  price  ? 

Am.  It  never  was,  and  never  can  be.  So  we  need  not  ask  whether 
it  should  be. 


360 


FOBS  clavioeha. 


8.     Can  one  man  rightfully  tax  another  man  ?  " 
Ans.  By  all  means.    Indeed,  I  have  seldom  heard  of  anybody  wha 
would  tax  himself. 

4.  Can  a  million  men  rightfully  tax  other  men  ?  " 

Ans.  Certainly,  when  the  other  men  are  not  strong  enough  to  tax  the 
million. 

5.  Should  not  each  adult  inhabitant  of  a  country  (who  performs  ser- 
vice equivalent  in  value  to  his  or  her  use  of  the  service  of  other  inhabi- 
tants) have  electoral  rights  granted  equal  to  those  granted  to  any  other 
inhabitant?" 

A71S,  Heaven  forbid !  It  is  not  everybody  one  would  set  to  choose  a 
horse,  or  a  pig.    How  much  less  a  member  of  Parliament  ? 

6.  ''Is  it  not  aD  injustice  for  a  State  to  require  or  try  to  enforce, 
allegiance  to  the  State  from  self-supporting  adults,  who  have  never 
been  permitted  to  share  in  the  framing  or  endorsing  of  the  laws  they 
are  expected  to  obey?" 

Ans.  Certainly  not.  Laws  are  usually  most  beneficial  in  operation 
on  the  people  who  would  have  most  strongly  objected  to  their  enact- 
ment. 

7.  "  The  Parliament  of  this  country  is  now  almost  exclusively  com- 
posed of  representatives  of  the  classes  whose  time  is  mostly  occupied 
in  consuming  and  destroying.  Is  this  statement  true  ?  If  true — is  it 
right  that  it  should  be  so  ?  " 

Ans.  The  statement  is  untrue.  A  railway  navvy  consumes,  usually, 
about  six  times  as  much  as  an  average  member  of  Parliament ;  and  I 
know  nothing  which  members  of  Parliament  kill,  except  time,  which 
other  people  would  not  kill,  if  they  were  allowed  to.  It  is  the  Par- 
liamentary tendency  to  preservation,  rather  than  to  destruction,  which 
I  have  mostly  heard  complained  of. 

8.  ''  The  State  undertakes  the  carriage  and  delivery  of  letters.  Would 
it  be  just  as  consistent  and  advisable  for  the  State  to  undertake  the 
supply  of  unadulterated  and  wholesome  food,  clean  and  healthy  dwell- 
ings, elementary,  industrial,  and  scientific  instruction,  medical  assist- 
ance, a  national  paper  money,  and  other  necessities  ?  " 

Ans.  All  most  desirable.  But  the  tax-gatherers  would  have  a  busy 
life  of  it ! 

9.  ' '  Should  not  a  State  represent  the  co-operation  of  all  the  people 
of  a  country,  for  the  benefit  of  all  ?  " 

Ans.  You  mean,  I  suppose,  by  '  *  a  State  the  Government  of  a  State. 
The  Government  cannot  "represent'*  such  co-operation;  but  can  en- 
force it,  and  should. 

10.  ''Is  the  use  of  scarce  metals  as  material  of  which  to  make  '  cur- 
rency,' economical  and  beneficent  to  a  nation  ?  '* 

Ans,  No;  but  of  ten  necessary  :        Mimera  Puher  is  chsi^,  iii, 

11.  '*  Is  that  a  right  condition  of  a  people,  their  laws,  and  theil 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


361 


money  which  makes  '  interest '  for  use  of  money  legal  nnd  possible  to 
obtain  ?  " 

Ana,  See  Fors  Clamgera^  throughout,  which  indeed  I  have  written  to 
save  you  the  trouble  of  asking  questions  on  such  subjects. 

It  might  be  well  if  my  Republican  correspondent,  for  his  own  benefit, 
would  write  down  an  exact  definition  of  the  following  terms  used  by 
him : — 

1.  **  Private  property.*' 

2.  **Tax." 

3.  Stale." 


362 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


LETTER  XXVI. 

Brantwood,  Conistox, 

Zrd  January,  1873, 

"By  St.  George,"  said  the  English,    you  say  true  1" 

If,  by  the  same  oath,  the  English  could  still,  now-a-days, 
both  say  and  do  true,  themselves,  it  would  be  a  merrier  Eng- 
land. I  hear  from  those  of  my  acquaintance  who  are  un- 
happy enough  to  be  engaged  in  commercial  operations,  that 
their  correspondents  are  "failing  in  all  directions." 

Failing  !    What  business  has  anybody  to  fail  ? 

I  observe  myself  to  be  getting  into  the  habit  of  always 
thinking  the  last  blockheadism  I  hear,  or  think  of,  the  big- 
gest. But  this  system  of  mercantile  credit,  invented  simply 
to  give  power  and  opportunity  to  rogues,  and  enable  them 
to  live  upon  tiie  wreck  of  honest  men — was  ever  anything 
like  it  in  the  world  before?  That  the  wretched,  impatient, 
scrambling  idiots,  calling  themselves  commercial  men,  for- 
sooth, should  not  be  able  so  much  as  to  see  this  plainest  of 
all  facts,  that  any  given  sum  of  money  will  be  as  serviceable 
to  commerce  in  the  pocket  of  the  seller  of  the  goods,  as  of 
the  buyer  ;  and  that  nobody  gains  one  farthing  by  "  credit  " 
in  the  long  run.  It  is  precisely  as  great  a  loss  to  commerce 
that  every  seller  has  to  wait  six  montlis  for  his  money,  as  it 
is  a  gain  to  commerce  that  every  buyer  should  keep  his 
money  six  months  in  his  pocket.  In  reality  there  is  neither 
gain  nor  loss — except  by  roguery,  when  the  gain  is  all  to  the 
rogue,  and  the  loss  to  the  true  man. 

In  all  wise  commerce,  payment,  large  or  small,  should  be 
over  the  counter.  If  you  can't  pay  for  a  thing — don't  buy 
it.  If  you  can't  get  paid  for  it — don't  sell  it.  So,  you  will 
have  calm  days,  drowsy  nights,  all  the  good  business  you 
have  now,  and  none  of  the  bad. 

(Just  as  I  am  correcting  this  sheet  I  get  a  lovely  illumi- 
nated circular,  printed  in  blue  and  red,  from  Messrs.  Howdl, 


FOns  fJJ.AVIGERA. 


3(53 


James,  and  Co.,  silk  mercers,  (Scc,  to  the  Royal  Family, 
which  respectfully  announces  that  their  half  yearly  clearance 
sale 

and  continues  one  month,  and  that  the  whole  op  the 

VALUABLE  STOCK  WILL  BE  COMPLETELY  OVERHAULED,  AND 
LARGE  PORTIONS  SUBJECTED  TO  SUCH  REDUCTIONS  IN  PRICE, 
AS  WILL  ENSURE  THEIR  BEING  DISPOSED  OF  PRIOR  TO  THE 
COMMENCEMENT  OF  THE  APPROACHING  SPRING  SEASON.  EaCH 
DEPARTMENT  WILL  PRESENT  SPECIAL  ATTRACTIONS  IN  THE 
WAY  OF  BARGAINS,  AND  LADIES  WILL  HAVE  AN  OPPORTUNITY 
OF  PURCHASING  THE  HIGHEST  CLASS  OF  GOODS  AT  PRICES 
QUITE  AS  LOW  AS  THOSE  OF  INFERIOR  MANUFACTURE.  What 

a  quite  beautiful  and  generally  satisfactory  commercial  ar- 
rangement, most  obliging  H.  and  J.!) 

If,  however,  for  the  nonce,  you  chance  to  have  such 
a  thing  as  a  real  "pound"  in  your  own  pocket,  besides  the 
hypothetical  pounds  you  have  in  otiier  people's — put  it  on 
the  table,  and  let  us  look  at  it  together. 

As  a  piece  of  mere  die-cutting,  that  St.  George  is  one  of 
the  best  bits  of  work  we  have  on  our  money.*  But  as  a  de- 
sign,— how  brightly  comic  it  is  I  The  horse  looking  ab- 
stractedly into  the  air,  instead  of  where  precisely  it  would 
have  looked,  at  the  beast  between  its  legs  :  St.  George,  with 
nothing  but  his  helmet  on,  (being  the  last  piece  of  armour 
he  is  likely  to  want,)  putting  his  naked  feet,  at  least  his 
feet  shovying  their  toes  through  the  buskins,  well  forward, 
that  the  dragon  may  with  the  greatest  convenience  get  a 
bite  at  them  ;  and  about  to  deliver  a  mortal  blow  at  him 
with  a  sword  which  cannot  reach  him  by  a  couple  of  yards, 
— or,  I  think,  in  George  III.'s  piece, — with  a  field-marshal's 
truncheon. 

Victor  Carpaccio  had  other  opinions  on  the  likelihood  of 
matters  in  this  battle.    His  St.  George  exactly  reverses  the 

*  The  best  is  on  George  III. 's  ponnd.  1820,  the  most  finished  in  work 
on  George  IV.'s  crowu-piece,  1821. 


864 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


practice  of  ours.  He  rides  armed,  from  shoulder  to  heel,  in 
proof — but  without  his  helmet.  For  the  real  difficulty  in 
dragon-tights,  as  you  shall  hear,  is  not  so  much  to  kill  your 
dragon,  as  to  see  him  ;  at  least  to  see  him  in  time,  it  being 
too  probable  that  he  will  see  you  first.  Garpaccio's  St. 
George  will  have  his  eyes  about  him,  and  his  head  free  to 
turn  this  way  or  that.  He  meets  his  dragon  at  the  gallop- — 
catches  him  in  the  mouth  with  his  lance — carries  him  back- 
wards  off  his  forefeet,  with  the  spear  point  out  at  the  back  of 
his  neck.  But  Victor  Carpaccio  had  seen  knights  tilting  ;  and 
poor  Pistrucci,  who  designed  this  St.  George  for  us,  though 
he  would  have  been  a  good  sculptor  in  luckier  circumstances, 
liad  only  seen  them  presenting  addresses  as  my  Lord  Mayor, 
and  killing  turtle  instead  of  dragon. 

And,  to  our  increasing  sorrow,  modern  literature  is  as  un- 
satisfactory in  its  picturing  of  St.  George  as  modern  art. 
Here  is  Mr.  Emerson's  bas-relief  of  the  Saint,  given  in  his 
"  English  Traits,"  a  book  occasionally  wise,  and  always 
observant  as  to  matters  actually  proceeding  in  the  world  ; 
but  thus,  in  its  ninth  chapter,  calumnious  of  our  Georgia 
faith  : 

"George  of  Cappadocia,  born  at  Epiphania  in  Cilicia,  was 
a  low  parasite,  who  got  a  lucrative  contract  to  supply  the 
army  with  bacon.  A  rogue  and  informer  ;  he  got  rich,  and 
was  forced  to  run  from  justice.  He  saved  his  money,  em- 
braced Arianism,  collected  a  library,  and  got  promoted  by  a 
faction  to  the  episcopal  throne  of  Alexandria.  When  Julian 
came,  a.d.  361,  George  was  dragged  to  prison.  The  prison 
was  burst  open  by  the  mob,  and  George  was  lynched,  as  he 
deserved.  And  this  precious  knave  became,  in  good  time, 
Saint  George  of  England — patron  of  chivalry,  emblem  of 
victory  and  civility,  and  the  pride  of  the  best  blood  of  the 
modern  world  !  " 

Here  is  a  goodly  patron  of  our  dainty  doings  in  Hanover 
Square  !  If  all  be  indeed  as  our  clear-sighted,  unimaginative, 
American  cousin  tells  us.  But  if  all  be  indeed  so,  what  con- 
clusion would  our  American  cousin  draw  from  it  ?  The  sen- 
tence is  amusing — the  facts  {if  facts)  surprising.    But  what 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


3G5 


is  to  follow?  Mr.  Emerson's  own  conclusion  is  ''that  nature 
trips  us  up  when  we  strut."  But  that  is,  in  the  first  place, 
untrue  absolutely,  for  Nature  teaches  all  cock-sparrows,  and 
their  like,  (who  are  many)  to  strut  ;  and  never  without  whole- 
some effect  on  the  minds  of  hen-sparrows,  and  their  like, 
who  are  likewise  many.  But  in  its  relative,  if  not  absolute, 
truth,  is  this  the  conclusion  here  wisely  to  be  gathered  ?  Are 
"  chivalry,  victory,  civility,  and  the  pride  of  the  best  blood 
of  the  modern  world,"  generally  to  be  described  as  "  strut- 
ting "  ?  And  is  the  discovery  of  the  peculations  of  George 
of  Cilicia  a  wholesome  reproof,  administered  by  Nature,  to 
those  unnatural  modes  of  thinkinof  and  feelino^  ? 

Mr.  Emerson  does  not  think  so.  No  modern  person  has 
truer  instinct  for  heroism  than  he  :  nay,  he  is  the  only  man 
I  know  of,  among  all  who  ever  looked  at  books  of  mine,  who 
had  nobleness  enough  to  understand  and  believe  the  story  of 
Turner's  darkening  his  own  j)icture  that  it  might  not  take 
the  light  out  of  Lawrence's.  The  level  of  vulgar  English 
temper  is  now  sunk  so  far  below  the  power  of  doing  such  a 
thing,  that  I  never  told  tlie  story  yet,  in  general  society, 
without  being  met  by  instant  and  obstinate  questioning  of 
its  truth,  if  not  by  quiet  incredulity.  But  men  with  tlie 
pride  of  the  best  blood  of  England"  can  believe  it ;  and  Mr. 
Emerson  believes  it.  And  yet  this  chivalry,  and  faith,  and 
fire  of  heart,  recognised  by  him  as  existent,  confuse  them- 
selves in  his  mind  with  effete  Gothic  tradition  ;  and  are  all 
"  tripped  up  "  by  liis  investigation,  itself  superficial,  of  the 
story  of  St.  George.  In  quieter  thought,  he  would  have  felt 
that  the  chivalry  and  victory,  being  themselves  real,  must 
have  been  achieved,  at  some  time  or  another,  by  a  real  chev- 
alier and  victor, — nay,  by  thousands  of  chevaliers  and  victors. 
That  instead  of  one  St.  George,  there  must  have  been  armies 
of  St.  Georges  ; — that  this  vision  of  a  single  Knight  was  as 
securelv  the  svmbol  of  kniVhts  innumerable,  as  the  one 
Dragon  of  sins  and  trials  innumerable  ;  and  no  more  de- 
pended for  its  vitality,  or  virtue,  on  the  behaviour  of  George 
of  Cilicia  than  the  terror  of  present  temptation  depends  on 
the  natural  history  of  the  rattlesnake.    And  farther,  being 


300 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


an  American,  he  should  have  seen  that  the  fact  of  the  Chria 
tian  world's  having  made  a  bishop  of  a  speculating  bacon' 
seller,  and  afterwards  kept  reverent  record  of  this  false  St, 
George,  but  only  obscure  record  of  its  real  St.  Georges,  v/aa 
by  no  means  an  isolated  fact  in  the  history  of  the  Christian 
world, — but  rather  a  part  of  its  confirmed  custom  and  "  prac^ 
tical  education  ; "  and  that,  only  the  other  day,  St.  James 
Fiske,  canonised  tearfully  in  America,  and  bestrewn  with 
tuberoses  and  camellias,  as  above  described,  (XV.  208),  was  a 
military  gentleman  of  exactly  the  type  of  the  Cilician  St 
George. 

Farther.  How  did  it  never  occur  to  Mr.  Emerson  that, 
whether  his  story  of  the  bookcollecting  bishop  were  true  or 
not,  it  was  certainly  not  the  story  told  to  Coeur-de-Lion,  or 
to  Edward  III.  when  they  took  St.  George  for  their  Master? 
No  bookcollecting  episcopal  person,  had  he  been  ever  so  much 
a  saint,  would  have  served  them  to  swear  by,  or  to  strike  by. 
They  must  have  heard  some  other  story  ; — not,  perhaps,  one 
written  down,  nor  needing  to  be  written.  A  remembered 
stor}^ — yet,  probably,  a  little  truer  than  the  written  one  ; 
and  a  little  older. 

It  is  above  all,  strange  that  the  confusion  of  his  own  first 
sentence  did  not  strike  him,  "  George  of  Cappadocia,  born  in 
Cilicia."  It  is  true  that  the  bacon-selling  and  bookcollecting 
Arian  Bishop  was  born  in  Cilicia,  and  that  this  Arian  Bishop 
was  called  George.  But  the  Arians  only  contrived  to  get 
this  Bishop  of  theirs  thought  of  as  a  saint  at  all,  because 
there  was  an  antecedent  St.  George,  with  whom  he  might  bo 
confused  ;  a  St.  George,  indeed  of  Cappadocia;"  and  as  it 
chanced  that  their  own  bishop  came  out  of  Cappadocia  to  his 
bishopric,  very  few  years  after  his  death  sufficed  to  render  the 
equivocation  possible.  But  the  real  St.  George  had  been 
martyred  seventy  years  before,  a.d.  290,  whereas  the  i^rian 
bishop  was  killed  in  361.  And  this  is  the  story  of  the  real 
St.  George,  which  filled  the  heart  of  the  early  Christian  church, 
and  was  heard  by  Coeur-de-Lion  and  by  Edward  III.,  some- 
what in  this  following  form,  it,  luckily  for  us^  having  been  at 
least  once  fairly  written  out,  in  the  tenth  century,  by  the  best 


FOn^^  CLAVTGERA. 


367 


Eastern  scholar  who  occupied  himself  with  the  history  of 
Saints.  I  give  you  an  old  English  translation  of  it,  rather 
than  my  own,  from  p.  132  of  the  *^  Historie  of  that  most  fa- 
mous Saint  and  Souldier  of  Christ  Jesus,  St.  George  of  Cap- 
padocia,  asserted  from  the  fictions  of  the  middle  ages  of  the 
Church,  and  opposition  of  the  present,  by  Peter  Heylyn  ; 
printed  in  London  for  Henry  Seyle,  and  to  be  sold  at  his 
shop  the  signe  of  the  Tyger's  head  in  St,  Paul's  Church- 
yard, 1631." 

"  St.  George  was  born  in  Cappadocia,  of  Christian  parents, 
and  those  not  of  the  meanest  qualitie  :  by  w^hom  hee  was 
brought  up  in  true  Religion,  and  the  feare  of  God.  Hee  was 
no  sooner  past  his  Childhood,  but  hee  lost  his  father,  bravely 
encountring  with  the  enemies  of  Christ  ;  and  thereupon  de- 
parted with  his  afflicted  Mother  into  Palestine,  whereof  she 
"was  a  native  ;  and  where  great  fortunes  and  a  faire  inherit- 
ance did  fall  unto  him.  Thus  qualified  in  birth,  and  being 
also  of  an  able  bodie,  and  of  an  age  fit  for  employment  in  the 
warres,  hee  was  made  a  Colonell."  (This  word  is  explained 
above,  XV.  208.)  "  In  which  employment  hee  gave  such  tes- 
timonies of  his  valour,  and  behav'd  himselfe  so  nobly  ;  that 
forthwith  Diocletian,  not  knowing  yet  that  hee  was  a  Chris- 
tian, advanc'd  him  to  the  place  and  dignitie  of  his  Councell 
for  the  warres  ;  (for  so  on  good  authoritie  I  have  made  bold 
to  render  *  Comes'  in  this  place  and  time).  About  this  time 
his  Mother  dyed  :  and  hee,  augmenting  the  heroicke  resolu- 
tions of  his  mind,  with  the  increase  of  his  revenue,  did  pres- 
ently applie  himselfe  unto  the  Court  and  service  of  his 
Prince  ;  his  twentieth  yeere  being  even  then  compleat  and 
ended." 

"  But  Diocletian  being  soon  after  compelled  into  his  per- 
secution of  the  Christians  "  (Heylyn  now  gives  abstract  of 
his  author,)  and  warrants  granted  out  unto  the  officers  and 
rulers  of  the  Provinces  to  speed  the  execution,  and  that  done 
also  in  frequent  senate,  the  Emperour  there  liimself  in  per- 
son, St.  George,  though  not  yet  sainted,  could  continue  no 
longer,  but  there  exposed  himself  unto  their  fury  and  his 
owne  glory  :  "  (Translation  begins  again.) 


368 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


When  therefore  George,  even  in  the  first  beginnings^ 
had  observ'd  the  extraordinarie  cruelty  of  these  proceedings^ 
hee  presently  put  off  his  military  habiliments,  and,  making 
dole  of  all  his  substance  to  the  poore,  on  the  third  Session  ot 
the  Senate,  when  the  Imperiall  decree  was  to  be  verified, 
quite  voide  of  feare,  he  came  into  the  Senate-house,  and 
spake  unto  them  in  this  manner.  'How  long,  most  noble 
Emperour  and  you  Conscript  Fathers,  will  you  augment  your 
tyrannies  against  the  Ciiristians  ?  How  long  will  you  enact 
unjust  and  cruell  Lawes  against  them,  compelling  those  which 
are  aris^ht  instructed  in  the  faith,  to  follow  that  Relio-ion,  of 
whose  truth  your  selves  are  doubtfull.  Your  Idols  are  no 
Gods,  and  I  am  bold  to  say  againe,  they  are  not.  Be  not 
3^ou  longer  couzned  in  the  same  errour.  Our  Christ  alone  is 
God,  he  only  is  the  Lord,  in  the  glory  of  the  Father. 
Eyther  do  you  therefore  acknowledge  that  Religion  which 
undoubtedly  is  true  :  or  else  disturbe  not  them  by  your 
raging  follies,  which  would  willingly  embrace  it.  This  said, 
and  all  the  Senate  wonderfully  amazed  at  the  free  speech 
and  boldnesse  of  the  man  ; "  (and  no  wonder  ; — my  own 
impression  is  indeed  that  most  martyrs  have  been  made  away 
with  less  for  their  faith  than  their  incivility.  I  have  always 
a  lurking  sympathy  with  the  Heathen  ;)  "  they  all  of  them 
turn'd  their  eyes  upon  the  Emperour,  expecting  what  hee 
would  reply  :  who  beckoning  to  Magnentius,  then  Consull, 
and  one  of  his  speciall  Favourites,  to  returne  an  answere  ;  hee 
presently  applyed  himselfe  to  satisfie  his  Prince's  pleasure." 

"  Further "  (says  Heylyn)  "  we  will  not  prosecute  the 
storie  in  our  Authors  words,  which  are  long  and  full  of 
needlesse  conference  ;  but  will  briefly  declare  the  substance 
of  it,  which  is  this.  Upon  St.  George's  constant  profession 
of  his  Faith,  they  wooed  him  first  with  promises  of  future 
honours,  and  more  faire  advancements  :  but  finding  him  un- 
moveable,  not  to  be  wrought  upon  with  words,  they  tried 
him  next  with  torments  :  not  sparing  anything  which  might 
expresse  their  cruelty,  or  enoble  his  affliction.  When  they 
saw  ail  was  fruitlesse,  at  last  the  fatall  Sentence  was  pro- 
nounced against  him  in  this  manner  :  that,  beeing  had  againe 


FOES  CLAVIGERA, 


369 


to  prison,  liee  should  the  following  day  be  drawne  through 
the  City  and  beheaded. 

"  Which  sentence  was  accordingly  performed,  and  George 
invested  with  the  glorious  Crowne  of  Martyrdome  upon  the 
23.  day  of  April,  Anno  Domini  nostri,  290." 

That  is  St.  George's  true  "  story,  how  far  literally  true 
is  of  no  moment  ;  it  is  enough  for  us  that  a  young  soldier, 
in  early  days  of  Christianity,  put  off  his  armour,  and  gave 
up  his  soul  to  his  Captain,  Christ  :  and  that  his  death  did 
so  impress  the  hearts  of  all  Christian  men  who  heard  of  it, 
that  gradually  he  became  to  them  the  leader  of  a  sacred 
soldiership,  which  conquers  more  than  its  mortal  enemies, 
and  prevails  against  the  poison,  and  the  shadow,  of  Pride, 
and  Deatli. 

And  above  all,  his  putting  off  his  knight's  armour,  espe- 
cially the  military  belt,  as  then  taking  service  with  Christ 
instead  of  the  Roman  Emperor,  impressed  the  minds  of  the 
later  Christian  knights  ;  because  of  the  law  referred  to  by 
St.  Golden-Lips,  (quoted  by  lleylyn  farther  on)  No  one, 
who  is  an  officer  would  dare  to  appear  without  his  zone  and 
mantle  before  him  who  wears  tlie  diadem."  So  that  having 
thus  voluntarilv  humbled  himself,  he  is  thoucjht  of  as  chieflv 
exalted  among  Christian  soldiers,  and  called,  not  only  "  the 
great  Martyr,"  but  the  Standard-Bearer,"  (Tropeeophorus.) 
Whence  he  afterwards  becomes  the  knight  bearing  the  bloody 
cross  on  the  argent  field,  and  the  Captain  of  Christian  war. 

The  representation  of  all  his  spiritual  enemies  under  the 
form  of  the  Dragon  was  simply  the  natural  habit  of  the 
Greek  mind  ;  the  stories  of  Apollo  delivering  Latona  from 
the  Python,  and  of  Perseus  delivering  Andromeda  from  the 
sea  monster,  had  been  as  familiar  as  the  pitcher  and  wine- 
cups  they  had  been  painted  on,  in  red  and  black,  for  a  thou- 
sand years  before  :  and  the  name  of  St.  George,  the  "  Earth- 
worker,"  or  "  Husbandman,"  *  connected  him  instantly,  in 

*  More  properly  *  named  from  the  husbandman/  Thus  Lycus  is  'a 
wolf,'  Lycius,  named  from  the  *  wolf,'  or  '  wolfish.'  So,  Georgus  ia 
'a  husbandman,'  Georgius,  *  named  from  the  husbandman,'  or  '  hus- 
bamdmanish.' 

24 


370 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA, 


Greek  thoughts,  not  only  with  the  ancient  dragon,  Erich- 
thonius,  but  with  the  Spirit  of  agriculture,  called  "  Thrice* 
warrior "  to  whom  the  dragon  was  a  harnessed  creature  o{ 
toil.  Yet,  so  far  as  I  know,  it  was  not  until  the  more  strictly 
Christian  tradition  of  the  armed  archangel  Michael  confused 
its  symbolism  with  that  of  the  armed  saint,  that  the  dragon 
enters  definitely  into  the  story  of  St.  George.  The  authori- 
tative course  of  Byzantine  painting,  sanctioned  and  restricted 
by  the  Church  in  the  treatment  of  every  subject,  invariably 
represents  St.  George  as  the  soldier  Martyr,  or  witness,  before 
Diocletian,  never  as  victor  over  the  dragon  :  *  his  story,  as  the 
painters  tell  it,  corresponds  closely  with  that  of  St.  Catherine 
of  Sinai  ;  f  and  is,  in  the  root  of  it,  truth,  and  in  the  branch- 
ing of  it,  beautiful  dream,  of  the  same  wild  and  lovely  char- 
acter.  And  we  might  as  well  confuse  Catherine  of  Sinai 
with  Catherine  of  Siena,  (or  for  that  matter,  Catherine  de  Me- 
dicis  !)  as  St.  George  of  the  Eastern  Church  with  George  the 
Arian.  And  this  witness  of  painting  remains  simple  and 
unbroken,  down  to  the  last  days  of  Venice.  St.  Mark,  St. 
Nicholas,  and  St.  George  are  the  three  saints  who  are  seen, 
in  the  vision  of  the  Fisherman,  delivering  Venice  from  the 
fiends.  St.  George,  first  "of  the  seaweed,"  has  three  other 
churches  besides  in  Venice  ;  and  it  will  be  the  best  work  J 

*  See  the  complete  series  of  subjects  as  given  by  M.  Didron  in  his 
**  Iconographie  Chretienne  "  (8vo.  Paris,  1845,  p.  369),  and  note  the 
most  interesting  trace  of  the  idea  of  Triptolemus,  in  the  attendant 
child  with  the  water-pitcher  behind  the  equestrian  figures  of  the 
Saint. 

f  You  will  find  that  in  my  19th  letter,  p.  256,  I  propose  that  our  St. 
George's  company  in  England  shall  be  under  the  patronage  also  of  St 
Anthony  in  Italy.  And  in  general,  we  will  hold  ourselves  bound  to 
reverence,  in  one  mind,  with  Carpuccio  and  the  good  Painters  and  Mer- 
chants of  Venice,  the  eight  great  Saints  of  the  Greek  Church, — namely 
(in  the  order  M.  Didron  gives  them) — the  Archangel  Michael,  the  Pre- 
cursor (John  Baptist),  St.  Peter,  St.  Paul,  St.  Nicholas,  St.  George,  Ste. 
Catherine  of  Sinai,  and  St.  Anthony,  these  being  patrons  of  our  chief 
occupations,  (while,  over  our  banking  operations  we  will  have  for  pa- 
tron or  principal  manager,  the  more  modern  Western  Saint,  Francis  of 
Assisi ;)  meaning  always  no  disrespect  to  St.  Jerome  or  Ste.  Cecilia,  i» 
case  we  need  help  in  our  literature  or  music. 


FOBS  GLAVIQERA, 


371 


have  ever  done  in  this  broken  life  of  mine,  if  I  can  someday 
show  you,  however  dimly,  how  Victor  Carpaccio  has  painted 
him  in  the  humblest  of  these, — the  little  chapel  of  St.  George 
on  the  ''Shore  of  the  Slaves."  There,  however,  our  dragon 
does  not  fail  us,  both  Carpaccio  and  Tintoret  having  the 
deepest  convictions  on  that  subject  ; — as  all  strong  men  must 
have  ;  for  the  Dragon  is  too  true  a  creature,  to  all  such, 
spiritually.  That  it  is  an  indisputably  living  and  venomous 
creature,  materially,  has  been  the  marvel  of  the  world,  inno- 
cent and  guilty,  not  knowing  what  to  think  of  the  terrible 
worm  ;  nor  whether  to  worship  it,  as  the  Rod  of  their  law- 
giver, or  to  abhor  it  as  the  visible  symbol  of  the  everlasting 
Disobedience. 

Touching  which  mystery,  you  must  learn  one  or  two  main 
facts. 

The  word  'Dragon,'  means  "the  Seeing  Creature,''  and  I 
believe  the  Greeks  had  the  same  notion  in  their  other  word 
for  a  serpent,  "  ophis."  There  were  many  other  creeping, 
and  crawling,  and  rampant  things  ;  the  olive  stem  and  the 
ivy  were  serpentine  enough,  blindly  ;  but  here  was  a  creep- 
ino:  thino-  that  saw  ! 

The  action  of  the  cobra,  with  its  lifted  and  levelled  head, 
and  the  watchfulness  of  the  coiled  viper  impressed  the 
Egyptians  and  Greeks  intensely.  To  tiie  Egyptian  the 
serpent  was  awful  and  sacred,  and  became  the  ornament  on 
the  front  of  the  King's  diadems  (though  an  evil  spirit  also, 
when  not  erect).  The  Greeks  never  could  make  up  their 
minds  about  it.  All  human  life  seems  to  them  as  the  story 
of  Laocoon.  The  fiery  serpents  slay  us  for  our  wisdom  and 
fidelity  ; — then  writhe  themselves  into  rest  at  the  feet  of  the 
Gods. 

The  Egyptians  were  at  the  same  pause  as  to  their  Nile 
Dragon,  for  whom  I  told  you  they  built  their  labyrinth. 
'*  B'or  in  the  eyes  of  some  of  the  Egyptians,  the  crocodiles 
are  sacred  :  but  bv  others  thev  are  held  for  enemies.  And 
it  is  they  who  dwell  by  the  Lake  Moeris,  who  think  them 
greatly  sacred.  Every  one  of  these  lake  people  has  care  of 
his  own  crocodile,  taught  to  be  obedient  to  the  lifting  of 


372 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA, 


finger.  And  they  put  jewels  of  enamel  and  gold  into  their 
ears,  and  bracelets  on  their  forefeet,  and  feed  them  with  the 
sacred  shew-bread  daily,  and  attend  upon  them,  that  they 
may  live  beautiful  lives  ;  and,  when  they  die,  bury  them, 
embalmed,  in  holy  tombs.''  (Thus  rehgioii,  as  a  pious  friend, 
1  observe,  writes  in  a  Devonshire  paper  the  other  day,  leads 
to  the  love  of  Nature  !)  "  But  they  of  the  city  Elephantine 
eat  their  crocodiles,  holding  them  nowise  sacred.  Neither  do 
they  call  them  crocodiles,  but  champsse  ;  it  is  the  lonians 
who  call  them  ^crocodiles,'  because  they  think  them  like 
the  little  crocodiles  that  live  in  the  dry  stone  walls." 

I  do  not  know  if  children  generally  have  strong  associative 
fancy  about  words  ;  but  when  I  was  a  child,  that  word 
"  Crocodile  "  always  seemed  to  me  very  terrific,  and  I  would 
even  hastily,  in  any  book,  turn  a  leaf  in  which  it  was  printed 
with  a  capital  C.  If  anybody  had  but  told  me  the  meaning 
of  it — "a  creature  that  is  afraid  of  crocuses  "  ! 

That,  at  least,  is  all  I  can  make  of  it,  now  ;  though  I  can't 
understand  how  this  weakness  of  the  lizard  mind  was  ever 
discovered,  for  lizards  never  see  crocuses,  that  I  know  of. 
The  next  I  meet  in  Italy,  (poor  little,  glancing,  panting, 
things, — I  miss  them  a  little  here  from  my  mossy  walls) — 
shall  be  shown  an  artificial  crocus,  Paris-made  ;  we  will  see 
what  it  thinks  of  it  !  But  however  it  came  to  be  given,  for 
the  great  Spirit-Lizard,  the  name  is  a  good  one.  For  as  the 
wise  German's  final  definition  of  the  Devil  (in  the  second 
part  of  Faust)  is  that  he  is  afraid  of  Roses,  so  the  earliest 
and  simplest  possible  definition  of  him  is  that  in  spring  time 
he  is  afraid  of  crocuses ;  which  I  am  quite  sure,  both  our 
farmers  and  manufacturers  are  now,  in  England  ;  to  the  ut- 
most. On  the  contrary,  the  Athenian  Spirit  of  Wisdom 
was  so  fond  of  crocuses  that  she  made  her  own  robe  crocus- 
colour,  before  embroidering  it  with  the  wars  of  the  Giants 
she  being  greatly  antagonistic  to  the  temper  which  dresses 
sisters  of  charity  in  black,  for  a  crocus-colour  dress  was  much 
the  gayest — not  to  say  the  giddiest — thing  she  could  possi' 
blv  wear  in  Athens. 

And  of  the  crocus,  vernal,  and  autumnal,  more  properly 


FOUS  CLA  VIGEIIA. 


373 


the  enchanted  herb  of  Colchis,  (see,  by  the  way,  White's 
History  of  Selhorne  at  the  end  of  its  41st  letter)  I  must  tell 
yon  somewhat  more  in  next  letter  ;  meantime,  look  at  the 
saffron  crest  in  the  centre  of  it,  carefully,  and  read,  with 
some  sympathy,  if  you  can,  this  true  story  of  a  crocus,  which 
being  told  me  the  other  day  by  one  who,  whether  I  call  him 
friend  or  not,  is  indeed  friendly  to  me,  and  to  all  whom  he 
can  befriend,  I  begged  him  to  write  it  for  your  sakes,  which 
he  has  thus  orraciouslv  done  : — 

A  STORY  OF  A  FLOWER. 

"It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  delight  which  I  took  in 
my  first  flower,  yet  it  was  only  a  poor  peeky,  little  sprouting 
crocus.  Before  I  begin  the  story,  I  must,  in  two  lines,  make 
known  my  needy  state  at  the  time  when  I  became  the  owner 
of  the  flower.  I  was  in  my  eleventh  year,  meanly  clothed, 
plainly  fed,  and  penniless  ;  an  errand  boy  in  receipt  of  one 
shilling  and  sixpence  a  week,  which  sum  I  consumed  in 
bread  and  shoe  leather.  Yet  I  was  happy  enough,  living  in 
a  snusT  cotta<re  in  the  suburbs  of  Oxford,  within  siofht  of  its 
towers,  and  within  hearing  of  its  bells.  In  the  back  yard  of 
my  home  were  many  wonders.  The  gable  end  of  a  barn  was 
mantled  with  ivy,  centuries  old,  and  sparrows  made  their 
home  in  its  leafage  ;  an  ancient  wall,  old  as  the  Norman 
tower  at  the  other  end  of  the  town,  was  rich  in  gilly-flowers  ; 
a  wooden  shed,  with  red  tiles,  was  covered  by  a  thriving 
*  tea  tree,'  so  we  called  it,  which  in  summer  was  all  blossom, 
pendant  mauve  coloured  blossoms.  This  tree  managed  to  in- 
terlace its  branches  among  the  tiles  so  effectively  as  in  the 
end  to  lift  off  the  whole  roof  in  a  mass,  and  poise  it  in  the 
air.  Bees  came  in  swarms  to  sip  honey  at  the  blossoms  :  I 
noted  civilised  hive  bees,  and  large  ones  whose  waxen  ceils 
were  hidden  in  mossy  banks  in  the  woods — these  had  crimson 
and  saffron  tinted  bodies,  or,  for  variety,  hairy  shapes  of 
sombre  green  and  black.  I  was  never  weaiy  of  my  wall- 
flowers, and  bees,  and  butterflies.  But,  so  it  is,  I  happened 
one  day  to  get  a  glimpse  of  a  college  garden  about  the  end 
of  February,  or  the  beginning  of  March,  when  its  mound  of 


374 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


venerable  elms  was  lit  up  with  star-like  yellow  flow^ers.  The 
dark  earth  was  robed  as  with  a  bright  garment  of  imperial, 
oriental  splendour.  It  was  the  star-shaped  aconite,  as  I  be- 
lieve, but  am  not  sure,  whose  existence  in  flower  is  brief,  but 
glorious,  when  beheld,  as  I  beheld  it,  in  masses.  Hence- 
forth, if  Old  Fidget,  the  gardener,  was  not  at  the  back  gate 

of  St.  J          I  peeped  though  the  keyhole  at  my  yellow 

garden  bed,  which  seemed  flooded  with  sunlight,  only 
broken  by  patches  of  rich  black  earth,  which  formed  strange 
patterns,  such  as  we  see  on  Japanese  screens  of  laquer  and 
bronze,  only  that  the  flowers  had  a  glory  of  their  own. 
Well,  I  looked  through  the  keyhole  every  time  I  passed,  and 
that  was  four  times  daily,  and  always  with  increased  in- 
terest for  my  flowering  aconite.  But  oh  !  trouble  upon 
trouble,  one  day  I  found  the  keyhole  stopt,  and  there  was 
an  end  of  m}^  daily  joy,  and  of  the  interest  which  had  been 
awakened  in  me,  in  a  new  way,  for  the  wonders  of  nature. 
My  love  of  flowers,  however,  increased,  and  I  found  means  to 
feed  my  love.  I  had  often  observed  Old  Fidget,  the  head 
gardener,  and  his  mates,  bring  out  wheelbarrow  loads  of  ref- 
use from  the  shrubbery  and  flower  beds,  and  throw  them  in 
a  heap  along  the  garden  wall  without,  where  a  long,  deep 
trench  had  become  the  well-known  receptacle  for  rubbish. 
Such  places  were  common  in  town  suburbs  in  those  days. 
The  rubbish  consisted  of  cuttings  of  shrubs  and  plants,  and 
rakings  of  flower-borders,  but  more  bountifully,  of  elm 
leaves,  and  the  cast  off  clothing  of  chestnut  trees,  which 
soon  lay  rotting  in  flaky  masses,  until  I  happened  to  espy  a 
fragment  of  a  bulb,  and  then,  the  rubbish  of  the  garden, 
which  concealed  sprouting  chestnuts,  knew  no  rest.  I  went, 
one  holiday,  and  dug  deep,  with  no  other  implement  than 
my  hands,  into  this  matted  mass.  I  laboured,  till  at  length, 
in  a  mass  of  closely  pressed  leaves,  I  came  upon  a  perfect 
crocus.  It  lay  like  a  dead  elfin  infant  in  its  forest  grave.  I 
was  enchanted,  and  afraid  to  touch  it,  as  one  would  fear  to 
commit  a  piece  of  sacrilege.  It  lay  in  its  green  robes, 
which  seemed  spun  from  dainty  silken  threads  unsoiled  by 
mortal  hands.    Its  blossom  of  pale  flesh  tint  lay  conceal<^^ 


FORS  CLA  VIGERA, 


375 


within  a  creamy  opalescent  film,  which  seemed  to  retive  and 
live  when  the  light  penetrated  the  darksome  tomb,  contrast- 
ing with  the  emerald  robes,  and  silken,  pliant  roots.  At 
length  I  lifted  the  flower  from  its  bed,  and  carried  it  to  my 
garden  plot  with  breathless  care.  My  garden  plot,  not  much 
larger  than  a  large  baking  dish,  was  enclosed  by  broken  tiles, 
a  scrubby  place,  unsuited  to  my  newly  discovered  treasure. 
I  broke  up  the  earth  and  pulverised  it  with  my  fingers,  but 
its  coarseness  was  incurable.  I  abandoned  it  as  I  thought 
of  some  mole  hills  in  a  neighbouring  copse,  and  soon  my  plot 
was  filled  deeply  with  soft  sandy  soil,  fit  for  my  flower. 
And  then  came  the  necessity  of  protecting  it  from  the 
searching  March  winds,  which  I  did  effectually  by  covering 
it  with  a  flower  pot,  and  the  season  wore  on,  and  soft,  mild 
days  set  in  apace,  and  my  flower,  which  was  ever  upper- 
most in  my  thoughts,  whether  sleeping  or  waking,  began  to 
show  signs  of  life,  as  day  by  day  I  permitted  the  sun  to  look 
at  it,  until  at  length,  one  sunny,  silent,  Sunday  morning,  it 
opened  its  glowing,  golden,  sacramental  cup,  gleaming  like 
light  from  heaven — dropt  in  a  dark  place,  living  light  and 
fire.  So  it  seemed  to  my  poor  vision,  and  I  called  the  house- 
bold  and  the  neighbours  from  their  cares  to  share  my  rapt- 
ure. But  alas  !  my  dream  w^as  ended  ;  the  flower  had  no 
fascination  for  those  who  came  at  my  call.  It  was  but  a 
yellow  crocus  to  them — some  laughed,  some  tittered,  some 
jeered  me,  and  old  Dick  Willis,  poor  man,  who  got  a  crust 
by  selling  soft  water  by  the  pail,  he  only  rubbed  his  dim 
eyes,  and  exclaimed  in  pity,  *  God  bless  the  poor  boy  ! '  " 

Little  thinking  how  much  he  was  already  blessed, — he — 
and  his  flower ! 

For  indeed  Crocus  and  Carduus  are  alike  Benedict  flowers, 
if  only  one  knew  God's  gold  and  purple  from  the  Devil's, 
which,  with  St.  George's  help,  and  St.  Anthony's, — the  one 
well  knowing  the  flowers  of  the  field,  and  the  other  those  oi 
the  desert, — we  will  try  somewhat  to  discern. 


376 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


LETTER  XXVII. 

Brantwood, 

21th  January^  1873. 

"If  it  were  not  so,  I  would  have  told  you." 

I  read  those  strange  words  of  St.  John's  gospel  this  morn- 
ing, for  at  least  the  thousandth  time  ;  and  for  the  first  time, 
that  I  remember,  with  any  attention.  It  is  difficult,  if  not 
impossible,  to  attend  rightly  without  some  definite  motive, 
or  chance-help,  to  words  which  one  has  read  and  re-read  till 
every  one  of  them  slips  into  its  place  unnoticed,  as  a  familiar 
guest, — unchallenged  as  a  household  friend.  But  the  Third 
Fors  helped  me,  to-day,  by  half  effacing  the  n  in  the  word 
Mona,  in  the  tenth  century  MS.  I  was  deciphering  ;  and 
making  me  look  at  the  word,  till  I  began  to  think  of  it,  and 
wondered.  You  may  as  well  learn  the  old  meaning  of  that 
pretty  name  of  the  isle  of  Anglesea.  "  In  my  father's  house," 
says  Christ,  "  are  many  monas," — remaining-places — "  if  it 
were  not  so,  I  would  have  told  you." 

Alas,  had  He  but  told  us  more  clearly  that  it  was  so  ! 

I  have  the  profoundest  sympathy  with  St.  Thomas,  and 
would  fain  put  all  his  questions  over  again,  and  twice  as 
many  more.  "We  know  not  whither  Thou  goest."  That 
Father's  house, — where  is  it  ?  These  "  remaining-places," 
how  are  they  to  be  prepared  for  us  ? — how  are  we  to  be  pre- 
pared for  them  ? 

If  ever  your  clergy  mean  really  to  help  you  to  read  your 
Bible, — the  whole  of  it,  and  not  merely  the  bits  which  tell 
you  that  you  are  miserable  sinners,  and  that  you  needn't 
mind, — they  must  make  a  translation  retaining  as  many  as 
possible  of  the  words  in  their  Greek  form,  which  you  may 
easily  learn,  and  yet  which  will  be  quit  of  the  danger  of  be- 
coming debased  by  any  vulgar  English  use.  So  also,  the  same 
word  must  always  be  given  when  it  is  the  same  ;  and  not  in 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


377 


one  place,  translated  "  mansion,"  and  in  another  "  abode.'' 
(Compare  verse  23  of  this  same  chapter.*)  Not  but  that 
mansion  "  is  a  very  fine  Latin  word,  and  perfectly  correct, 
(if  only  one  knows  Latin,)  but  I  doubt  not  that  most  parish 
children  understand  by  it,  if  anything,  a  splendid  house  with 
two  wings,  and  an  acre  or  two  of  offices,  in  the  middle  of  a 
celestial  park  ;  and  suppose  that  some  day  or  other  they  are 
all  of  them  to  live  in  such,  as  well  as  the  Squire's  children  ; 
whereas,  if  either  ^'  mona,"  or  remaining"  were  put  in  both 
verses,  it  is  just  possible  that  sometimes  both  the  Squire  and 
the  children,  instead  of  vaguely  hoping  to  be  lodged  some 
day  in  heaven  by  Christ  and  His  Father,  might  take  notice 
of  their  offer  in  the  last  verse  I  have  quoted,  and  get  ready 
a  spare  room  both  in  the  mansion  and  cottage,  to  offer  Christ 
and  His  Father  immediately,  if  they  liked  to  come  into  lodg- 
ings on  earth. 

I  was  looking  over  some  of  my  own  children's  books  the 
other  day,  in  the  course  of  rearranging  the  waifs  and  strays 
of  Denmark  Hill  at  Brantwood  ;  and  came  upon  a  catechism 
of  a  very  solemn  character  on  the  subject  of  the  County  of 
Kent.  It  opens  by  demanding  the  situation  of  Kent  then, 
the  extent  of  Kent, — the  population  of  Kent,  and  a  sketch 
of  the  history  of  Kent  ;  in  which  I  notice  with  interest  that 
hops  were  first  grown  in  Kent  in  1524,  and  petitioned  against 
as  a  wicked  weed  in  1528.  Then,  taking  up  the  subject  in 
detail,  inquiry  is  made  as  to  "the  situation  of  Dover"?  To 
which  the  ortiiodox  reply  is  that  Dover  is  pleasantly  situated 
on  that  part  of  the  island  of  Great  Britain  nearest  the  Con- 
tinent, and  stands  in  a  valley  between  stupendous  hills.  To 
the  next  question,  What  is  the  present  state  of  Dover?" 
the  well-instructed  infant  must  answer,  ''That  Dover  con- 
sists of  two  parts,  the  up]>cr,  called  the  Town,  and  the  lower, 
the  Pier  ;  and  that  they  are  connected  by  a  long  narrow 
street,  which,  from  tlie  rocks  tiiat  hang  over  it,  and  seem  to 

*  **If  a  man  love  me,  he  will  keep  my  words:  and  my  Father  will 
love  him,  and  we  will  come  unto  him,  and  make  our  abode  with  him.'* 
^xxx  mona, — as  in  the  2nd  veise  (John  xiv.). 


378 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


threaten  the  passenger  with  destruction,  has  received  the 
name  of  Snaregate  Street."  The  catechism  next  tests  the 
views  of  the  young  respondent  upon  the  municipal  gov- 
ernment of  Dover,  the  commercial  position  of  Dover  ;  and 
the  names  of  the  eminent  men  whom  Dover  has  produced;  and 
at  last,  after  giving  a  proper  account  of  the  Castle  of  Dovef 
and  the  two  churches  in  Dover,  we  are  required  to  state 
whether  there  is  not  an  interesting  relic  of  antiquity  in  the 
vicinity  of  Dover  ;  upon  which,  we  observe  that,  about  two 
miles  north-west  from  Dover,  are  the  remains  of  St.  Rada- 
gune's  Abbey,  now  converted  into  a  farm-house  ;  and  finally, 
to  the  crucial  interrogation — "  What  nobleman's  seat  is  near 
Dover  ?  "  we  reply,  with  more  than  usual  unction,  that  ^'  In 
the  Parish  of  Waldershaw,  five  miles  and  a  half  from  Dover, 
is  Waldershaw  Park,  the  elegant  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Guild- 
ford, and  that  the  house  is  a  magnificent  structure,  situated 
in  a  vale,  in  the  centre  of  a  well  wooded  Park."  Whereat  I 
stopped  reading  ;  first,  because  St.  Radagune's  Abbey, 
though  it  is  nothing  but  walls  with  a  few  holes  through 
them  by  which  the  cows  get  in  for  shelter  on  windy  days, 
was  the  first  remaining "  of  Antiquity  I  ever  sketched, 
when  a  boy  of  fourteen,  spending  half  my  best  BB  pen- 
cil on  the  ivy  and  the  holes  in  the  walls  ;  and,  secondly,  the 
tone  of  these  two  connected  questions  in  the  catechism 
marks  exactly  the  curious  period  in  the  English  mind  when 
the  worship  of  St.  Radagune  was  indeed  utterly  extinct,  so 
that  he7'  once  elegant  mansion  becomes  a  farm-house,  as  in 
that  guise  fulfilling  its  now  legitimate  function  : — but  the  wor- 
ship of  Earls  of  Guildford  is  still  so  flourishing  that  no  idea 
would  ever  occur  to  the  framers  of  catechism  that  the  elegant 
seats  of  these  also  were  on  the  wav  to  become  farmhouses. 

Which  is  nevertheless  surely  the  fact  : — and  the  only  real 
question  is  whether  St.  Radagune's  mansion  and  the  Earl  of 
Guildford's  are  both  to  be  farm-houses,  or  whether  the  state 
of  things  at  the  time  of  the  Dover  Catechism  may  not  be  ex- 
actly reversed, — and  St.  Radagune  have  her  mansion  and 
park  railed  in  again,  while  the  Earl's  walls  shelter  the  cows 
on  windy  days.    For  indeed,  from  the  midst  of  the  tumuh 


FOES  CLAVIOERA. 


379 


and  distress  of  nations,  fallen  wholly  Godless  and  lordless, 
perhaps  the  first  possibility  of  redemption  may  be  by  clois- 
tered companies,  vowed  once  more  to  the  service  of  a  divine 
Master,  and  to  the  reverence  of  His  saints. 

You  were  shocked,  I  suppose,  by  my  catalogue,  in  last 
Fors,  of  such  persons,  as  to  be  revered  by  our  own  Company. 
But  have  you  ever  serioush'"  considered  what  a  really  vital 
question  it  is  to  you  whether  St.  Paul  and  St.  Pancras,  (not 
that  I  know  myself  at  tl>is  moment,  who  St.  Pancras  was, — 
but  I'll  find  out  for  next  Fors,) — St.  George  and  St.  Giles, 
St.  Bridget  and  St.  Helen,  are  really  only  to  become  the  spon- 
sors of  City  parishes,  or  whether  you  mean  still  to  render 
them  anv  gratitude  as  the  first  teachers  of  what  used  to  be 
called  civilisation  ;  nay  whether  there  may  not  even  be,  irre- 
spective of  what  we  now  call  civilisation — namely,  coals  and 
meat  at  famine  prices, — some  manner  of  holy  living  and  dy- 
ing, of  lifting  holy  hands  without  wrath,  and  sinking  to 
blessed  sleep  without  fear,  of  which  these  persons,  however 
vaguely  remembered,  have  yet  been  the  best  patterns  the 
world  has  shown  us. 

Don't  think  that  I  want  to  make  Roman  Catholics  of  you, 
or  to  make  anything  of  you,  except  honest  people.  But  as 
for  the  vulgar  and  insolent  Evangelical  notion,  that  one 
should  not  care  for  the  Saints, — nor  pray  to  them — Mercy  on 
us  ! — do  the  poor  wretches  fancy  that  God  wouldn't  be  thank- 
ful if  they  would  pray  to  anybody,  for  what  it  was  right  they 
should  have  ;  or  that  He  is  piqued,  forsooth,  if  one  thinks 
His  servants  can  help  us  sometimes,  in  our  paltry  needs. 

"  But  they  are  dead,  and  cannot  help  us,  nor  hear  !  '* 

Alas  ;  perchance — no.  What  would  I  not  give  to  be  so 
much  a  heretic  as  to  believe  the  Dead  could  hear  ! — but  are 
there  no  living  Saints,  then,  who  can  help  you  ?  Sir  C.  Dilke^ 
or  Mr.  Beales,  for  instance  ?  and  if  vou  don't  believe  there 
are  any  parks  or  monas  abiding  for  you  in  heaven,  may  you 
not  pull  down  some  park  railings  here,  and — hold  public 
meetings  in  them,  of  a  Paradisiacal  character  ? 

Itideed,  that  pulling  down  of  the  Picadilly  railings  was  a 
significant  business.       Park,"  if  you  will  look  to  3'onr  John- 


380 


FOBS  CLAVIOEEA. 


son,  you  will  find  is  one  of  quite  the  oldest  words  in  Europe  ; 
vox  antiquissima,  a  most  ancient  word,  and  now  a  familiar 
one  among  active  nations.  French,  Pare,  Welsh,  the  same, 
Irish,  Pairc,  being*"  a  piece  of  ground  enclosed  and  stored 
with  wild  beasts  of  chase.  Man  wood,  in  his  Forest  Law, 
defines  it  thus,  "A  park  is  a  place  for  privilege  for  wild  beasts 
of  venery,  and  also  for  other  wild  beasts  that  are  beasts  of  the 
forest  and  of  the  chase,  and  those  wild  beasts  are  to  have  a 
firm  peace  and  protection  there,  so  that  no  man  may  hurt  or 
chase  them  within  the  park,  without  licence  of  the  owner  :  a 
park  is  of  another  nature  than  either  a  chase  or  a  w^arren  ; 
for  a  park  77iust  be  eiiclosedy  and  may  not  lie  open — if  it  does, 
it  is  a  good  cause  of  seizure  into  the  King's  hands."  Or  into 
King  Mob's,  for  parliamentary  purposes — and  how  monstrous, 
you  think,  that  such  pleasant  habitations  for  vs^ild  beasts 
should  still  be  walled  in,  and  in  peace,  while  you  have  no  room 
to — speak  in, — I  had  liked  to  have  said  something  else  than 
speak — but  it  is  at  least  polite  to  you  to  call  it  *  speaking.' 

Yes.  I  have  said  so,  myself,  once  or  twice  ; — nevertheless 
something  is  to  be  said  for  the  beasts  also.  What  do  you 
think  they  were  made  for  ?  All  these  spotty,  scaly,  finned, 
and  winged,  and  clawed  things,  that  grope  between  you  and 
the  dust,  that  flit  between  vou  and  the  skv.  These  motes 
in  the  air — sparks  in  the  sea — mists  and  flames  of  life.  The 
flocks  that  are  your  wealth — the  moth  that  frets  it  away. 
The  herds  upon  a  thousand  hills, — the  locust, — and  the  worm, 
and  the  wandering  plague  whose  spots  are  worlds.  The 
creatures  that  mock  you,  and  torment.  The  creatures  that 
serve  and  love  you,  (or  would  love  if  they  might,)  and  obey. 
The  joys  of  the  callow  nests  and  burrowed  homes  of  Earth. 
The  rocks  of  it,  built  out  of  its  own  dead.  What  is  tlie 
meaning  to  you  of  all  these, — what  their  worth  to  you  ? 

No  worth,  you  answer,  perhaps  ;  or  the  contrary  of  worth. 
In  fact,  you  mean  to  put  an  end  to  all  that.  You  will  keep 
pigeons  to  shoot — geese  to  make  pies  of — cocks  for  fighting 
— horses  to  bet  on — sheep  for  wool,  and  cows  for  cheese. 
As  to  the  rest  of  the  creatures,  you  owe  no  thanks  to  Noah  ; 
and  would  fain,  if  you  could,  order  a  special  deluge  for  their 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


381 


benefit  ;  failing  that,  you  will  at  all  events  get  rid  of  th6 
useless  feeders  as  fast  as  possible. 

Indeed,  there  is  some  difficulty  in  understanding  why  some 
of  them  were  made.  I  lost  great  part  of  my  last  hour  for 
reading,  yesterday  evening,  in  keeping  my  kitten's  tail  out 
of  the  candles, — a  useless  beast,  and  still  more  useless  tail — 
astonishing  and  inexplicable  even  to  herself.  Inexplicable, 
to  me,  all  of  them — heads  and  tails  alike.  "  Tiger — tiger — 
burning  bright  " — is  this  then  all  you  were  made  for — this 
ribbed  hearthrug,  tawny  and  black  ? 

If  only  the  Rev.  James  McCosh  were  here  !  His  book  is  ; 
and  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how^  but  it  turns  up  in  rearrang- 
ing my  library.  Method  of  the  Divine  Government  Physi- 
cal and  Moral."  Preface  begins.  "  We  live  in  an  age  in 
which  the  reflecting  portion  of  mankind  are  much  addicted 
to  the  contemplation  of  the  works  of  Nature.  It  is  the  ob- 
ject of  the  author  in  this  Treatise  to  interrogate  Nature  with 
the  view  of  making  her  utter  her  voice  in  answer  to  some  of 
the  most  important  questions  which  the  inquiring  spirit  of 
man  can  put."  Here  is  a  catechumen  for  you  ! — and  a 
catechist  !  Nature  with  her  hands  behind  her  back — Per- 
haps Mr.  McCosh  would  kindly  put  it  to  her  about  the  tiger. 
Farther  on,  indeed,  it  is  stated  that  the  finite  cannot  com- 
prehend the  infinite,  and  I  observe  that  the  author,  with  the 
shrinking  modesty  characteristic  of  the  clergy  of  his  persua- 
sion, feels  that  even  the  intellect  of  a  McCosh  cannot,  with- 
out risk  of  error,  embrace  more  than  the  present  method  of 
the  Divine  management  of  Creation.  Wherefore  "  no  man," 
he  says,  "should  presume  to  point  out  all  the  ways  in  which 
a  God  of  unbounded  resources  might  govern  the  universe." 

But  the  present  way — (allowing  for  the  limited  capital,) — 
we  may  master  that,  and  pay  our  compliments  to  God  upon 
it  ?  We  will  hope  so  ;  in  the  meantime  I  can  assure  you,  this 
creation  of  His  will  bear  more  looking  at  than  you  have  given, 
yet,  however  addicted  you  may  be  to  the  contemplation  of 
Nature  ;  (though  I  suspect  you  are  more  addicted  to  the 
tasting  of  her,)  and  that  if  instead  of  being  in  such  a  hurry 
to  pull  park  railings  down,  you  would  only  beg  the  owners  to 


382 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


put  them  to  their  proper  use,  and  let  the  birds  and  beasts, 
which  were  made  to  breathe  English  air  as  well  as  you,  take 
shelter  there,  you  would  soon  have  a  series  of  National  Mu- 
seums more  curious  than  that  in  Great  Russell  Street  ;  and 
with  something  better  worth  looking  at  in  them  than  the  sa- 
cred crocodiles.  Besides,  you  might  spare  the  poor  beasts  a 
Httle  room  on  earth,  for  charity,  if  not  for  curiosity.  They 
have  no  mansions  preparing  for  them,  elsewhere. 

What  !  you  answer  ;  indignant, — "  All  that  good  land 
given  up  to  beasts  !  "  Have  you  ever  looked  how  much  or 
little  of  England  is  in  park  land  ?  I  have  here,  by  me,  Hall's 
Travelling  Atlas  of  the  English  Counties  ;  which  paints  con- 
veniently in  red  the  railroads,  and  in  green  the  parks  (not 
conscious,  probably — the  colourist — of  his  true  expression  of 
antagonism  by  those  colours). 

The  parks  lie  on  the  face  of  each  county  like  a  few  crumbs 
on  a  plate  ;  if  you  could  turn  them  all  at  once  into  corn  land, 
it  would  literally  not  give  you  a  mouthful  extra  of  dinner. 
Your  dog,  or  cat,  is  more  costly  to  you,  in  proportion  to  your 
private  means,  than  all  these  kingdoms  of  beasts  would  be  to 
the  nation. 

"  Cost  what  they  might,  it  would  be  too  much  " — think 
you  ?  You  will  not  give  those  acres  of  good  land  to  keep 
beasts  ? 

Perhaps  not  beasts  of  God's  making  ;  but  how  many  acres 
of  good  land  do  you  suppose  then,  you  do  give  up,  as  it  is,  to 
keep  beasts  He  never  made, — never  meant  to  be  made, — the 
beasts  you  make  of  yourselves  ? 

Do  you  know  how  much  corn  land  in  the  United  King- 
dom is  occupied  in  supplying  you  with  the  means  of  getting 
drunk  ? 

Mind,  I  am  no  temperance  man.  You  should  all  have  as 
much  beer  and  alcohol  as  was  good  for  you  if  I  had  my  way. 
But  the  beer  and  alcohol  which  are  7iot  good  for  you, — which 
are  the  ruin  of  so  many  of  you,  suppose  you  could  keep  the 
wages  you  spend  in  that  liquor  in  the  savings  bank,  and  left 
the  land,  now  tilled  to  grow  it  for  you,  to  natural  and  sober 
beasts  ? — Do  you  think  it  would  be  false  economy  ? — Why, 


F0R8  CLAVIGEBA, 


383 


you  might  have  a  working-  men's  park  for  nothing,  in  every 
county,  bigger  than  the  queen's  !  and  your  own  homes  all  the 
more  comfortable. 

1  had  no  notion  myself,  till  the  other  day,  what  the  facts 
were,  in  this  matter.  Get  if  you  can.  Professor  Kirk's  "  So-= 
cial  Politics,"  (Hamilton,  Adams  &  Co.)  and  read,  for  a 
beginning,  his  21sfc  chapter,  on  land  and  liquor  ;  and  then, 
as  you  have  leisure,  all  the  book,  carefully.  Not  that  he 
would  help  me  out  with  my  park  plan  ;  he  writes  with  the 
simple  idea  that  the  one  end  of  humanity  is  to  eat  and  drink  j 
and  it  is  interesting  to  see  a  Scotch  Professor  thinking  the 
lakes  of  his  country  were  made  to  be  "  Reservoirs/'  and  par- 
ticularly instancing  the  satisfaction  of  tliirsty  Glasgow  out  of 
Loch  Katrine  ;  so  that,  henceforward,  it  will  be  proper  in 
Scotch  economical  circles  not  to  speak  of  the  Lady  of  the 
Lake,  but  of  the  Lady  of  the  Reservoir.  Still,  assuming  that 
to  eat  and  drink  is  the  end  of  life,  the  Professor  shows  you 
clearly  how  much  better  this  end  may  be  accomplished  than 
it  is  now.  And  the  broad  fact  which  he  brings  out  concern- 
ing your  drink  is  this  ;  that  about  one  million  five  hundred 
thousand  acres  of  land  in  the  United  Kingdom  are  occupied 
in  producing  strong  liquor  (and  I  don't  see  that  he  has  in- 
cluded in  this  estimate  what  is  under  the  wicked  weeds  of 
Kent ;  it  is  curious  what  difficulty  people  always  seem  to 
have  in  putting  anything  accurately  into  sliort  statement). 
The  produce  of  this  land,  which  is  more  than  all  the  arable 
for  bread  in  Scotland,  after  being  manufactured  into  drink, 
is  sold  to  you  at  the  rates, — the  spirits,  of  twenty-seven  shil- 
lings and  sixpence  for  two  shillings *-worth  ;  and  the  beer, 
of  two  shillings  for  threepence-halfpenny-worth.  The  sum 
you  spend  in  these  articles,  and  in  tobacco,  annually,  is 

ONE    HUNDRED  AND    FIFTY-SIX    MILLIONS    OF    POUNDS  ;  on 

which  the  pure  profit  of  the  richer  classes,  (putting  the  lower 
alehouse  gains  aside)  is,  roughly,  a  hundred  millions.  That 
is  the  way  the  rich  Christian  Englishman  provides  against 
the  Day  of  Judgment,  expecting  to  hear  his  Master  say  to 
him,  I  was  thirsty — and  ye  gave  me  drink — Two  shillings'- 
worth  for  twenty-seven  and  sixpence." 


384 


FORS  CLAVIGEBA. 


Again  ;  for  the  matter  of  lodging.  Look  at  the  Professor's 
page  73.  There  you  find  that  in  the  street  dedicated  in 
Edinburgh  to  the  memory  of  the  first  Bishop  of  Jerusalem, 
in  No.  23,  there  are  living  220  persons.  In  the  first  floor  of 
it  live  ten  families, — forty-nine  persons  ;  in  the  second  floor, 
nine  families — fifty-four  persons — and  so  on  ;  up  to  six  floors, 
the  ground  floor  being  a  shop  ;  so  that  the  whole  220  per- 
sons in  the  building  are  without  one  foot  of  the  actual  surface 
of  the  land  on  which  to  exist." 

"  In  my  Father's  house,"  says  Christ,  are  many  man- 
sions." Verily,  that  appears  to  be  also  the  case  in  some  of 
His  Scotch  Evangelical  servants'  houses  here.  And  verecund 
Mr.  McCosh,  w^ho  will  not  venture  to  suggest  any  better  ar- 
rangement of  the  heavens, — has  he  likewise  no  suggestion  to 
offer  as  to  the  arrangement  of  No.  23,  St.  James's  Street  ? 

"  Whose  fault  is  it  ?  "  do  you  ask  ? 

Immediately,  the  fault  of  the  landlords  *,  but  the  land- 
lords, from  highest  to  lowest,  are  more  or  less  thoughtless  and 
ignorant  persons,  from  whom  you  can  expect  no  better.  The 
persons  really  answerable  for  all  this  are  your  two  professed 
bodies  of  teachers  ;  namely,  the  writers  for  the  public  press, 
and  the  clergy. 

Nearly  everything  that  I  ever  did  of  any  use  in  this  world 
has  been  done  contrary  to  the  advice  of  my  friends  ;  and  as 
my  friends  are  unanimous  at  present  in  begging  me  never  to 
write  to  newspapers,  I  am  somewhat  under  the  impression 
that  I  ought  to  resign  my  Oxford  professorship,  and  try  to 
get  a  sub-editorship  in  the  Telegraph,  However,  for  the 
present,  I  content  myself  with  my  own  work,  and  have  sus- 
tained patiently,  for  thirty  years,  the  steady  opposition  of 
the  public  press  to  whatever  good  was  in  it,  (said  Telegraph 
always  with  thanks  excepted)  down  to  the  article  in  the 
Spectator  of  August  13th,  1870,  which,  on  my  endeavour  to 
make  the  study  of  art,  and  of  Greek  literature,  of  some  avail 
in  Oxford  to  the  confirmation  of  right  principle  in  the  minds 
of  her  youth,  instantly  declared  that,  the  artistic  perception 
and  ikill  of  Greece  were  nourished  by  the  very  lowness  of 
h*£i  ethical  code,  by  her  lack  of  high  aims,  by  her  freedom 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


385 


from  all  aspirations  after  moral  good,  by  her  inability  even 
to  conceive  a  Hebrew  tone  of  purity,  by  the  fact  that  she 
lived  without  God,  and  died  without  hope." 

"High  aims"  are  explained  by  the  Spectator,  in  another 
place,  to  consist  in  zeal  for  the  establishment  of  cotton  mills. 
And  the  main  body  of  the  writers  for  the  public  press  are 
also — not  of  that  opinion — for  they  have  no  opinions  ;  but 
they  get  their  living  by  asserting  so  much  to  you. 

Against  which  testimony  of  theirs,  you  shall  hear,  to-day, 
the  real  opinion  of  a  man  of  whom  Scotland  once  was  proud  ; 
the  man  who  first  led  her  to  take  some  notice  of  that  same 
reservoir  of  hers,  which  Glasgow, — Clyde  not  being  deep 
enough  for  her  drinking,  or  perhaps,  (see  above,  XVI.  222) 
not  being  now  so  sweet  as  stolen  waters, — cools  her  tor- 
mented tongue  with. 

"The  poor  laws  into  which  you  have  ventured  for  the  love 
of  the  country,  form  a  sad  quagmire.  They  are  like  John 
Bunyan's  Slough  of  Despond,  into  which,  as  he  observes, 
millions  of  cart  loads  of  good  resolutions  have  been  thrown, 
without  perceptibly  mending  the  wa}'.  From  what  you 
say,  and  from  what  I  have  heard  from  others,  there  is  a 
very  natural  desire  to  trust  to  one  or  two  empirical  remedies, 
such  as  general  systems  of  education,  and  so  forth.  But  a 
man  with  a  broken  constitution  might  as  well  put  faith  in 
Spilsburg  or  Godbold.  It  is  not  the  knowledge,  but  the 
use  which  is  made  of  it,  that  is  productive  of  real  benefit. 

There  is  a  terrible  evil  in  England  to  which  we  are  stran« 
gers  "  (some  slight  acquaintance  has  been  raked  up  since, 
Sir  Walter,)  "  the  number,  to  wit,  of  tippling  houses,  where 
the  labourer,  as  a  matter  of  course,  spends  the  overplus  of 
his  earnings.  In  Scotland  there  are  few  ;  and  the  Justices 
are  commendably  inexorable  in  rejecting  all  application  for 
licences  where  there  appears  no  public  necessity  for  granting 
them.  A  man,  therefore,  cannot  easily  spend  much  money 
in  liquor^,  since  he  must  walk  three  or  four  miles  to  the  place 
of  suction,  and  back  again,  which  infers  a  sort  of  malice  pre- 
pense of  which  few  are  capable  ;  and  the  habitual  opportu* 
nity  of  indulgence  not  being  at  baud,  the  habits  of  intemper^ 
25 


386 


FOBS  CLAVIGBEA. 


ance,  and  of  waste  connected  with  it,  are  not  acquired.  li 
financiers  would  admit  a  general  limitation  of  the  ale-houses 
over  England  to  one-fourth  of  the  number,  I  am  convinced 
you  would  find  the  money  spent  in  that  manner  would  re- 
main with  the  peasant,  as  a  source  of  self-support  and  inde- 
pendence. All  this  applies  chiefly  to  the  country  ;  in  towns, 
and  in  the  manufacturing  districts,  the  evil  could  hardly  be 
diminished  by  such  regulations.  There  would  perhaps,  be  no 
means  so  effectual  as  that  (which  will  never  be  listened  to)  of 
taxing  the  manufactures  according  to  the  number  of  hands 
which  they  employ  on  an  average,  and  applying  the  produce 
in  maintaining  the  manufacturing  poor.  If  it  should  be  al- 
leged that  this  would  injure  the  manufacturers,  I  would 
boldly  reply, — *  And  why  not  injure,  or  rather  limit,  specula- 
tions, the  excessive  stretch  of  which  has  been  productive  of 
so  much  damage  to  the  principles  of  the  country,  and  to  the 
population,  whom  it  has,  in  so  many  respects,  degraded  and 
demoralized  ? '  For  a  great  many  years,  manufacturers, 
taken  in  a  general  point  of  view,  have  not  partaken  of  the 
character  of  a  regular  profession,  in  which  all  who  engaged 
with  honest  industry  and  a  sufficient  capital  might  reason- 
ably expect  returns  proportional  to  their  advances  and  labour, 
— but  have,  on  the  contrary,  rather  resembled  a  lottery,  in 
which  tlie  great  majority  of  the  adventurers  are  sure  to  be 
losers,  although  some  may  draw  considerable  advantage. 
Men  continued  for  a  great  many  years  to  exert  themselves, 
and  to  pay  extravagant  wages,  not  in  hopes  that  there  could 
be  a  reasonable  prospect  of  an  orderly  and  regular  demand 
for  the  goods  they  wrought  up,  but  in  order  that  they  might 
be  the  first  to  take  advantage  of  some  casual  opening  which 
might  consume  their  cargo,  let  others  shift  as  they  could. 
Hence  extravagant  wages  on  some  occasions  ;  for  these  ad- 
venturers who  thus  played  at  hit  or  miss,  stood  on  no  scruples 
while  the  chance  of  success  remained  open.  Hence,  also,  the 
stoppage  of  work,  and  the  discharge  of  the  workmen,  when 
the  speculators  failed  of  their  object.  All  this  while  the 
country  was  the  sufferer  ; — for  whoever  gained,  the  result^ 
being  upon  the  whole  a  loss,  fell  on  the  nation^  together  with 


FORS  GLA  VIOERA, 


387 


the  task  of  maintaining  a  poor,  rendered  effeminate  and  vicious 
by  over-wages  and  over-living,  and  necessarily  cast  loose 
upon  society.  I  cannot  but  think  that  the  necessity  of  mak- 
ing some  fund  beforehand,  for  the  provision  of  those  whom 
they  debauch,  and  render  only  fit  for  the  almshouse,  in  prose- 
cution of  their  own  adventures,  though  it  operated  as  a 
check  on  the  increase  of  manufacturers,  would  be  a  measure 
just  in  itself,  and  beneficial  to  the  community.  But  it  would 
never  be  listened  to  ; — the  weaver's  beam,  and  the  sons  of 
Zeruiah,  would  be  too  many  for  the  proposers. 

"  This  is  the  eleventh  of  August ;  Walter,  happier  than  he 
will  ever  be  again,  perhaps,  is  preparing  for  the  moors.  He 
has  a  better  dog  than  Trout,  and  rather  less  active.  Mrs. 
Scott  and  all  our  family  send  kind  love.  Yours  ever.  W.  S." 

I  have  italicised  one  sentence  in  this  letter,  written  in  the 
year  1817  (what  would  the  writer  have  thought  of  the  state 
of  things  now  ?) — though  I  should  like,  for  that  matter,  to 
italicise  it  all.  But  that  sentence  touches  tiie  root  of  the 
evil  which  I  have  most  at  heart,  in  these  letters,  to  show 
you  ;  namely,  the  increasing  poverty  of  the  country  through 
the  enriching  of  a  few.  I  told  you,  in  the  first  sentence  of 
them,  that  the  English  people  was  not  a  rich  people  ;  that  it 
"  was  empty  in  purse — empty  in  stomach."  The  day  before 
yesterday,  a  friend,  who  thinks  my  goose  pie  not  an  economi- 
cal dish  !  sent  me  a  penny  cookery  book,  a  very  desirable 
publication,  which  I  instantly  sate  down  to  examine.  It 
starts  with  the  great  principle  that  you  must  never  any  more 
roast  your  meat,  but  always  stew  it  ;  and  never  have  an 
open  fire,  but  substitute,  for  the  open  fire,  close  stoves,  all 
over  Enorland. 

Now  observe.  There  was  once  a  dish,  thought  peculiarly 
English — Roast  Beef.  And  once  a  place,  thought  peculiarly 
English — the  Fireside.  These  two  possessions  are  now  too 
costly  for  you.  Your  England,  in  her  unexampled  pros- 
perity, according  to  the  Morning  Post^  can  no  longer  afford 
either  her  roast  beef — or  her  fireside.  She  can  only  afford 
boiled  bones,  and  a  stove-side. 

Well.    Boiled  bones  are  not  so  bad  things,  neither.  I 


3SS 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


know  something  more  about  them  than  the  writer  of  the 
penny  cookery  book.  Fifty  years  ago,  Count  Rumford  per- 
fectly ascertained  the  price,  and  nourishing  power,  of  good 
soup  ;  and  I  shall  give  you  a  recipe  for  Theseus'  vegetable 
diet,  and  for  Lycurgus'  black  and  Esau's  red  pottage,  for 
your  better  pot-luck.    But  what  next  ? 

To-day,  you  cannot  aiford  beef — to-morrow,  are  you  sure 
that  you  will  be  still  able  to  afford  bones  ?  If  things  are  to 
go  on  thus,  and  you  are  to  study  economy  to  the  utmost,  I 
can  beat  the  author  of  the  penny  cookery  book  even  on  that 
ground.  What  say  you  to  this  diet  of  the  Otomac  Indians  ; 
persons  quite  of  our  present  English  character?  "They 
have  a  decided  aversion  to  cultivate  the  land,  and  live  almost 
exclusively  on  hunting  and  fishing.  They  are  men  of  a  very 
robust  constitution,  and  passionately  fond  of  fermented 
liquors.  While  the  waters  of  the  Orinoco  are  low,  they  sub- 
sist on  fish  and  turtles,  but  at  the  period  of  its  inundations, 
(when  the  fishing  ceases)  they  eat  daily  during  some  months, 
three-quarters  of  a  pound  of  clay,  slightly  hardened  by 
fire "  * — (probably  stewable  in  your  modern  stoves  with 
better  effect.) — ''Half,  at  least,"  (this  is  Father  Gumilla's 
statement,  quoted  by  Humboldt)  "of  the  bread  of  the  Oto- 
macs  and  the  Guamoes  is  clay — and  those  who  feel  a 
weight  on  their  stomach,  purge  themselves  with  the  fat  of 
the  crocodile,  which  restores  their  appetite,  and  enables 
them  to  continue  to  eat  pure  earth."  "I  doubt" — Hum- 
boldt himself  goes  on,  "the  manteca  de  caiman  being  a 
purgative.  But  it  is  certain  that  the  Guamoes  are  very 
fond,  if  not  of  the  fat,  at  least  of  the  flesh,  of  the  crocodile.'* 

We  have  surely  brickfields  enough  to  keep  our  clay  from 
ever  rising  to  famine  prices,  in  any  fresh  accession  of  pros- 
perity ; — and  though  fish  can't  live  in  our  rivers,  the  muddy 
waters  are  just  of  the  consistence  crocodiles  like  :  and,  at 
Manchester  and  Rochdale,  I  have  observed  the  surfaces  of 
the  streams  smoking,  so  that  we  need  be  under  no  concern 
as  to  temperature.    I  should  think  you  might  produce  in 

^  Humboldt,  Personal  Narrative,  London,  1887,  vol.  v.,  p.  640  et  seq 
I  quote,  as  always,  accurately,  but  missing  the  bits  I  don't  want. 


FOBS  GLAVIQERA, 


389 


them  quite  "  streaky  "  crocodile, — fat  and  flesh  concordant, 
. — St.  George  becoming  a  bacon  purveyor,  as  well  as  seller, 
and  laying  down  his  dragon  in  salt  ;  (indeed  it  appears,  by 
an  experiment  made  in  Egypt  itself,  that  the  oldest  of  hu- 
man words  is  Bacon  ;)  potted  crocodile  will  doubtless,  also, 
from  countries  unrestrained  by  religious  prejudices,  be  im- 
ported, as  the  English  demand  increases,  at  lower  quota- 
tions ;  and  for  what  you  are  going  to  receive,  the  Lord  make 
you  truly  thankful. 


390 


Ji'OJiS  CLAVIOERA. 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


I  HOPE,  in  future,  to  arrange  the  publishing  and  editing  of  Fors^ 
so  that  the  current  number  may  always  be  in  my  readers'  hands  on  the 
first  of  the  month :  but  I  do  not  pledge  myself  for  its  being  so.  In  case 
of  delay,  however,  subscribers  may  always  be  secure  of  its  ultimate  de- 
livery, as  they  would  at  once  receive  notice  in  the  event  of  the  non^ 
continuance  of  the  work.  I  find  index-making  more  difficult  and  tedious 
than  I  expected,  and  am  besides  bent  at  present  on  some  Robinson 
Crusoe  operations  of  harbour- digging,  which  greatly  interfere  with  lit- 
erary work  of  every  kind ;  but  the  thing  is  in  progress. 


I  cannot,  myself,  vouch  for  the  facts  stated  in  the  following  letter, 
but  am  secure  of  the  writer's  purpose  to  state  them  fairly,  and  grateful 
for  his  permission  to  print  his  letter  : — 

1,  St.  Swithin's  Lane, 

London,  E.  (7.,  Uh  February,  1873. 
My  Dear  Mr.  Ruskin, — I  have  just  finished  reading  your  Munera 
Puheris,  and  your  paragraph  No.  160  is  such  a  reflex  of  the  experience 
I  have  of  City  business  that  I  must  call  your  attention  to  it. 

I  told  you  that  I  was  endeavouring  to  put  into  practice  what  you  are 
teaching,  and  thus  our  work  should  be  good  work,  whether  we  live  or 
die. 

I  read  in  the  Quarterly  Journal  of  Science  that  the  waste  of  the  Metro- 
politan sewage  is  equivalent  to  three  million  quartern  loaves  floating 
down  the  Thames  every  day.  I  read  in  the  papers  that  famine  fever 
has  broken  out  in  the  Metropolis. 

I  have  proved  that  this  bread  can  be  saved,  by  purifying  sewage,  and 
gvowiog  such  corn  with  the  produce  as  amazes  those  who  have  seen 
it,    I  have  proved  this  so  completely  to  capitalists  that  they  have  spent 
25,000^.  in  demonstrating  it  to  the  Metropolitan  Board  of  Works. 
But  nothing  of  this  work  will  pay.'  * 

We  have  never  puffed,  we  have  never  advertised,  and  hard  work  I 
have  had  to  get  the  Board  of  Directors  to  agree  to  this  modest  proced- 
ure— nevertheless  they  have  done  so. 

Now,  there  is  a  band  of  conspirators  on  the  Stock  Exchange  bound  to 
destroy  the  Company,  because,  like  Jezebel,  they  have  sold  a  vineyard 
that  does  not  belong  to  them— in  other  words,  they  have  sold  'heirs,' 
and  they  cannot  fulfil  their  contract  without  killing  tlie  Company,  or 
terrifying  the  shareholders  into  parting  with  their  property. 

♦  The  saying  is  only  quoted  in  MuTiera  Pulveris  to  be  denied,  the  reader  must  observe. 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


391 


No  stone  is  left  unturned  to  thwart  our  work,  and  if  you  can  take  the 
trouble  to  look  at  the  papers  I  send  you,  you  will  see  what  our  work 
would  be  for  the  country,  and  how  it  is  received. 

We  are  now  to  be  turned  out  of  Crossness,  and  every  conceivable  mis- 
chief will  be  made  of  the  fact. 

I  have  fought  the  fight  almost  single-handed.  I  might  have  sold  out 
and  retired  from  the  strife  long  ago,  for  our  shares  were  800  per  cent, 
premium,  but  I  prefer  completing  the  work  I  have  begun,  if  I  am  al- 
lowed. 

From  very  few  human  beings  have  I  ever  received,  nor  did  I  expect, 
anything  but  disapproval,  for  this  effort  to  discountenance  the  City's 
business  way  of  doing  tbings,  except  Alfred  Berwick,  and  my  Brother, 
R.  S.  Sillar ;  but  we  have  been  repeatedly  told  that  we  must  abandon 
these  absurd  principles. 

However,  with  or  without  encouragement,  I  shall  work  on,  though  1 
have  to  do  it  throug-h  a  mass  of  moral  filth  and  corruption,  compared 
with  which  a  geuuine  cesspit  is  good  company. 

Believe  me  sincerely  yours, 

W.  C.  Sillar. 

The  third  Fors  puts  into  my  hand,  as  I  correct  the  press,  a  cutting 
from  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  of  September  13th,  18G9,  which  aptly  illus- 
trates the  former  ''waste"  of  sewage  referred  to  by  Mr.  Sillar  : — 

*'  We  suffer  much  from  boards  of  guardians  and  vestries  in  and 
about  London,  but  what  they  must  suffer  in  remote  parts  of  the  coun- 
try may  be  imagined  rather  than  described.  At  a  late  meeting  of  the 
Lincoln  board  of  guardians  Mr.  ]\Iantle  gave  a  description  of  a  visit  he 
paid  with  other  gentlemen  to  the  village  of  Scotherne.  What  they  saw 
he  said  he  should  never  forget.  The  village  was  full  of  fever  cases,  and 
no  wonder.  The  beck  was  dried  up  and  the  wells  were  filled  with  sew- 
age matter.  Tbey  vvent  to  one  pump,  and  found  the  water  emitted  an 
unbearable  stench.  He  (Mr.  Mantle)  asked  a  woman  if  she  drank  the 
water  from  the  well,  and  she  replied  that  she  did,  but  that  it  stank  a 
bit ;  and  there  could  be  no  doubt  about  that,  for  the  well  was  full  of 
'pure'  sewage  matter.  They  went  to  another  house,  occupied  by  a 
widow  with  five  childien,  the  head  of  the  family  having  died  of  fever 
last  year.  This  family  were  now  on  the  books  of  the  union.  The 
house  was  built  on  a  declivity  ;  the  pigsty,  privy,  vault,  ard  cesspool 
were  quite  full,  and  after  a  shower  of  rain  the  contents  were  washed  up 
to  and  past  the  door.  Tho  family  was  in  an  emaciated  state,  and  one 
of  the  children  was  suffering  from  fever.  After  inspecting  that  part  of 
the  village  they  proceeded  to  the  house  of  a  man  named  Harrison,  who. 
^  with  his  wife,  was  laid  up  with  fever  ;  both  man  and  wife  were  buried 
*  in  one  grave  yesterday  week,  leaving  five  children  to  bo  supported  by 
the  union.  When  visited  the  unfortunate  couple  were  in  the  last  stage 
of  fever,  and  the  villagers  had  such  a  dread  of  the  disease  that  none  of 
them  would  enter  the  house,  and  the  clergyman  and  relieving  officer 
had  to  administer  the  medicine  themselves.  Harrison  was  the  best 
workman  in  the  parish.  The  cost  to  the  union  hns  already  been  12Z., 
and  at  the  lowest  computation  a  cost  of  GOO^  would  fall  upon  the  uniori 
for  maintaining  the  children,  aud  probably  they  might  remain  ]iauper8 
for  life.    This  amount  would  have  been  sufl&cient  to  drain  the  parish. ' 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA. 


LETTER  XXVIIL 

Brantwood, 

2Wi  Feb.,  1873. 

I  WAS  again  stopped  by  a  verse  in  St.  John's  gospel  this 
morning,  not  because  I  had  not  thought  of  it  before,  often 
enough  ;  but  because  it  bears  much  on  our  immediate  busi- 
ness in  one  of  its  expressions, — "  Ye  shall  be  scattered,  every 
man  to  his  own." 

His  own  what  ? 

His  own  property,  his  own  rights,  his  own  opinions,  his 
own  place,  I  suppose  one  must  answer  ?  Every  man  in  his 
own  place  ;  and  every  man  acting  on  his  own  opinions  ;  and 
every  man  having  his  own  way.  Those  are  somewhat  your 
own  notions  of  the  rightest  possible  state  of  things,  are  they 
not  ? 

And  you  do  not  think  it  of  any  consequence  to  ask  what 
sort  of  a  place  your  own  is  ? 

As  for  instance,  taking  the  reference  farther  on,  to  the  one 
of  Christ's  followers  who  that  night  most  distinctly  of  all 
that  were  scattered,  found  his  place,  and  stayed  in  it, — 
"  This  ministry  and  Apostleship,  from  which  Judas  by  trans- 
gression fell,  that  he  might  go  to  his  own  place."^^  What 
sort  of  a  place  ? 

It  should  interest  you,  surely,  to  ask  of  such  things,  since 
you  all,  whether  you  like  them  or  not,  have  your  own  places  ; 
and  whether  you  know  them  or  not,  your  own  opinions.  It 
is  too  true  that  very  often  you  fancy  you  think  one  thing, 
when  in  reality,  you  think  quite  another.  Most  Christian 
persons,  for  instance,  fancy  they  would  like  to  be  in  heaven.  - 
But  that  is  not  their  real  opinion  of  the  place  at  all.  See 
how  grave  they  will  look,  if  their  doctor  hints  to  them  that 
there  is  the  least  probability  of  their  soon  going  there. 

And  the  ascertaining  what  you  really  do  think  yourself, 
and  do  not  merely  fancy  you  think,  because  other  people  have 
said  so  \  as  also  the  ascertaining,  if  every  man  had  indeed  to 


FOnS  CLAVIGKUA. 


393 


go  to  his  own  place,  what  place  he  would  verily  have  to  go 
to,  are  most  wholesome  mental  exercises  ;  and  there  is  no 
objection  whatever  to  your  giving  weight  to  that  really  pri- 
vate opinion,"  and  that  really     individual  right." 

But  if  you  ever  come  really  to  know  either  what  you  think, 
or  what  you  deserve,  it  is  ten  to  one  but  you  find  it  as  much 
the  character  of  Prudence  as  of  Charity,  that  she  "  seeketh 
not  her  own."  For  indeed  that  same  apostle,  who  so  accu- 
rately sought  his  own,  and  found  it,  is,  in  another  verse, 
called  the  "  Son  of  Loss."  "  Of  them  whom  thou  gavest  me, 
have  I  lost  none,  but  the  Son  of  Loss,"  says  Christ  (your 
unlucky  translation,  again,  quenches  the  whole  text  by  its 
poor  Latinism — perdition.")  Might  it  not  be  better  to  lose 
your  place,  than  to  find  it,  on  such  terms  ? 

But,  lost  or  found,  what  do  you  think  is  your  place  at  this 
moment  ?  Are  you  minded  to  stay  in  it,  if  you  are  in  it  ? 
Do  you  know  where  it  is,  if  you  are  out  of  it  ?  What  sort 
of  creatures  do  you  think  yourselves  ?  How  do  those  you 
call  your  best  friends  think  of  you,  when  they  advise  you  to 
claim  your  just  place  in  the  world  ? 

I  said,  two  letters  back,  that  we  would  especially  reverence 
eight  saints,  and  among  them  St.  Paul.  I  was  startled  to 
hear,  only  a  few  days  afterwards,  that  the  German  critics 
have  at  last  positively  ascertained  that  St.  Paul  was  Simon 
Magus  ; — but  I  don't  mind  w^hether  he  was  not  ; — if  he  was, 
we  have  got  seven  saints  and  one  of  the  Magi,  to  reverence, 
instead  of  eight  saints  ; — plainly  and  practically,  whoever 
wrote  the  13th  of  1st  Corinthians  is  to  be  much  respected 
and  attended  to  ;  not  as  the  teacher  of  salvation  by  faith, 
still  less  of  salvation  by  talking,  nor  even  of  salvation  by 
almsgiving  or  martyrdom,  but  as  the  bold  despiser  of  faith, 
talk-gift,  and  burning,  if  one  has  not  love.  Whereas  this 
age  of  ours  is  so  far  contrary  to  any  such  Pauline  doctrine 
that,  without  especial  talent  either  for  faith  or  martyrdom, 
and  loquacious  usually  rather  with  the  tongues  of  men  than 
of  angels,  it  nevertheless  thinks  to  get  on,  not  merely  with- 
out love  of  its  neighbour,  but  founding  all  its  proceedings  on 
the  precise  contrary  of  that, — love  of  its  self,  and  the  seeking 


394 


FOES  GLAVIGERA, 


of  every  man  for  his  own, — I  should  say  of  every  beast  foi 
its  own  ;  for  your  modern  social  science  openly  confesses  that 
it  no  longer  considers  you  as  men,  but  as  having  the  nature 
of  Beasts  of  prey  ;  *  which  made  me  more  solicitous  to  explain 
to  you  the  significance  of  that  word  "  Park"  in  my  last  let- 
ter ;  for  indeed  you  have  already  pulled  down  the  railings  of 
those  small  green  spots  of  park  to  purpose — and  in  a  very 
solemn  sense,  turned  all  England  into  a  Park.  Alas  ; — if  it 
were  but  even  so  much.  Parks  are  for  beasts  of  the  field, 
which  can  dwell  together  in  peace  ; — but  you  have  made 
yourselves  beasts  of  the  Desert,  doleful  creatures,  for  whom 
the  grass  is  green  no  more,  nor  dew  falls  on  lawn  or  bank  ; 
no  Howlers  for  you — not  even  the  bare  and  quiet  earth  to  lie 
down  on,  but  only  the  sand-drift,  and  the  dry  places  which 
the  very  Devils  cannot  rest  in.  Here  and  there,  beside  our 
sweet  English  waters,  the  sower  may  still  send  forth  the  feet 
of  the  ox  and  the  ass  ;  but  for  mm  with  ox's  heads,  and  ass's 
heads, — not  the  park,  for  these  ;  by  no  manner  of  means,  the 
Park  ;  but  the  everlasting  Pound.  Every  man  and  beast 
being  in  their  own  place,  that  you  choose  for  yours. 

I  have  given  you  therefore,  this  month,  for  frontispiece, 
the  completest  picture  I  can  find  of  that  pound  or  labyrinth 
which  the  Greeks  supposed  to  have  been  built  by  Daedalus, 
to  enclose  the  bestial  nature,  engrafted  on  humanity.  The 
Man  with  the  Bull's  head.  The  Greek  Daedalus  is  the  power 
of  mechanical  as  opposed  to  imaginative  art  ;  and  this  is  the 
kind  of  architecture  which  Greeks  and  Florentines  alike 
represent  him  as  providing  for  human  beasts.  Could  any- 
thing more  precisely  represent  the  general  look  of  your 
architecture  now  ?  When  I  come  down  here,  to  Coniston, 
through  Preston  and  Wigan,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  seen 
that  thing  itself,  only  built  a  little  higher,  and  smoking,  or 
else  set  on  its  side,  and  spinning  round,  a  thousand  times 
over  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

Then  the  very  writing  of  the  name  of  it  is  so  like  your 
modern  education  !  You  miss  the  first  letter  of  your  lives  ; 
and  begin  wnth  A  for  apple-pie,  instead  of  L  for  love  ;  and 

*  See  terminal  notefj. 


FORS  CLAVJGERA, 


395 


the  rest  of  the  writing  is — some  little — some  big — some 
turned  the  wrong  way  ;  and  the  sum  of  it  all  to  you  Per- 
plexity.   "  Abberinto." 

For  the  rest,  the  old  Florentine  engraver  took  the  story  as 
it  ran  currently,  that  Theseus  deserted  Ariadne  (but,  indeed, 
she  was  the  letter  L  lost  out  of  his  life),  and  besides,  you 
know  if  he  ever  did  do  anything  wrong,  it  was  all  Titania'a 
fault, 

**  Didst  thou  not  lead  him  through  the  glimmering  night 
And  make  him  with  fair  ^gle  break  his  faith, 
With  Ariadne  and  Antiopa?*' 

If  you  have  young  eyes,  or  will  help  old  ones  with  a  mag- 
nifying glass,  you  will  find  all  her  story  told.  In  the  front, 
Theseus  is  giving  her  his  faith  ;  their  names,  TESEO  . 
ADRIANNA,  are  written  beneath  them.  He  leans  on  his 
club  reversed.  She  brings  him  three  balls  of  thread,  in  case 
one,  or  even  two,  should  not  be  long  enough.  His  plumed 
cap  means  earthly  victor}^  ;  her  winged  one  heavenly  power 
and  hope.  Then,  at  the  side  of  the  arched  gate  of  the  laby- 
rinth, Theseus  has  tied  one  end  of  the  clue  to  a  ring,  and  you 
see  his  back  and  left  leg  as  he  goes  in.  And  just  above,  as 
the  end  of  the  adventure,  he  is  sailing  away  from  Naxos 
with  his  black  sail.  On  the  left  is  the  isle  of  Naxos,  and 
deserted  Ariadne  waving  Theseus  back,  witli  her  scarf  tied 
to  a  stick.  Theseus  not  returning,  she  throws  herself  into 
the  sea  ;  you  can  see  her  feet,  and  her  hand,  still  with  the 
staff  in  it,  as  she  plunges  in,  backwards.  Whereupon, 
winged  Jupiter,  GIOVE,  comes  down  and  lifts  her  out  of  the 
sea  ;  you  see  her  winged  head  raised  to  him.  Then  he  carries 
her  up  to  heaven.  He  holds  her  round  the  waist,  but, 
strangely,  she  is  not  thinking  of  Jupiter  at  all,  but  of  some- 
thing above  and  more  than  Jupiter  ;  her  hands  and  head 
raised,  as  in  some  strong  desire.  But  on  the  right,  there  is 
another  fall,  without  such  rising.  Theseus'  father  throws 
himself  into  the  sea  from  the  wall  of  Athens,  and  you  see  his 
feet  as  he  goes  in  ;  but  there  is  no  God  to  lift  him  out  of  the 
waves.     He  stays,  in  his  plaoe,  as  Ariadne  in  hers. 


396 


FOES  CLAVIGEliA. 


"  Such  an  absurd  old  picture,  or  old  story,  you  never  saw 
or  heard  of  ?  The  very  blaze  of  fireworks,  in  which  Jupiter 
descends,  drawn  with  black  sparks  instead  of  white  !  the 
whole  point  of  the  thing,  '  terrific  combat,'  missed  out  of  the 
play  !  and  nothing,  on  the  whole,  seen,  except  people's  legs, 
as  in  a  modern  pantomime,  only  not  to  so  much  advantage." 

That  is  what  you  think  of  it  ?  Well,  such  as  it  is,  that  is 
fine  art "  (if  you  will  take  my  opinion  in  my  own  business); 
and  even  this  poor  photograph  of  it  is  simply  worth  all  the 
illustrations  in  your  Illustrated  News,  or  Illustrated  Times, 
from  one  year's  end  to  another.  Worth  them  all — nay, 
there  is  no  comparison,  for  these  illustrated  papers  do  you 
definite  mischief,  and  the  more  you  look  at  them,  the  worse 
for  you.  Whereas,  the  longer  you  look  at  this,  and  think  of 
it,  the  more  good  you  will  get. 

Examine,  for  instance,  that  absurdly  tall  crest  of  Theseus. 
Behind  it,  if  you  look  closely,  you  will  see  that  he  also  has 
the  wings  of  hope  on  his  helmet  ;  but  the  upright  plumes 
nearly  hide  them.  Have  you  never  seen  anything  like  them 
before  ?  They  are  five  here,  indeed  ;  but  you  have  surely 
met  with  them  elsewhere, — in  number.  Three — those  curling, 
upright  plumes  ? 

For  that  Prince  who  waited  on  his  father  and  the  French 
Knights  in  the  castle  of  Calais,  bears  them  in  memory  of  the 
good  knight  and  king  who  fought  sightless  at  Cressy  ;  whose 
bearings  they  were,  with  the  motto  which  you  know  so  well, 
yet  are  so  little  minded  to  take  for  your  own,  "  I  serve." 
Also  the  cap  of  the  Knights  of  St.  George  has  these  white 
plumes  "  of  three  falls,"  but  the  Prince  of  Wales  more  fitly, 
because  the  meaning  of  the  ostrich  feather  is  order  and  rule; 
for  it  was  seen  that,  long  and  loose  though  the  filaments 
seemed,  no  wind  could  entangle  or  make  them  disorderly. 
"  So  this  plume  betokeneth  such  an  one  as  nothing  can 
disturb  his  mind  or  disquiet  his  spirits,  but  is  ever  one  and 
the  same."  Do  you  see  how  one  thing  bears  out  and  fulfils 
another,  in  these  thoughts  and  symbols  of  the  despised 
people  of  old  time?  Do  you  recollect  Froissart's  words  of 
the  New  Year's  Feast  at  Calais  ? 


FORS  CLA  VIGERA. 


397 


"  So  they  were  served  in  peace,  and  in  great  leisure." 

You  have  improved  that  state  of  things,  at  any  rate.  1 
must  say  so  much  for  you,  at  Wolverton  and  Rugby,  and 
such  other  places  of  travellers'  repose. 

Theseus  then,  to  finish  with  him  for  this  time,  bears  these 
plumes  specially  as  the  Institutor  of  Order  and  Law  at 
Athens  ;  the  Prince  or  beginner  of  the  State  there  ;  and 
your  own  Prince  of  Wales  bears  them  in  like  manner  as  the 
beginner  of  State  with  us,  (the  mocking  and  purposeful  law- 
lessness of  Henry  the  Fifth  when  Prince,  yet  never  indeed 
violating  law,  or  losing  self-command,  is  one  of  the  notablest 
signs,  rightly  read,  in  the  world's  history).  And  now  I  want 
you  to  consider  with  me  very  carefully  the  true  meaning  of 
the  words  he  begins  his  State  with  : — 

"  I  serve." 

You  have,  I  hope,  noticed  that  throughout  these  letters 
addressed  to  you  as  workmen  and  labourers, — though  I  have 
once  or  twice  ventured  to  call  myself  your  fellow-workman, 
I  have  oftener  spoken  as  belonging  to,  and  sharing  main 
modes  of  thought  witli,  those  who  are  not  labourers,  but 
either  live  in  various  ways  by  their  wits — as  lawyers,  authors, 
reviewers,  clergymen,  parliamentary  orators,  and  the  like — 
or  absolutely  in  idleness  on  the  labour  of  others, — as  the  rep- 
resentative Squire.  And,  broadly  speaking,  I  address  you 
as  workers,  and  speak  in  the  name  of  the  rest  as  idlers,  thus 
not  estimating  the  mere  wit-work  as  v/ork  at  all  :  it  is  al- 
ways play,  when  it  is  good. 

Speaking  to  you,  then,  as  workers,  and  of  myself  as  an 
idler,  tell  me  honestly  whether  you  consider  me  as  address- 
ing my  betters  or  my  worses  ?  Let  us  give  ourselves  no  airs 
on  cither  side.  Which  of  us,  do  you  seriously  think,  you  or 
I,  are  leadirjg  the  most  honourable  life  ?  Would  you  like  to 
lead  my  life  rather  than  your  own  ;  or,  if  you  couldn't  help 
finding  it  pleasanter,  would  you  be  ashamed  of  yourselves 
for  leading  it  ?  Is  your  place,  or  mine,  considered  as  cure 
and  sinecure,  the  better  ?  And  are  either  of  us  legitimately 
in  it  ?  I  would  fain  know  your  own  real  opinion  on  these 
things. 


398 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


But  note  further  :  there  is  another  relation  between  ua 
than  that  of  idler  and  labourer  ;  the  much  more  direct  one 
of  Master  and  Servant.  I  can  set  you  to  any  kind  of  work 
I  like,  whether  it  be  good  for  you  or  bad,  pleasant  to  you  or 
painful.  Consider,  for  instance,  what  I  am  doing  at  this 
very  instant — half-past  seven,  morning,  25th  February,  1873, 
It  is  a  bitter  black  frost,  the  ground  deep  in  snow,  and  more 
falling.  I  am  writing  comfortably  in  a  perfectly  warm 
room  ;  some  of  my  servaiUs  were  up  in  the  cold  at  half-past 
five  to  get  it  ready  for  me  ;  others,  a  few  days  ago,  were 
digging  my  coals  near  Durliam,  at  the  risk  of  their  lives  ; 
an  old  woman  brought  me  my  watercresses  through  the  snow 
for  breakfast  yesterday  ;  another  old  woman  is  going  two 
miles  through  it  to-day  to  fetch  me  my  letters  at  ten  o'clock. 
Half-a-dozen  men  are  building  a  wall  for  me,  to  keep  the 
sheep  out  of  my  garden,  and  a  railroad  stoker  is  holding  his 
own  ao:ainst  the  north  wind,  to  fetch  me  some  Brobdio-nao: 
raspberry  plants*  to  put  in  it.  Somebody  in  the  east-end  of 
London  is  making  boots  for  me,  for  I  can't  wear  those  I  have 
much  longer  ;  a  washerwoman  is  in  suds,  somewhere,  to  get 
me  a  clean  shirt  for  to-morrow  ;  a  fisherman  is  in  dangerous 
weather,  somewhere,  catching  me  some  fish  for  Lent  ;  and 
my  cook  will  soon  be  making  me  pancakes,  for  it  is  Shrove 
Tuesday.  Having  written  this  sentence,  I  go  to  the  fire, 
■warm  my  fingers,  saunter  a  little,  listlessly,  about  the  room, 
and  grumble  because  I  can't  see  to  the  other  side  of  the  lake. 

And  all  these  people,  my  serfs  or  menials,  who  are  under- 
going any  quantity  or  kind  of  hardship  I  choose  to  put  on 
them, — all  these  people,  nevertheless,  are  more  contented 
than  I  am  ;  I  can't  be  happy,  not  I, — for  one  thing,  because 
I  haven't  got  the  MS.  Additional,  (never  mind  what  number), 
in  the  British  Museum,  which  they  bought  in  1848,  for  two 
hundred  pounds,  and  I  never  saw  it  !  And  have  never  bee« 
easy  in  my  mind,  since. 

But  perhaps  it  is  not  the  purpose  of  Heaven  to  make  re* 
fined  personages,  like  me,  easy  in  our  minds  ;  we  are  sup- 

*  See  Mis3  Edgeworth's  Story,     Forgive   and  Forget,"   in  the 

Parents  Assistant. 


FOBS  CLAYIGERA. 


399 


posed  to  be  too  grand  for  that.  Happy,  or  easy,  or  other- 
wise,  am  1  in  my  place,  think  you  ;  and  you,  my  serfs,  in 
yours  ? 

You  are  not  serfs,"  say  you,  but  free-born  Britons  ? 
Much  good  may  your  birth  do  you.  What  does  your  birth 
matter  to  me,  since,  now  that  you  are  grown  men,  you  must 
do  whatever  I  like,  or  die  by  starvation  ?  "  Strike  !  " — 
will  you?  Can  you  live  by  strikiiig?  And  when  you  are 
forced  to  work  again,  will  not  your  masters  choose  again,  as 
they  have  chosen  hitherto,  what  work  you  are  to  do  ?  Not 
serfs  ! — it  is  well  if  you  are  so  much  as  that  ;  a  serf  would 
know  what  o'clock  he  had  to  go  to  his  work  at  ;  but  I  find 
that  clocks  are  now  no  more  comprehensible  in  England  than 
in  Italy,  and  you  also  have  to  be  "  whistled  for  like  dogs," 
all  over  Yorkshire — or  rather  buzzed  for,  that  being  the 
appropriate  call  to  business,  of  due  honey-making  kind. 

Hark,"  says  an  old  Athenian,  according  to  Aristophanes, 
"how  the  nightingale  has  filled  the  thickets  with  honey" 
(meaning,  with  music  as  sweet).  In  Yorkshire,  your  steam- 
nightingales  fill  the  woods  with — Buzz  ;  and  for  four  miles 
round  are  audible,  summoning  you — to  your  pleasure,  I  sup- 
pose, my  free-born  ?  ^ 

It  is  well,  I  repeat,  if  you  are  so  much  as  serfs.  A  serf 
means  a  ^'  saved  person  " — the  word  comes  first  from  a  Greek 
one,  meaning  to  drag,  or  drag  away  into  safety,  (though 
captive  safety),  out  of  the  slaughter  of  war.  But  alas,  the 
trades  most  of  you  are  set  to  now-a-days  have  no  element 
of  safety  in  them,  either  for  body  or  soul.  They  take  thirty 
years  from  your  lives  here  ; — what  they  take  from  your  lives 
hereafter,  ask  your  clergy.  I  have  no  opinion  on  that 
matter. 

But  I  used  another  terrible  word  just  now — menial." 
The  modern  English  vulgar  mind  has  a  wonderful  dread  of 
doing  anything  of  that  sort  I 

I  suppose  there  is  scarcely  another  word  in  the  language 
which  people  more  dislike  having  applied  to  them,  or  of 
which  they  less  understand  the  application.  It  comes  from 
a  beautiful  old  Cbauoerian  word,     uieinio,''  or  many,  signify- 


400 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


ing  the  attendant  company  of  any  one  worth  attending  to  ; 
the  disciples  of  a  Master,  scholars  of  a  teacher,  soldiers  of  a 
leader,  lords  of  a  King.  Chaucer  says  the  God  of  Love 
came,  in  the  garden  of  the  Rose,  with  "  his  many  ;  " — in  the 
court  of  the  King  of  Persia  spoke  a  Lord,  one  "  of  his 
many."  Therefore  there  is  nothing  in  itself  dishonourable 
in  being  menial — the  only  question  is — whose  many  you  be- 
long to,  and  whether  he  is  a  person  worth  belonging  to,  or 
even  safe  to  be  belonged  to  ;  also,  there  is  somewhat  in  the 
cause  of  your  following  ;  if  you  follow  for  love,  it  is  good  to 
be  menial — if  for  honour,  good  also  ; — if  for  ten  per  cent. — 
as  a  railroad  company  follows  its  Director,  it  is  not  good  to 
be  menial.  Also  there  is  somewhat  in  the  manner  of  follow- 
ing ;  if  you  obey  your  Task-master's  eye,  it  is  well  ; — if  only 
his  whip,  still,  well  ;  but  not  so  well  : — but,  above  all,  or  be- 
low all,  if  you  have  to  obey  the  whip  as  a  bad  hound,  because 
you  have  no  nose,  like  the  members  of  the  present  House  of 
Commons,  it  is  a  very  humble  form  of  menial  service  indeed. 

But  even  as  to  the  quite  literal  form  of  it,  in  house  or  do- 
mestic service,  are  you  sure  it  is  so  very  disgraceful  a  state 
to  live  in  ? 

Among  the  people  whom  one  must  miss  out  of  one's  life, 
dead,  or  worse  than  dead,  by  the  time  one  is  54,  I  can  only 
say,  for  my  own  part,  that  the  one  I  practically  and  truly 
miss  most,  next  to  father  and  mother,  (and  putting  losses  of 
imaginary  good  out  of  the  question,)  was  a  "  menial,"  my 
father's  nurse,  and  mine.  She  was  one  of  our  many — (our 
many  being  always  but  few) — and,  from  her  girlhood  to  her 
old  age,  the  entire  ability  of  her  life  was  given  to  serving  us. 
She  had  a  natural  gift  and  specialty  for  doing  disagreeable 
things  ;  above  all,  the  service  of  a  sick-room  ;  so  that  she 
was  nev^er  quite  in  her  glory  unless  some  of  us  were  ill.  She 
had  also  some  parallel  specialty  for  saying  disagreeable 
things  ;  and  might  be  relied  upon  to  give  the  extremely  dark- 
est view  of  any  subject,  before  proceeding  to  ameliorative 
action  upon  it.  And  she  had  a  very  creditable  and  repub* 
lican  aversion  to  doing  immediately,  or  in  set  terms,  as  she 
was  bid  ;  so  that  when  my  mother  and  she  got  old  together, 


FORS  CLAVIOEBA. 


m 


and  my  mother  became  very  imperative  and  particular  about 
having  her  tea-cup  set  on  one  side  of  her  little  round  table, 
Anne  would  observantly  and  punctiliously  put  it  always  on 
the  other  ;  which  caused  my  mother  to  state  to  me,  every 
morning  after  breakfast,  gravely,  that,  if  ever  a  woman  in 
this  world  was  possessed  by  the  Devil,  Anne  was  that  woman. 
But  in  spite  of  these  momentary  and  petulant  aspirations  to 
liberty  and  independence  of  character,  poor  Anne  remained 
verily  servile  in  soul  all  her  days  ;  and  was  altogether  occu- 
pied from  the  age  of  15  to  72,  in  doing  other  people's  wills 
instead  of  her  own,  and  seeking  other  people's  good  instead 
of  her  own  :  nor  did  I  ever  hear  on  any  occasion  of  her  doing 
harm  to  a  human  being,  except  by  saving  two  hundred  and 
some  odd  pounds  for  her  relations  ;  in  consequence  of  which 
some  of  them,  after  her  funeral,  did  not  speak  to  the  rest  for 
several  m.onths. 

Two  hundred  and  odd  pounds  ; — it  might  have  been  more  ; 
but  T  used  to  hear  of  little  loans  to  the  relations  occasionally  ; 
and  besides,  Anne  would  sometimes  buy  a  quite  unjustifiably 
expensive  silk  gown.  People  in  her  station  of  life  are  always 
so  improvident.  Two  hundred  odd  pounds  at  all  events  siie 
had  laid  bv,  in  her  fiftv-scven  voars  of  unselhsh  labour.  Ac- 
tually  twenty  ten  pound  notes.  1  heard  the  other  day,  to  my 
great  satisfaction,  of  the  approaching  marriage  of  a  charming 
girl  ; — but  to  my  dissatisfaction,  that  the  approach  was  slow. 
*^  We  can't  marry  yet" — said  she  ; — "you  know,  we  can't 
possibly  marry  on  five  hundred  a  year."  People  in  that  sta- 
tion of  life  are  always  so  provident. 

Two  hundred  odd  pounds, — that  was  what  the  third  Fors, 
in  due  alliance  with  her  sisters,  thought  fit  to  reward  our 
Anne  with,  for  fifty  years  of  days'  work  and  nights'  watch- 
ing ;  and  what  will  not  a  dash  of  a  pen  win,  sometimes  in 
the  hands  of  superior  persons  !  Surely  the  condition  must  be 
a  degraded  one  which  can  do  no  better  for  itself  than  this  ? 

And  yet,  have  you  ever  taken  a  wise  man's  real  opinion  on 
this  matter?  You  are  not  fond  of  hearing  opinions  of  wise 
men  ;  you  like  your  anonymous  penny-a-liners'  opinions  bet- 
ter. But  do  you  think  you  C(mld  tolerantly  receive  that  of 
f6% 


402 


FOBS  CLAVIGEMA. 


a  moderately  and  popularly  wise  man — such  an  one  as  Charles 
Dickens,  for  example  ?  Have  you  ever  considered  seriously 
what  his  opinion  was,  about  "  Dependants  "  and  "Menials"  ? 
He  did  not  perhaps  quite  know  what  it  was  himself  ; — it 
needs  wisdom  of  stronger  make  than  his  to  be  sure  of 
what  it  does  think.  He  would  talk,  in  his  moral  passages? 
about  Independence,  and  Self-dependence,  and  making  one's 
way  in  the  world,  just  like  any  hack,  of  the  JEatanswill  In^ 
dependent.  But  which  of  the  people  of  his  imagination,  of 
his  own  true  children,  did  he  love  and  honour  most  ?  Who 
are  your  favourites  in  his  books — as  they  have  been  his  ? 
Menials,  it  strikes  me,  many  of  them.  Sam,  Mark,  Kit, 
Peggotty,  Mary-my-dear, — even  the  poor  little  Marchioness  ! 
I  don't  think  Dickens  intended  you  to  look  upon  any  of  them 
disrespectfully.  Or  going  one  grade  higher  in  his  society, 
Tom  Pinch,  Newman  Noggs,  Tim  Linkinwater,  Oliver  Twist 
• — how  independent,  all  of  them  !  Very  nearly  menial,  in 
soul,  if  they  chance  on  a  good  master  ;  none  of  them  brilliant 
in  fortune,  nor  vigorous  in  action.  Is  not  the  entire  testi- 
mony of  Dickens,  traced  in  its  true  force,  that  no  position  is 
so  good  for  men  and  women,  none  so  likely  to  bring  out  their 
best  human  character,  as  that  of  a  dependant,  or  menial  ? 
And  yet  with  your  supreme  modern  logic,  instead  of  enthusi- 
astically concluding  from  his  works  "  let  us  all  be  servants," 
one  would  think  the  notion  he  put  in  your  heads  was  quite 
the  other,  let  us  all  be  masters,"  and  that  you  understood 
his  ideal  of  heroic  English  character  to  be  given  in  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff or  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  ! 

Alas  !  more's  the  pity,  you  cannot  all  be  dependants  and 
menials,  even  if  you  were  w^ise  enough  to  wish  it.  Somebody 
there  must  be  to  be  served,  else  there  could  be  no  service. 
And  for  the  beatitudes  and  virtues  of  Masterhood,  I  must 
appeal  to  a  wiser  man  than  Dickens — but  it  is  no  use  enter- 
ing on  that  part  of  the  question  to-day;  in  the  meantime, 
here  is  another  letter  of  his,  (you  have  had  one  letter  already 
in  last  Fors^)  just  come  under  my  hand,  which  gives  you  a 
sketch  of  a  practical  landlord,  and  true  Master,  on  which  you 
may  meditate  with  advantage  : — 


FOliS  GLAVIGERA. 


403 


"  Here,  above  all,  we  had  the  opportunity  of  seeing  in  what 
universa]  respect  and  comfort  a  gentleman's  family  may  live 
in  that  country,  and  in  far  from  its  most  favoured  district  ; 
provided  only  they  live  there  habitually  and  do  their  duty  as 
the  friends  and  guardians  of  those  among  w^hom  Providence 
has  appointed  their  proper  place.  Here  we  found  neither 
mud  hovels  nor  naked  peasantry,  but  snug  cottages  and 
smiling  faces  all  about.  Here  there  was  a  very  large  school 
in  the  village,  of  which  masters  and  pupils  were,  in  nearly 
equal  proportion,  Protestants  and  Roman  Catholics,  the  Prot- 
estant Squire  himself  making  it  a  regular  part  of  his  daily 
business  to  visit  the  scene  of  their  operations,  and  strengthen 
authority  and  encourage  discipline  by  personal  superintend- 
ence. Here,  too,  we  pleased  ourselves  with  recognising  some 
of  the  sweetest  features  in  Goldsmith's  picture  of  '  Sweet 
Auburn  !  loveliest  village  of  the  plain;'  and,  in  particular, 
we  had  'the  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  sciiool'  in 
perfection.  Mr.  Edgeworth*s  paternal  heart  delighted  in  let- 
ting them  make  a  play-ground  of  his  lawn  ;  and  every  even- 
ing, after  dinner,  we  saw  leap-frog  going  on  with  the  highest 
spirit  within  fifty  yards  of  the  drawing-room  windows,  while 
fathers  and  mothers,  and  their  aged  parents  also,  were 
grouped  about  among  the  trees  watching  the  sport.  It  is  a 
curious  enough  coincidence  that  Oliver  Goldsmith  and  Maria 
Edgeworth  should  both  have  derived  their  early  love  and 
knowledsre  of  Irish  character  and  manners  from  the  same 
identical  district.  He  received  part  of  his  education  at  this 
very  school  of  Edgeworthstown  ;  and  Pallasmore  (the  *  locus 
cui  nomen  est  Pallas'  of  Johnson's  epitaph),  the  little  hamlet 
where  the  author  of  the  Vicar  of  Wtikefield  first  saw  the 
light,  is  still,  as  it  was  in  his  time,  the  property  of  the  Edge- 
worths." 

Strengthen  authority,"  enforce  discipline  !  "  What  ugly 
expressions  these  !  and  a  "  whole  hamlet,"  though  it  he  a  little 
one,  "  the  property  of  the  Edgevvorths  "  !  How  long  are  such 
things  yet  to  be?  thinks  my  Republican  correspondent,  I 
suppose,  from  whom,  to  my  regret,  I  have  had  no  further 
dispatch  since  1  endeavoured   to   answer   his  interroga- 


404 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA, 


tions.*  Only,  note  further  respecting  this  chief  question  of 
the  right  of  private  property,  that  there  are  two  kinds  of 
ownership,  which  the  Greeks  wisely  expressed  in  two  differ- 
ent ways  :  the  first,  Avith  the  word  which  brought  me  to  a 
pause  in  St.  John's  Gospel,  "  idios,"  signifying  the  way,  for 
instance,  in  which  a  man's  opinions  and  interests  are  his  own  ; 
^'idia,"  so  tliat  by  persisting  in  them,  independently  of  the 
truth,  which  is  above  opinion,  and  of  the  public  interest,  which 
is  above  private,  he  becomes  what  we  very  properly,  borrow- 
ing the  Greek  word,  call  an  ^  idiot.'  But  their  other  phrase 
expresses  the  kind  of  belonging  which  is  nobly  won,  and  is 
truly  and  inviolably  ours,  in  which  sense  a  man  may  learn 
the  full  meaning  of  the  word  "  Mine"  only  once  in  his  life, — 
happy  he  who  has  ever  so  learnt  it.  I  was  thinking  over  the 
prettiness  of  the  word  in  that  sense,  a  day  or  two  ago,  and 
opening  a  letter,  mechanically,  when  a  newspaper  clipping 
dropped  out  of  it  (I  don't  know  from  what  paper),  contain- 
ing a  quotation  from  the  Cornhill  Magazine  setting  forth 
the  present  privileges  of  the  agricultural  labourer  attained 
for  him  by  modern  improvements  in  machinery,  in  the  fol- 
lowing terms  : — 

"  An  agricultural  labourer,  from  forty  to  forty-five  years 
of  age,  of  tried  skill,  probity,  and  sobriety,  with  200  pounds 
in  his  pocket,  is  a  made  man.  True,  he  has  had  to  forego 
the  luxury  of  marriage  ;  but  so  have  his  betters." 

And  I  think  you  may  be  grateful  to  the  Third  Fors  for 
this  clipping  ;  which  you  see  settles,  in  the  region  of  Corn- 
hill,  at  least,  the  question  whether  you  are  the  betters  or  the 
worses  of  your  masters.  Decidedly  the  worses,  according  to 
the  Cornhill,  Also,  exactly  the  sum  which  my  old  nurse 
had  for  her  reward  at  the  end  of  her  life,  is,  you  see,  to  be 
the  agricultural  labourer's  reward  in  the  crowning  triumph 
of  his  ; — provided  always  that  he  has  followed  the  example 
of  his  betters  on  the  stock  exchange  and  in  trade,  in  the 
observance  of  the  strictest  probity  ; — that  he  be  entirely 

*  2lKt  March ;  one  just  received,  interesting,  and  to  be  answered 
next  month. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


405 


skilful  ; — not  given  to  purchasing  two  shillings'  worth  of 
liquor  for  twenty-seven  and  sixpence, — and  finally,  until  the 
age  of  forty-five,  has  dispensed  with  the  luxury  of  marriage. 

I  have  just  said  I  didn't  want  to  make  Catholics  of  you  ; 
but  truly  I  think  your  Protestantism  is  becoming  too  fierce 
in  its  opposition  to  the  Popedom.  Cannot  it  be  content  with 
preaching  the  marriage  of  the  clergy,  but  it  must  preach  also 
the  celibacy  of  the  laity  ? 

And  the  moral  and  anti-Byronic  Mrs.  B.  Stowe,  who  so 
charmingly  and  pathetically  describes  the  terrors  of  slavery, 
as  an  institution  which  separates  men  from  their  wives,  and 
mothers  from  their  children  !  Did  she  really  contemplate, 
among  the  results  contributed  to  by  her  interesting  volumes, 
these  ultimate  privileges  of  Liberty, — that  the  men,  at  least 
under  the  age  of  forty-five,  are  not  to  have  any  wives  to  be 
separated  from  ;  and  that  the  women,  who  under  these  cir- 
cumstances have  the  misfortune  to  become  mothers,  are  to 
feel  it  a  hardship,  not  to  be  parted  from  their  children,  but 
to  be  prevented  from  accelerating  the  parting  with  a  little 
soothing  syrup  ? 


406 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


I  HAVE  kept  by  me,  and  now  reprint  from  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  ol 
July  6th,  1868,  the  following  report  of  a  meeting*  held  on  the  Labour 
Question  by  the  Social  Science  Association  in  the  previous  week.  It 
will  be  seen  that  it  contains  confirmation  of  my  statement  in  p.  394  of 
the  text.  The  passage  I  have  italicised  contains  the  sense  of  the  views 
then  entertained  by  the  majority  of  the  meeting.  I  think  it  desirable 
also  to  keep  note  of  the  questions  I  proposed  to  the  meeting,  and  of 
the  answers  given  in  the  Gazette.  I  print  the  article,  therefore,  en- 
tire : — 

THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCE  ASSOCIATION  ON  THE  LABOUR 

QUESTION 

THER15  would  be  something  touching  in  the  way  in  which  people  dis- 
cuss the  question  of  labour  and  wages,  and  in  the  desperate  efforts 
made  by  Mr.  Gladstone  and  other  persons  of  high  position  to  make 
love  to  the  workmen,  if  there  was  not  almost  always  a  touch  of  absurd- 
ity in  such  proceedings.  Mr.  Gladstone,  in  particular,  never  approaches 
such  subjects  without  an  elaborate  patting  and  stroking  of  the  working 
man,  which  is  intelligible  only  upon  the  assumption  that  prima  facie 
the  labourer  and  the  gentlemen  are  natural  enemies,  and  that  they 
must  be  expected  to  regard  each  other  as  such,  unless  the  higher  class 
approaches  the  lower  with  the  most  elaborate  assurances  of  good  will 
and  kindness.  Such  language  as  the  following  appears  to  us  very  ill- 
judged.  After  condemning  in  strong  terms  the  crimes  committed  by 
some  trade  unions,  Mr.  Gladstone  went  on  to  say  : — ''''  Some  things  the 
working  men  required  at  their  hands.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  re- 
quired that  they  should  be  approached  in  a  friendly  spirit,  that  they 
should  feel  that  they  were  able  to  place  confidence  in  their  good  inten- 
tions, that  they  should  be  assured  that  they  were  not  approached  in  the 
spirit  of  class,  but  in  the  spirit  of  men  who  were  attached  to  the  truth," 
&c.  &c.  What  can  be  the  use  of  this  sort  of  preaching  ?  Does  any 
human  being  suppose  that  any  kind  of  men  whatsoever,  whether  work- 
ing men  or  idle  men,  are  indifferent  to  being  approached  in  an  un- 
friendly spirit,  or  are  disposed  to  deal  with  people  whom  they  believe 
to  entertain  bad  intentions  towards  them,  or  to  be  utterly  indifferent  to 
their  interests,  or  to  be  actuated  by  interests  opposed  to  their  ov/c  If 


FORS  C.'.A  ViGERA. 


407 


Such  protestations  always  appear  to  us  either  prosy,  patronising,  or  in- 
sincere. No  one  suspects  Mr.  Gladstone  of  insincerity,  but  at  times  he 
is  as  prosy  as  a  man  must  be,  who,  being  already  fully  occupied  with 
politics,  will  never  miss  an  opportunity  of  doing  a  little  philanthropy 
and  promoting  peace  and  good  will  between  different  classes  of  the 
community.  Blessed  no  doubt  are  the  peacemakers,  but  at  times  they 
are  bores. 

After  Mr.  Gladstone's  little  sermon  the  meeting  proceeded  to  discuss 
a  variety  of  resolutions  about  strikes,  some  of  which  seem  very  unim- 
portant. One  piece  of  mgoroics  good  sense  enlivened  the  discussion,  and 
appears  to  us  to  sum  vp  pretty  nearly  all  that  can  he  said  upon  the  uhole 
subject  of  strikes.  It  was  uttered  by  Mr.  Applegarth^  who  observed  that 
''^no  sentiment  ought  to  be  brought  into  the  subject.  The  employers  were 
like  the  employed  in  trying  to  get  as  much  as  possible  for  as  little  as  tliey 
CxAild.'*'*  Add  to  this  tlie  obvious  gualification  that  even  in  dnving  a  bar- 
gain it  is  possible  to  insist  too  strongly  upon  your  own  inter  est ,  and  that 
it  never  can  be  in  the  interest  either  of  masters  or  of  men  that  the  profits 
of  any  given  trade  to  the  capitalist  sJcould  be  permanently  depi'essed  much 
below  the  avei'age  profits  of  other  trades^  and  nearly  all  that  can  be  said 
upon  the  subject  will  have  been  said.  If,  instead  of  meeting  together 
and  kissing  each  other  in  public,  masters  and  men  would  treat  each 
other  simply  as  civilised  and  rational  beings  who  have  to  drive  a  bar- 
gain, and  who  have  a  common  interest  in  producing  the  maximum  of 
profit,  though  their  interests  in  dividing  it  when  it  is  produced  are  con- 
flicting, they  would  get  on  much  better  together.  People  can  buy  and 
sell  all  sorts  of  other  things  without  either  quarrelling  or  crying  over 
the  transaction,  and  if  they  could  only  see  it  there  is  no  reason  why 
they  should  not  deal  in  labour  just  as  coolly. 

The  most  remarkable  feature  of  the  evening  was  the  attack  made  by 
Mr.  Ruakin  on  this  view  of  the  subject.  Replying  to  Mr.  Dering,  who 
had  said  that  whenever  it  was  possible  men  would  seek  their  own  Ie 
tercsts  even  at  the  expense  of  other  classes,'-  he  obser\'ed  *  that  many 
students  of  political  economy  '*  looked  upon  man  as  a  predator}'  animal, 
while  man  on  the  contrary  was  an  affectionate  animal,  and  until  the 
mutual  interest  of  classes  was  based  upon  affection,  difficulties  must 
continue  between  those  classes."  There  are,  as  it  appears  to  us,  sev- 
eral weak  points  in  this  statement.  One  obvious  one  is  that  most  ani- 
mals are  both  predatory  and  affectionate.  Wolves  will  play  together, 
herd  together,  hunt  together,  kill  sheep  together,  and  yet,  if  one  wolf  is 
wounded,  the  rest  will  eat  him  up.  Animals,  too,  which  as  between 
each  other  are  highly  affectionate,  are  predatory  to  the  last  degree  as 

♦  I  observed  nothing  of  the  kind.  It  was  the  previouH  speaker  (unknown  to  me,  but, 
according  to  the  Pall  Mal\  Mr.  Dering)  who  not  merely  "  observed  "  but  positively  af- 
firmed, as  the  only  groundwork  of  sound  political  economy,  that  the  nature  of  man  wa» 
that  of  a  beast  of  prey,  to  all  hie  follows. 


408 


FOBS  GLAVIQERA. 


against  creatures  of  a  different  species  or  creatures  of  their  own  species 
Avho  have  got  something  which  they  want.  Hence,  if  men  are  actuated 
to  some  extent  at  some  times,  aad  towards  some  persons,  by  their  affec- 
tions, and  to  a  different  extent  at  other  times  towards  the  same  or 
other  ijersous  by  their  predatory  instincts,  they  would  resemble  othet 
animals.  Mr.  Ruskin's  opposition  between  the  predatory  and  affection- 
ate animal  is  thus  merely  imag-inary.  Apart  from  this  the  description 
of  a  man  as  "an  affectionate  animal"  appears  to  us  not  merely  incom- 
plete but  misleading.  Of  course  the  affections  are  a  most  important 
branch  of  human  nature,  but  they  are  by  no  means  the  whole  of  it.  A 
very  large  department  of  human  nature  is  primarily  self -regarding.  A 
man  eats  and  drinks  because  he  is  hungry  or  thirsty,  and  he  buys  and 
sells  because  he  wants  to  get  gain.  These  are  and  always  will  be  his 
leading  motives,  but  they  are  no  doubt  to  a  certain  extent  counteracted 
in  civilised  life  by  motives  of  a  different  kind.  No  man  is  altogether 
destitute  of  regard  for  the  interests  and  wishes  of  his  neighbours,  and 
almost  every  one  will  sacrifice  something  more  or  less  for  the  gratifica- 
tion of  others.  Still,  self-interest  of  the  most  direct  unmistakable  kind 
is  the  great  leading  active  principle  in  many  departments  of  life,  and  in 
particular  in  the  trading  department ;  to  deny  this  is  to  shut  one's  eyes 
to  the  sun  at  noonday.  To  try  to  change  is  like  trying  to  stop  the  revo- 
lution of  the  earth.  To  call  it  a  ^'  predatory"  instinct  is  to  talk  at  ran- 
dom. To  take  from  a  man  by  force  what  he  possesses  is  an  essentially 
different  thing  from  driving  the  hardest  of  hard  bargains  with  him. 
Every  bargain  is  regarded  as  an  advantage  by  both  parties  at  the  time 
when  it  is  made,  otherwise  it  would  not  be  made  at  all.  If  I  save  a 
drowning  man's  life  on  conditicn  that  he  will  convey  to  me  his  whole 
estate,  he  is  better  off  than  if  I  leave  him  to  drown.  My  act  is  certainly 
not  affectionate,  but  neither  is  it  predatory.  It  improves  the  condition 
of  both  parties,  and  the  same  is  true  of  all  trade. 

The  most  singular  part  of  Mr.  Ruskin's  address  consisted  of  a  cate- 
chism which  appears  to  us  to  admit  of  very  simple  answers,  which  we 
will  proceed  to  give,  as  the  questions  were  received  with  much  ap- 
plause," though  we  do  not  appreciate  their  importance.  They  are  aa 
follows :  — 

Question. — "  1.  It  is  stated  in  a  paper  read  before  the  jurisprudence 
section  of  the  National  Association  for  the  Promotion  of  Social  Science, 
and  afterwards  published  at  their  office,  that  *  without  the  capitalist 
labour  could  accomplish  nothing,'  (p.  4).  But  for  long  periods  of  time 
in  some  parts  of  the  world  the  accumulation  of  money  was  forbidden, 
and  in  others  it  was  impossible.  Has  labour  never  accomplished  any. 
thing  in  such  districts  ?  '* 

Answer. — Capital  is  not  merely  **an  accumulation  of  money."  It 
is  a  general  name  for  the  whole  stock  by  and  out  of  which  things  are 
made.    Labour  never  accomplished  anything  without  materials  oi 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


409 


anything  important  without  tools,  and  materials  and  tools  are  capi- 
tal. 

Question. — "2.  Supposini^  that  in  the  present  state  of  England  the 
capital  is  necessary,  are  capitalists  fco  ?  In  other  words,  is  ic  needful 
for  right  operation  of  capital  that  it  should  be  administered  under  the 
arbitrary  power  of  one  person  ?  " 

Answer.  — Yes,  it  is,  unless  you  do  away  with  the  institution  of  pri- 
vate property.  It  is  necessary  for  the  right  operation  of  capital  that 
some  one  or  other  should  have  arbitrary  power  over  it,  and  that  arbi- 
trary power  must  either  be  lodged  in  individuals,  who  thereupon  become 
capitalists,  or  else  in  the  public  or  its  representatives,  in  which  case 
there  is  only  one  capitalist — the  State. 

Question.—'' '  3,  Whence  is  all  capital  derived  ? " 

Answer. — From  the  combination  of  labour  and  material. 

Question. — 4.  If  capital  is  spent  in  paying  wages  for  labour  or  manu- 
facture which  brings  no  return  (as  the  labour  of  an  acrobat  or  manufact- 
urer of  fireworks),  is  such  capital  lost  or  not  ?  and  if  lost,  what  is  the 
effect  of  such  loss  on  the  future  wages  fund?" 

Ans7jDer. — In  the  case  supposed  the  capital  ceases  to  exist  as  capital, 
and  the  future  wages  fund  is  diminished  to  that  extent ;  but  see  the 
next  answer. 

Question. — 5.  If  under  such  circumstances  it  is  lost,  and  cai^.  only 
be  recovered  (much  more  recovered  with  interest)  when  it  has  been 
spent  in  wages  for  productive  labour  or  manufacture,  what  labours 
and  manufactures  are  productive,  and  what  are  unproductive  ?  Do  all 
capitalists  know  the  difference,  and  are  they  always  defeirous  to  em 
ploy  men  in  productive  labours  and  manufactures,  and  in  these  only  ?  " 

Atmcer. — Generally  speaking,  productive  labour  ans  labour  which 
produces  useful  or  agreeable  results.  Probably  no  paid  labour  is  abso- 
lutely unproductive  ;  forinstance,  the  feats  of  the  acrobat  and  the  fire- 
works amuse  the  spectators.  Capitalists  in  general  desire  to  employ 
men  in  labours  and  manufactures  which  produce  gain  to  the  capitalists 
themselves.  The  amount  of  the  gain  depends  on  the  relation  between 
the  demand  for  the  product  and  the  cost  of  production,  and  the  demand 
for  the  product  depends  principally  on  the  extent  to  which  it  is  useful 
or  agreeable,  that  is,  upon  the  extent  to  which  the  labour  is  pro- 
ductive or  unproductive.  In  this  indirect  way  capitalists  are  generally 
desirous  to  employ  men  in  productive  labours  and  manufactures,  and  in 
them  only. 

Question.  — "  0.  Considering  the  unemployed  and  purchasing  public 
as  a  great  capitalist,  employing  the  workmen  and  their  masters  both, 
what  results  happen  finally  to  this  purchasing  public  if  it  employs  all  its 
manufacturers  in  productive  labour?  and  what  if  it  employs  them  all  in 
productive  labour  :  " 

Answer. — This  is  not  the  light  in  which  we  should  consider  the  un- 


410 


PORS  CLAVIGERA. 


employed  and  purchasing-  public. "  But  if  they  are  all  to  be  congidered 
in  that  light,  it  is  obvious  that  the  result  of  employing  all  manufact- 
urers in  doing  what  is  useless  or  disagreeable  would  be  general  misery, 
and  vice  versa. 

Question. — 7.  If  there  are  thirty  workmen,  ready  to  do  a  day'n 
work,  and  there  is  only  a  day's  work  for  one  of  them  to  do,  what  is  the 
effect  of  the  natural  laws  of  wages  on  the  other  twenty-nine?" 

A7i8wer, — The  twenty -nine  must  go  without  work  and  wages,  but  the 
phrase  ** natural  law"  is  not  ours. 

Question. — 8.  {a.)  Is  it  a  natural  law  that  for  the  same  quantity  or 
piece  of  work,  wages  should  be  sometimes  high,  sometimes  low?  {b.) 
With  what  standard  do  we  properly  or  scientifically  compare  them,  in 
calling  them  high  or  low?  {c.)  and  what  is  the  limit  of  their  possible 
lowness  under  natural  laws  ?  ^ 

Answer,  — {a. )  It  is  an  inevitable  result  from  the  circumstances  in 
which  mankind  are  placed,  if  you  call  that  a  natural  law. 

{b.)  High  wages  are  wages  greater  than  those  which  have  been  usually 
paid  at  a  given  time  and  place  in  a  given  trade ;  low  wages  are  the  re- 
verse.   There  is  no  absolute  standard  of  wages. 

(c.)  The  limit  of  the  possible  lowness  of  wages  is  the  starvation  of 
the  workman. 

Question. — 9.  In  what  manner  do  natural  laws  affect  the  wages  of 
officers  under  Government  in  various  countries  ?  " 

Answer.  —  ^.  In  endless  ways,  too  long  to  enumerate. 

Question. — "  10.  'If  any  man  will  not  work,  neither  should  he  eat/ 
Does  this  law  apply  to  all  classes  of  society  ?  '* 

Answer. — 10.  No ;  it  does  not.  It  is  not  a  law  at  all,  but  merely  a 
striking  way  of  saying  that  idleness  produces  want. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


LETTER  XXIX. 

Brai^twood, 
AprU  2,  1873. 

It  is  a  bright  morning,  the  first  entirely  clear  one  I  have 
seen  for  months  ;  such,  indeed,  as  one  used  to  see,  before 
England  was  civilised  into  a  blacksmith's  shop,  often  enough 
in  the  sweet  spring-time  ;  and  as,  perhaps,  our  children's 
children  may  see  often  enough  again,  when  their  coals  are 
burnt  out,  and  they  begin  to  understand  that  coals  are  not 
the  source  of  all  power  Divine  and  human.  In  the  meantime, 
as  I  say,  it  is  months  since  I  saw  the  sky,  except  throuigh 
smoke,  or  the  strange  darkness  brought  by  blighting  wind 
(VIII.  101),  and  if  such  weather  as  this  is  to  last,  I  shall  begin 
to  congratulate  myself,  as  the  Daily  News  does  its  readers, 
on  the  "exceptionally  high  price  of  coal,"  indicating  a  most 
satisfactory  state  of  things,  it  appears,  for  the  general 
wealth  of  the  country,  for,  says  that  well-informed  journal, 
on  March  3rd,  1873,  The  net  result  of  the  exceptionally 
high  price  of  coal  is  in  substance  this,  that  the  coal  owners 
and  workers  obtain  an  unusually  large  share  in  the  distribu- 
tion of  the  gross  produce  of  the  community,  and  the  real 
capital  of  the  community  is  increased!'''^ 

This  great  and  beautiful  principle  must  of  course  apply  to 
a  rise  in  price  in  all  other  articles,  as  well  as  in  coals.  Accord- 
ingly, whenever  you  see  the  announcement  in  any  shops,  or 
by  any  advertising  firm,  that  you  can  get  something  there 
cheaper  than  usual,  remember,  the  capital  of  the  community 
is  being  diminished  ;  and  whenever  you  have  reason  to  think 
that  anybody  has  charged  you  threepence  for  a  twopenny 
article,  remember  that,  according  to  the  Daily  A  cvas*,  *^  the 
real  capital  of  the  community  is  increased."  And  as  I  be- 
lieve you  may  be  generally  certain,  in  the  present  state  of 
trade,  of  being  charged  even  as  much  as  twenty-seven  pence 
for  a  twopenny  article,  the  capital  of  the  community  must 
be  increasing  very  fast  indeed.    Holding  these  enlightened 


41^  F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 

views  on  the  subject  of  the  prices  of  things,  the  Dailp 
News  cannot  be  expected  to  stoop  to  any  consideration  of 
their  uses.  But  there  is  another  net  result  "  of  the  high 
price  of  coal,  besides  the  increase  of  the  capital  of  the  com« 
munity,  and  a  result  which  is  more  immediately  your  affair, 
namely,  that  a  good  many  of  you  will  die  of  cold.  It  may 
console  you  to  reflect  that  a  great  many  rich  people  will  at 
least  feel  chilly,  in  economical  drawing-rooms  of  state,  and 
in  ill-aired  houses,  rawly  built  on  raw  ground,  and  already 
mouldy  for  want  of  fires,  though  under  a  blackened  sky. 

What  a  pestilence  of  them,  and  unseemly  plague  of 
builders'  work — as  if  the  bricks  of  Egypt  had  multiplied 
like  its  lice,  and  alighted  like  its  locusts — has  fallen  on  the 
suburbs  of  loathsome  London  ! 

The  road  from  the  village  of  Shirley,  near  Addington, 
where  my  father  and  mother  are  buried,  to  the  house  they 
lived  in  when  I  was  four  years  old,  lay,  at  that  time,  through 
a  quite  secluded  district  of  field  and  wood,  traversed  here 
and  there  by  winding  lanes,  and  by  one  or  two  smooth  mail- 
coach  roads,  beside  which,  at  intervals  of  a  mile  or  two, 
stood  some  gentleman's  house,  with  its  lawn,  gardens, 
offices,  and  attached  fields,  indicating  a  country  life  of  long 
continuance  and  quiet  respectability.  Except  such  an  one 
here  and  there,  one  saw  no  dwellings  above  the  size  of 
cottages  or  small  farmsteads  ;  these,  wood-built  usually,  and 
thatched,  their  porches  embroidered  with  honeysuckle,  and 
their  gardens  with  daisies,  their  doors  mostly  ajar,  or  with  a 
half  one  shut  to  keep  in  the  children,  and  a  bricked  or  tiled 
footway  from  it  to  the  wicket  gate, — all  neatly  kept,  and 
vivid  with  a  sense  of  the  quiet  energies  of  their  contented 
tenants, — made  the  lane-turnings  cheerful,  and  gleamed  in 
half-hidden  clusters  beneath  the  slopes  of  the  woodlands  at 
Sydenham  and  Penge.  There  were  no  signs  of  distress,  of 
effort,  or  of  change  ;  many  of  enjoyment,  and  not  a  few  of 
wealth  beyond  the  daily  needs  of  life.  That  same  district  ia 
now  covered  by,  literally,  many  thousands  of  houses  built 
within  the  last  ten  years,  of  rotten  brick,  with  various  iron 
devices  to  hold  it  together.    They,  every  one,  have  a  draw* 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA 


413 


ing-room  and  clining-room,  transparent  from  back  to  front, 
so  that  from  the  road  one  sees  the  people's  heads  inside, 
clear  against  the  light.  They  have  a  second  story  of  bed- 
rooms, and  an  underground  one  of  kitchen.  They  are  fast- 
ened in  a  Siamese-twin  manner  together  by  their  sides, 
and  each  couple  has  a  Greek  or  Gothic  portico  shared  be- 
tween them,  with  magnificent  steps,  and  highly  ornamented 
capitals.  Attached  to  every  double  block  are  exactly  similar 
double  parallelograms  of  garden,  laid  out  in  new  gravel  and 
scanty  turf,  on  the  model  of  the  pleasure  grounds  in  the 
Crystal  Palace,  and  enclosed  by  high,  thin,  and  pale  brick 
walls.  The  gardens  in  front  are  fenced  from  the  road  with 
an  immense  weight  of  cast-iron,  and  entered  between  two 
square  gate-posts,  with  projecting  stucco  cornices,  bearing 
the  information  that  the  eligible  residence  within  is  Morti- 
mer House  or  Montague  Villa.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
road,  w^hich  is  laid  freshly  down  with  large  flints,  and  is  deep 
at  the  sides  in  ruts  of  yellow  mud,  one  sees  Burleigh  House, 
or  Devonshire  Villa,  still  to  let,  and  getting  leprous  in 
patches  all  over  the  fronts. 

Think  what  the  real  state  of  life  is,  for  the  people  who  are 
content  to  pass  it  in  such  places  ;  and  wliat  the  people 
themselves  must  be.  Of  the  men,  their  wives,  and  children, 
who  live  in  any  of  those  houses,  probably  not  the  fifth  part 
are  possessed  of  one  common  manly  or  womanly  skill,  knowl- 
edge, or  means  of  happiness.  The  men  can  indeed  write,  and 
cast  accounts,  and  go  to  tow^i  every  day  to  get  their  living 
by  doing  so  ;  the  women  and  children  can  perhaps  read 
story-books,  dance  in  a  vulgar  manner,  and  play  on  the 
piano  with  dull  dexterities  for  exhibition  ;  but  not  a  mem- 
ber of  the  whole  family  can,  in  general,  cook,  sweep,  knock 
in  a  nail,  drive  a  stake,  or  spin  a  thread.  They  are  stiil  less 
capable  of  finer  work.  They  know  nothing  of  painting, 
sculpture,  or  architecture  ;  of  science,  inaccurately,  as  much 
as  may  more  or  less  account  to  them  for  Mr.  Pepper's  ghost, 
and  make  them  disbelieve  in  the  existence  of  any  other 
ghost  but  that,  particularly  the  Holy  One  :  of  books,  they 
read  MdcmUlan^s   Magazhie   on  week  days,  and  Good 


414 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


Wbi'ds  on  Sundays,  and  are  entirely  ignorant  of  all  the 
standard  literature  belonging  to  their  own  country,  or  to 
any  other.  They  never  think  of  taking  a  walk,  and,  the 
roads  for  six  miles  round  them  being  ankle  deep  in  mud  and 
flints,  they  could  not  if  they  would.  They  cannot  enjoy  their 
gardens,  for  they  have  neither  sense  nor  strength  enough 
to  work  in  them.  The  women  and  girls  have  no  pleasures 
but  in  calling  on  each  other  in  false  hair,  cheap  dresses  of 
gaudy  stuffs,  machine  made,  and  high-heeled  boots,  of  which 
the  pattern  was  set  to  them  by  Parisian  prostitutes  of  the 
lowest  order  :  the  men  have  no  faculty  beyond  that  of  cheat- 
ing  in  business  ;  no  pleasures  but  in  smoking  or  eating  ; 
and  no  ideas,  nor  any  capacity  of  forming  ideas,  of  anything 
that  has  yet  been  done  of  great,  or  seen  of  good,  in  this 
world. 

That  is  the  typical  condition  of  five-sixths,  at  least,  of  the 
"  rising  "  middle  classes  about  London — the  lodgers  in  those 
damp  shells  of  brick,  which  one  cannot  say  they  inhabit,  nor 
call  their  "  houses  ;  "  nor  theirs  "  indeed,  in  any  sense  ; 
but  packing-cases  in  which  they  are  temporarily  stored,  for 
bad  use.  Put  the  things  on  wheels  (it  is  already  done  in 
America,  but  you  must  build  them  stronger  first),  and  they 
are  mere  railway  vans  of  brick,  thrust  in  rows  on  the  siding  ; 
vans  full  of  monkeys  that  have  lost  the  use  of  their  legs. 
The  baboons  in  Regent's  Park — with  Mr.  Darwin's  pardon — 
are  of  another  species  ;  a  less  passive,  and  infinitely  wittier 
one.  Here,  behold,  you  have  a  group  of  gregarious  creatures 
that  cannot  climb,  and  are  entirely  imitative,  not  as  the  apes, 
ocasionally,  for  the  humour  of  it,  but  all  their  lives  long ; 
the  builders  trying  to  build  as  Christians  did  once,  though 
now  swindling  on  every  brick  they  lay  ;  and  the  lodgers  to 
live  like  the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  on  the  salaries  of  railroad 
clerks.  Lodgers,  do  I  say  !  Scarcely  even  that.  Many  a 
cottage,  lodged  in  but  for  a  year  or  two,  has  been  made  a 
true  home,  for  that  span  of  the  owner's  life.  In  my  next 
letter  but  one,  I  hope  to  give  you  some  abstract  of  the 
man's  life  whose  testimony  I  want  you  to  compare  with 
that  of  Dickens,  as  to  the  positions  of  Master  and  Servant ; 


F0R8  GLAVIOERA. 


415 


meantime  compare  with  what  you  may  see  of  these  railroad 
homes,  this  incidental  notice  by  him  of  liis  first  one: 

AVhen  we  approached  that  village  (Lasswade),  Scott,  who 
had  laid  hold  of  my  arm,  turned  along  the  road  in  a  direction 
not  leading  to  the  place  where  the  carriage  was  to  meet  us. 
After  walking  some  minutes  towards  Edinburgh,  I  suggested 
that  we  were  losing  the  scenery  of  the  Esk,  and,  besides, 
had  Dalkeith  Palace  yet  to  see. 

''*Yes,'  said  he,  'and  I  have  been  bringing  you  where 
there  is  little  enough  to  be  seen,  only  that  Scotcli  cottage 
(one  by  the  roadside,  with  a  small  garth)  ;  but,  though  not 
worth  looking  at,  I  could  not  pass  it.  It  was  our  first  coun- 
try house  when  newly  married,  and  many  a  contrivance  we 
had  to  make  it  comfortable.  I  made  a  dining-table  for  it 
with  my  own  hands.  Look  at  these  two  miserable  willow 
trees  on  either  side  the  gate  into  the  enclosure  ;  they  are 
tied  together  at  the  top  to  be  an  arcli,  and  a  cross  made  of 
two  sticks  over  them  is  not  yet  decayed.  To  be  sure,  it  is  not 
much  of  a  lion  to  show  a  stranger  ;  but  I  wanted  to  see  it  again 
myself,  fori  assure  you  that  after  I  had  constructed  it,  mamma 
(Mrs.  Scott)  and  I  both  of  us  thought  it  so  fine,  we  turned  out 
to  see  it  by  moonlight,  and  walked  backwards  from  it  to  the 
cottage  door,  in  admiration  of  our  own  magnificence  and  its 
picturesque  effect.    I  did  want  to  see  if  it  was  still  there.'  " 

I  had  scarcely  looked  out  this  passage  for  you  when  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  the  friend  who  sent  me  the  penny  cook- 
ery book,  incidentally  telling  me  of  the  breaking  up  of  a 
real  home.  I  have  obtained  her  leave  to  let  you  read  part 
of  it.  It  will  come  with  no  disadvantage,  even  after  Scott's, 
recording  as  it  does  tlie  same  kind  of  simple  and  natural  life, 
now  passing  so  fast  away.  The  same  life,  and  also  in  the 
district  which,  henceforward,  I  mean  to  qall  **Sir  Walter's 
Land  definable  as  the  entire  breadth  of  Scots  and  English 
ground  from  sea  to  sea,  coast  and  isle  included,  between 
Schehallien  on  the  north,  and  Ingleborough  on  the  south. 
(I  have  my  reasons,  though  some  readers  may  doubt  them, 
for  fixing  the  limit  south  of  Skye,  and  north  of  Ashby-de* 
lu-Zouche.)    Within  this  district,  then,  but  J  shall  not  say  in 


416 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


what  part  of  it,  the  home  my  friend  speaks  of  stood.  In 
many  respects  it  was  like  the  "Fair-ladies"  in  JRed  GaiinU 
let  ;  as  near  the  coast,  as  secluded,  and  in  the  same  kind 
of  country  ;  still  more  like,  in  its  mistress's  simple  and  loyal 
beneficence.  Therefore,  because  I  do  not  like  leaving  a  blank 
for  its  name,  I  put  "  Fair-ladies  "  for  it  in  the  letter,  of  which 
the  part  I  wish  you  to  see  begins  thus  : — 

Please  let  me  say  one  practical  thing.  In  no  cottage  is 
there  a  possibility  of  roasting  more  than  a  pound  of  meat,  if 
any  ;  and  a  piece  of  roast  beef,  such  as  you  or  I  understand 
by  the  word,  costs  ten  shillings  or  twelve,  and  is  not  meant 
for  artisans.  I  never  have  it  in  this  house  now,  except  when 
it  is  full.    I  have  a  much  sadder  example  of  the  changes 

wrought  by  modern  wages  and  extravagance.    Miss  ,  who 

had  her  house  and  land  for  her  home-farm  expenses  (or  rather 

produce),  and  about  hundred  a  year  ;  who  entertained 

for  years  all  her  women  and  children  acquaintances  ;  trained 
a  dozen  young  servants  in  a  year,  and  was  a  blessing  to  the 
country  for  miles  round  ;  writes  me  word  yesterday  that  she 
liopes  and  intreats  that  we  will  go  this  summer  to  Fair-ladies, 
as  it  is  the  last.  She  says  the  provisions  are  double  the  price 
thev  used  to  be — the  waoes  also — and  she  cannot  even  work 
her  farm  as  she  used  to  do  ;  the  men  want  beer  instead  of 
milk,  and  won't  do  half  they  used  to  do  ;  so  she  must  give  it 
up,  and  let  the  place,  and  come  and  live  by  me  or  some  one  to 
comfort  her,  and  Fair-ladies  will  know  her  no  more.  I  am  so 
sorry,  because  I  think  it  such  a  loss  to  the  wr^etched  people 
who  drive  her  away.  Our  weekly  bills  are  double  what  they 
used  to  be,  yet  every  servant  asks  higher  wages  each  time  1 
engage  one  ;  and  as  to  the  poor  people  in  the  village,  they 
are  not  a  bit  better  off — they  eat  more,  and  drink  more,  and 
learn  to  think  less  of  religion  and  all  that  is  good.  One 
thing  I  see  very  clearly,  that,  as  the  keeping  of  Sunday  is 
being  swept  away,  so  is  their  day  of  rest  going  with  it.  Of 
course  if  no  one  goes  to  worship  God  one  day  more  tlian 
another,*  what  is  the  sense  of  talking  about  the  Sabbath  ? 

*  My  dear  friend,  I  can't  bear  to  interrupt  your  pretty  letter;  but, 
indeed,  one  should  not  worship  God  on  one  day  more,  or  less^  than  on 


FORS  CLAVIGEliA, 


417 


If  a.ll  the  railway  servants,  and  all  the  post-office,  and  all  the 
museum  and  art-collection  servants,  and  all  the  refreshment 
places,  and  other  sorts  of  amusement,  servants  are  to  work 
on  Sunday,  why  on  earth  should  not  the  artisans,  who  are  as 
selfish  and  irreligious  as  any  one  ?  No  !  directly  I  find  every 
one  else  is  at  work,  1  shall  insist  on  the  baker  and  the  butcher 
calling  for  orders  as  usual.  (Quite  right,  my  dear.)  The  re- 
sult of  enormous  wages  will  be  that  I  rely  more  on  my  own 
boys  for  carpentering,  and  on  preserved  food,  and  the  cook 
""^and  butcher  will  soon  be  dismissed." 

My  poor  little  darling,  rely  on  your  own  boys  for  carpen- 
tering by  all  means  ;  and  grease  be  to  their  elbows — but  you 
shall  have  something  better  to  rely  on  than  potted  crocodile, 
in  old  England,  yet, — please  the  pixies,  and  pigs,  and  St. 
George,  and  St.  Anthony. 

Nay,  we  will  have  also  a  blue-aproned  butcher  or  two  still, 
to  call  for  orders  ;  they  are  not  yet  extinct.  We  have  not 
even  reached  the  preparatory  phase  of  steam-butcher-boys, 
riding  from  Buxton  for  orders  to  Bakewell,  and  from  Ba'.ce- 
well  for  orders  to  Buxton  ;  and  paying  dividends  to  a  Steam- 
Butcher's-boy-Company,  Not  extinct  yet,  and  a  kindly 
race,  for  the  most  part,  "  He  told  me,"  (part  of  another 
friend's  letter,  speaking  of  his  butcher,)  "his  sow  had  four- 
teen pigs,  and  could  only  rear  twelve,  the  other  two,  Ke 
said,  he  was  feeding  with  a  spoon.  I  never  could  bear,  he 
said,  to  kill  a  young  animal  because  he  was  one  too  many.'* 
Yes  ;  that  is  all  very  well  when  it's  a  pig  ;  but  if  it  be-  - 
Wait  a  minute  ; — I  must  go  back  to  Fair-ladies,  before  I 
finish  my  sentence. 

For  note  very  closely  what  the  actual  facts  are  in  this  short 
letter  from  an  English  housewife. 

She  in  the  south,  and  the  mistress  of  Fair-ladies  in  the 
north,  both  find  "their  weekly  bills  double  what  they  used 
to  be  ;"  that  is  to  say,  they  are  as  poor  again  as  they  were, 
and  they  have  to  pay  higher  wages,  of  course,  for  now  all 
wages  buy  so  much  less.    I  have  too  long,  perhaps,  put 

another ;  and  one  should  rest  when  one  needs  rest,  whether  on  Sunday 
or  Saturday. 

27 


418 


FOnS  (JLAVIGERA, 


C[uestions  to  you  which  I  knew  you  could  not  answer,  partly 
in  the  hope  of  at  least  making  you  think,  and  partly  because 
I  knew  you  would  not  believe  the  true  answer,  if  I  gave  it. 
But,  whether  you  believe  me  or  not,  I  must  explain  the 
meaning  of  this  to  3^ou  at  once.  The  weekly  bills  are  double, 
because  the  greater  part  of  the  labour  of  the  people  of  Eng- 
land is  spent  unproductively  ;  that  is  to  say,  in  producing 
iron  plates,  iron  guns,  gunpowder,  infernal  machines,  infernal 
fortresses  floating  about,  infernal  fortresses  standing  still,  in- 
fernal means  of  mischievous  locomotion,  infernal  lawsuits, 
infernal  parliamentary  elocution,  infernal  beer,  and  infernal 
gazettes,  magazines,  statues,  and  pictures.  Calculate  the 
labour  spent  in  producing  these  infernal  articles  annually, 
and  put  against  it  the  labour  spent  in  producing  food  !  The 
only  wonder  is,  that  the  weekly  bills  are  not  tenfold  instead 
of  double.  For  this  poor  housewife,  mind  you,  cannot  feed 
her  children  with  any  one,  or  any  quantity,  of  these  infernal 
articles.  Children  can  only  be  fed  with  divine  articles. 
Their  mother  can  indeed  get  to  London  cheap,  but  she  has 
no  business  there  ;  she  can  buy  all  the  morning's  news  for  a 
halfpenny,  but  she  has  no  concern  with  them  ;  she  can  see 
Gustave  Dore's  pictures  (and  she  had  better  see  the  devil), 
for  a  shilling  ;  she  can  be  carried  through  any  quantity  of 
filthy  streets  on  a  tramway  for  threepence  ;  but  it  is  as  much 
as  her  life's  worth  to  walk  in  them,  or  as  her  modesty's  worth 
to  look  into  a  print  shop  in  them.  Nay,  let  her  have  but  to 
go  on  foot  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  the  West  End,  she  dares 
not  take  her  purse  in  her  pocket,  nor  let  her  little  dog  fol- 
low her.  These  are  her  privileges  and  facilities,  in  the  capi- 
tal of  civilization.  But  none  of  these  will  bring  meat  or 
flour  into  her  own  village.  Far  the  contrary  !  The  sheep 
and  corn  which  the  fields  of  her  village  produce  are  carried 
away  from  it  to  feed  the  makers  of  Armstrong  guns.  And 
her  weekly  bills  are  double. 

But  you,  forsooth,  you  think,  with  your  beer  for  milk,  are 
better  off.  Read  pages  23  to  26  of  my  second  letter  over 
again.    And  now  observe  farther  : — 

The  one  first  and  absolute  question  of  all  economy  is — What 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


419 


are  you  making  ?  Are  you  making  Hell's  article,  or  Heaven's  ? 
— gunpowder,  or  corn  ? 

There  is  no  question  whether  you  are  to  have  work  or  not. 
The  question  is,  what  work.  This  poor  housewife's  mutton 
and  corn  are  given  you  to  eat.  Good.  Now,  if  you,  with 
your  day's  work,  produce  for  her,  and  send  to  her,  spices,  or 
tea,  or  rice,  or  maize,  or  figs,  or  any  other  good  thing, — that 
is  true  and  beneficent  trade.  But  if  you  take  her  mutton 
and  corn  from  lier,  and  send  her  back  an  Armstrong  gun, 
what  can  she  make  of  that  ?  But  you  can't  grow  figs  and 
spices  in  England,  you  say  ?  No,  certainly,  and  therefore 
means  of  transit  for  produce  in  England  are  little  necessary. 
Let  my  poor  housewife  keep  her  slieep  in  her  near  fields,  and 
do  you — keep  sheep  at  Newcastle — and  the  weekly  bills  will 
not  rise.  But  you  forge  iron  at  Newcastle  ;  then  you  build 
an  embankment  from  Newcastle  to  my  friend's  village,  where- 
upon you  take  her  sheep  from  her,  suffocating  half  of  them 
on  the  way  ;  and  you  send  her  an  Armstrong  gun  back  ;  or, 
perhaps  not  even  to  her,  but  to  somebody  who  can  fire  it 
down  your  own  throats,  you  jolterheads. 

No  matter,  you  say,  in  the  meantime,  we  eat  more,  and 
drink  more  ;  the  housewife  herself  allows  that.  Yes,  I 
have  just  told  you,  her  corn  and  sheep  all  are  sent  to  you. 
But  how  about  other  people  ?  I  will  finish  my  sentence 
now,  paused  in  above.  It  is  all  very  well  to  bring  up  creatures 
with  a  spoon,  when  they  are  one  or  two  too  many,  if  the}'' 
are  useful  things  like  pigs.  But  how  if  they  be  useless 
things  like  young  ladies  ?  You  don't  \vant  any  wives,  I  un- 
derstand, now,  till  you  are  forty-five  ;  what  in  the  world  will 
you  do  with  your  girls  ?  Bring  them  up  with  a  spoon,  to 
that  enchantino^  a«re  ? 

"  The  girls  may  shift  for  themselves."  Yes, — they  may, 
certainly.  Here  is  a  picture  of  some  of  them,  as  given  by  the 
Telegraph  of  March  18th,  of  the  present  year,  under  Lord 
Derby's  new  code  of  civilization,  endeavouring  to  fulfil  Mr. 
John  Stuart  Mill's  wishes,  and  procure  some  more  lucrative 
occupation  than  that  of  nursing  the  baby  : — 

"  After  all  the  discussions  about  woman's  sphere  and 


420 


F0R8  CLAVIQEEA. 


woman's  rights,  and  the  advisability  of  doing  something  to 
redress  the  inequality  of  position  against  which  the  fair  sex, 
by  the  medium  of  many  champions,  so  loudly  protests  and  so 
constantly  struggles,  it  is  not  satisfactory  to  be  told  what 
liappened  at  Cannon-row  two  days  last  week.  It  had  been 
announced  that  the  Civil  Service  Commissioners  would  re- 
ceive applications  personally  from  candidates  for  eleven  va- 
cancies in  the  metropolitan  post-offices,  and  in  answer  to  this 
notice,  about  2,000  young  women  made  their  appearance. 
The  building,  the  courtyard,  and  the  street  v/ere  blocked  by 
a  dense  throng  of  fair  applicants  ;  locomotion  was  impossible, 
even  with  the  help  of  policemen  ;  windows  were  thrown  up 
to  view  the  sight,  as  if  a  procession  had  been  passing  that 
way  ;  traffic  w^as  obstructed,  and  nothing  could  be  done  for 
hours.  We  understand,  indeed,  that  the  23ublished  accounts 
by  no  means  do  justice  to  the  scene.  Many  of  the  applicants, 
it  appears,  were  girls  of  the  highest  respectability  and  of  un- 
usually good  social  position,  including  daughters  of  clergy- 
men and  professional  men,  w^ell  connected,  well  educated, 
tenderlv  nurtured  :  but  nevertheless,  driven  bv  the  7^es  an- 
gustCB  which  have  caused  many  a  heart-break,  and  scattered 
the  members  of  many  a  home,  to  seek  for  the  means  of  inde- 
pendent support.  The  crowd,  the  agitation,  the  anxiety,  the 
fatigue,  proved  too  much  for  many  of  those  who  attended  ; 
several  fainted  away  ;  others  went  into  violent  hysterics  ; 
others,  despairing  of  success,  remained  just  long  enough  to 
be  utterly  worn  out,  and  then  crept  off,  showing  such  traces 
of  mental  anguish  as  we  are  accustomed  to  associate  with  the 
most  painful  bereavements.  In  the  present  case,  it  is  stated, 
the  Commissioners  examined  over  1,000  candidates  for  the 
sleven  vacancies.  This  seems  a  sad  waste  of  power  on  both 
sides,  when,  in  all  probability,  the  first  score  supplied  thereq. 
uisite  number  of  qualified  aspirants." 

Yes,  my  pets,  I  am  tired  of  talking  to  these  workmen,  who 
never  answer  a  word  ;  I  will  try  you  now — for  a  letter  or 
two — but  I  beg  your  pardon  for  calling  you  pets, — my 
"  qualified  aspirants  "  I  mean  (Alas  !  time  was  when  the 
qualified  aspiration  was  on  the  bachelor's  side).    Here  you 


FOltS  CLAVIOEBA. 


421 


liave  got  all  you  want,  I  hope  ! — liberty  enough,  it  seems— 
if  only  the  courtyard  were  bigger  ;  equality  enougii — no  dis- 
tinction made  between  young  ladies  of  the  highest,  or  the 
lowest,  respectability  ;  rights  of  women  generalh'  claimed, 
you  perceive  ;  and  obtained  without  opposition  from  ab- 
surdly religious,  moral,  or  chivalric  persons.  You  have  got 
no  God,  now,  to  bid  you  do  anything  you  don't  like  ;  no  hus- 
bands, to  insist  on  having  their  own  way — (and  much  of  it 
they  got,  in  the  old  times — didn't  they  ?) — no  pain  nor  peril 
of  childbirth  ; — no  bringing  up  of  tiresome  brats.  Here  is 
an  entirely  scientific  occupation  for  you  !  Such  a  beautiful 
invention  this  of  Mr.  Wheatstone's  !  and  I  hope  you  all  un- 
derstand the  relations  of  positive  and  negative  electricity. 
Now  you  may  "  communicate  intelligence  "  by  telegraph. 
Those  wretched  girls  that  used  to  write  love-letters,  of  which 
their  foolish  lovers  would  count  the  words,  and  sometimes  be 
thankful  for — less  than  twenty — how  they  would  envy  you 
if  they  knew.  Only  the  worst  is,  that  this  beautiful  inven- 
tion of  Mr.  Wheatstone's  for  talking  miles  off,  won't  feed 
people  in  the  long  run,  my  dears,  any  more  than  the  old  in- 
vention of  tlie  tongue,  for  talking  near,  and  you'll  soon  begin 
to  think  that  was  not  so  bad  a  one,  after  all.  But  you  can't 
live  by  talking,  thougli  you  talk  in  the  scientificalest  of  man- 
ners, and  to  the  other  side  of  the  world.  All  the  telegraph 
wire  over  the  earth  and  under  the  sea,  will  not  do  so  much 
for  you,  my  poor  little  qualified  aspirants,  as  one  strong 
2ieedle  with  thimble  and  thread. 

You  do  sometimes  read  a  novel  still,  don't  you,  my  scien- 
tific dears  ?  I  wish  T  could  write  one  ;  but  I  can't  ;  and 
Georofe  Eliot  alvvavs  makes  them  end  so  wretchedlv  that 
they're  worse  than  none — so  she's  no  good,  neitlier.  I  must 
even  translate  a  foreign  novelette,  or  nouvelette,  which  is  to 
my  purpose,  next  month  ;  meantime  I  have  chanced  on  a 
little  true  story,  in  the  journal  of  an  Englishman,  travelTing, 
before  the  Revolution,  in  France,  which  shows  you  something 
of  the  temper  of  the  poor  unscientific  girls  of  tiiat  day.  Here 
are  first,  however,  a  little  picture  or  two  which  he  gives  in 
the  streets  of  Paris,  and  which  I  want  all  my  readers  to  see  ; 


422 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


they  mark,  what  most  Englishmen  do  not  know,  that  the 
beginning  of  the  French  Revolution,  with  what  of  good  or 
evil  it  had,  was  in  English,  not  French,  notions  of  "justice" 
and  ^Miberty."    The  writer  is  travelling  wdth  a  friend,  Mr. 

B  ,  who  is  of  the  Liberal  school,  and,  "  He  and  I  went 

this  forenoon  to  a  review  of  the  foot-guards,  by  Marshal 
Biron.  There  was  a  crowd,  and  we  could  with  difficulty  get 
within  the  circle,  so  as  to  see  conveniently.  An  old  officer 
of  high  rank  touched  some  people  who  stood  before  us,  say- 
ing, '  Ces  deux  Messieurs  sont  des  etrangers  ;  '  upon  which 
they  immediately  made  way,  and  allowed  us  to  pass.  '  Don't 
you  think  that  was  very  obliging  ? '  said  I.  '  Yes,'  answered 
he  ;  '  but,  by  heavens,  it  was  very  unjust.' 

"  We  returned  by  the  Boulevards,  where  crowds  of  citizens, 
in  their  holiday  dresses,  were  making  merry  ;  the  young 
dancing  cotillons,  the  old  beating  time  to  the  music,  and  ap- 
plauding the  dancers.    '  These  people  seem  very  happy,'  said 

I.     '  Happy  ! '  exclaimed  B  ;  '  if  they  had  common  sense, 

or  reflection,  they  would  be  miserable.'  *  Why  so  ?  '  '  Could 
not  the  minister,'  answered  he,  '  pick  out  half-a-dozen  of  them 
if  he  pleased,  and  clap  them  into  the  Bicetre  ? '  '  That  is 
true,  indeed,'  said  I  ;  *that  is  a  catastrophe  whicli,  to  be  sure, 
may  very  probably  happen,  and  yet  I  thought  no  more  of  it 
than  they.' 

"  We  met,  a  few  days  after  he  arrived,  at  a  French  house 
where  we  had  been  both  invited  to  dinner.  There  was  an 
old  lady  of  quality  present,  next  to  whom  a  young  officer 
was  seated,  who  paid  her  the  utmost  attention.  He  helped 
her  to  the  dishes  she  liked,  filled  her  glass  with  wine  or  water, 
and  addressed  his  discourse  particularly  to  her.    '  What  a 

fool,'  says  B  ,  '  does  that  young  fellow  make  of  the  poor 

old  woman  !  if  she  were  my  mother,  d — n  me,  if  I  would  not 
call  him  to  an  account  for  it.' 

^'Though  B  understands  French,  and  speaks  it  better 

than  most  Englishmen,  he  had  no  relish  for  the  conversation, 
soon  left  the  company,  and  has  refused  all  invitations  to  din- 
ner ever  since.  He  generally  finds  some  of  our  countrymen, 
who  dine  and  pass  the  evening  with  him  at  the  Pare  Ro3^al. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


423 


"After  the  review  this  day,  we  continued  together,  and 
being  both  disengaged,  I  proposed,  by  way  of  variety,  to 
dine  at  the  public  ordinary  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourbon.  He 
did  not  like  this  much  at  first.  '  I  shall  be  teased,'  says  he, 
with  their  confounded  ceremony  ; '  but  on  my  observing  that 
we  could  not  expect  much  ceremony  or  politeness  at  a  public 
ordinary,  he  agreed  to  go. 

"  Our  entertainment  turned  out  different,  however,  from 
my  expectations  and  his  wishes.  A  marked  attention  was 
paid  us  the  moment  we  entered  ;  everybody  seemed  inclined 
to  accommodate  us  with  the  best  places.  They  helped  us 
first,  and  all  the  company  seemed  ready  to  sacrifice  every 
convenience  and  distinction  to  the  strangers  ;  for,  next  to 
that  of  a  lady,  the  most  respected  character  at  Paris  is  that 
of  a  stranger. 

"  After  dinner,  B  and  I  walked  into  the  gardens  of 

the  Palais  Royal. 

"  *  There  was  nothing  real  in  all  the  fuss  those  people  made 
about  us,'  says  he. 

"  '  I  can't  help  thinking  it  something,'  said  T,  *  to  be  treated 
with  civility  and  apparent  kindness  in  a  foreign  country,  by 
strangers  who  know  nothing  about  us,  but  that  we  are  Eng- 
lishmen, and  often  their  enemies.'*' 

So  much  for  the  behaviour  of  old  Paris.  Now  for  our 
country  story.  I  will  not  translate  the  small  bits  of  French 
in  it  ;  my  most  entirely  English  readers  can  easily  find  out 
what  they  mean,  and  they  must  gather  what  moral  they  may 
from  it,  till  next  month,  for  I  have  no  space  to  comment  on  it 
in  this  letter. 

"  My  friend  F  called  on  me  a  few  days  since,  and  as 

soon  as  he  understood  that  I  had  no  particular  engagement, 
he  insisted  that  I  should  drive  somewhere  into  the  coun- 
try, dine  tete-d-tete  with  him,  and  return  in  time  for  the 
play. 

"  When  we  had  driven  a  few  miles,  I  perceived  a  genteel- 
looking  young  fellow,  dressed  in  an  old  uniform.  He  sat 
under  a  tree  on  the  grass,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  road, 
and  amused  himself  by  playing  on  the  violin.    As  we  came 


424 


FOIiS  CLA  VIGEUA, 


nearer  we  perceived  he  had  a  wooden  leg,  part  of  which  lay 
in  fragments  by  his  side. 

^*  '  What  do  you  do  there,  soldier  ?  '  said  the  Marquis.  '  I 
am  on  my  way  home  to  my  own  village,  mon  officier,'  said 
the  soldier.  '  But,  my  poor  friend,'  resumed  the  Marquis, 
'  you  will  be  a  furious  long  time  before  you  arrive  at  your 
journey's  end,  if  you  have  no  other  carriage  besides  these,' 
pointing  at  the  fragments  of  his  wooden  leg.  wait  for 
my  equipage  and  all  my  suite,'  said  the  soldier,  '  and  I  am 
greatly  mistaken  if  I  do  not  see  them  this  moment  coming 
down  the  hill.' 

^'  We  saw  a  kind  of  cart,  drawn  by  one  horse,  in  which  was 
a  woman,  and  a  peasant  who  drove  the  horse.  While  they 
drew  near,  the  soldier  told  us  he  had  been  wounded  in  Cor- 
sica— that  his  leg  had  been  cut  off — that  before  setting  out 
on  that  expedition,  he  had  been  contracted  to  a  young 
woman  in  the  neighbourhood — that  the  marriage  had  been 
postponed  till  his  return  ; — but  when  he  appeared  with  a 
wooden  leg,  that  all  the  girl's  relations  had  opposed  the  match. 
The  girl's  mother,  who  was  her  only  surviving  parent  when 
he  began  his  courtship,  had  always  been  his  friend  ;  but  she 
had  died  while  he  was  abroad.  The  young  woman  herself, 
however,  remained  constant  in  her  affections,  received  him 
with  open  arms,  and  had  agreed  to  . leave  her  relations,  and 
accompany  him  to  Paris,  from  whence  they  intended  to  set 
out  in  a  diligence  to  the  town  where  he  was  born,  and  where 
his  father  still  lived.  That  on  the  way  to  Paris  his  wooden 
leg  had  snapped,  which  had  obliged  his  mistress  to  leave  him, 
and  go  to  the  next  village  in  quest  of  a  cart  to  carry  him 
thither,  where  he  would  remain  till  such  time  as  the  carpen- 
ter should  renew  his  leg.  '  C'est  un  malheur,'  concluded  the 
soldier,  *  mon  officier,  bientot  repare — et  voici  mon  amie  ! ' 

"  The  girl  sprung  before  the  cart,  seized  the  outstretched 
hand  of  her  lover,  and  told  him,  with  a  smile  full  of  affection, 
that  she  had  seen  an  admirable  carpenter,  who  had  promised 
to  make  a  leg  that  would  not  break,  that  it  would  be  ready 
by  to-morrow,  and  that  they  might  resume  their  journey  as 
soon  after  as  they  pleased. 


FOBS  CLA  Via  ERA, 


42^ 


"The  soldier  received  his  mistress's  compliment  as  it  de- 
served. 

"  She  seemed  about  twenty  years  of  age,  a  beautiful,  fine* 
shaped  girl — a  brunette,  whose  countenance  indicated  senti* 
timent  and  vivacity. 

'  You  must  be  much  fatigued,  my  dear,'  said  the  Marquis, 
*  On  ne  se  fatigue  pas.  Monsieur,  quand  on  travaille  pour  ce 
qu'on  aime,'  replied  the  girl.  The  soldier  kissed  her  hand 
with  a  gallant  and  tender  air.  '  Allons,'  continued  the  Mar- 
quis, addressing  himself  to  me  ;  'this  girl  is  quite  charming 
— her  lover  has  tlie  appearance  of  a  brave  fellow  ;  th^y  have 
but  three  legs  betwixt  them,  and  we  have  four  ; — if  you  have 
no  objection,  they  shall  have  the  carriage,  and  we  will  follow 
on  foot  to  the  next  village,  and  see  what  can  be  done  for 
these  lovers.'  I  never  agreed  to  a  proposal  with  more  pleas- 
ure in  my  life. 

The  soldier  began  to  make  difficulties  about  entering  into 
the  vls-d-vls,  *  Come,  come,  friend,'  said  the  Marquis,  *I  am 
a  colonel,  and  it  is  your  duty  to  obey  :  get  in  without  more 
ado,  and  your  mistress  shall  follow.' 

" '  Entrons,  mon  bon  ami,'  said  the  girl,  *  since  these 
gentlemen  insist  upon  doing  us  so  much  lionour.' 

"*A  girl  like  you  would  do  honour  to  the  finest  coach  in 
France.  Nothing  could  please  me  more  than  to  have  it  in 
my  power  to  make  you  happy,'  said  the  Marquis.  '  Laissez- 
moi  faire,  mon  colonel,'  said  the  soldier.  *  Je  suis  heureuse 
comme  une  reine,'  said  Fanchon.  Away  moved  the  chaise, 
and  the  Marquis  and  I  followed. 

*  Voyez  vous,  combien  nous  sommes  heureux  nous  autres 
Fran9ois,  a  bon  march^,'  said  the  Marquis  to  me,  adding  with 
a  smile,  *  le  bonheur,  a  ce  qu'on  m'a  dit,  est  plus  cher  en 
Angleterre.'  *  But,'  answered  I,  *  how  long  will  this  last  with 
these  poor  people  ? '  *  Ah,  pour  le  coup,'  said  he,  *  voila  une 
reflexion  bien  x\ngloise  ; ' — that,  indeed,  is  what  I  cannot 
tell  ;  neither  do  I  know  how  long  you  or  I  may  live  ;  but  I 
fancy  it  would  be  great  folly  to  be  sorrowful  through  life, 
because  we  do  not  know  how  soon  misfortunes  may  come, 
and  because  we  are  quite  certain  that  death  is  to  come  at  last. 


426 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


"When  we  arrived  at  the  inn  to  which  we  had  ordered  the 
postillion  to  drive,  we  found  the  soldier  and  Fanchon. 
After  having  ordered  some  victuals  and  wine,  *  Pray,'  said  1 
to  the  soldier,  '  how  do  3^ou  propose  to  maintain  your  wife 
and  yourself?  '  '  One  who  has  contrived  to  live  for  five  years 
on  soldier's  pay,'  replied  he,  'can  have  little  difficulty  for  the 
rest  of  his  life.  I  can  play  tolerably  well  on  the  fiddle,'  added 
he,  *  and  perhaps  there  is  not  a  village  in  all  France  of  the  size, 
where  there  are  so  many  marriages  as  in  that  in  which  we  are 
going  to  settle  ;  I  shall  never  want  employment.'  *  And  V 
said  Fanchon,  '  can  weave  hair  nets  and  silk  purses,  and 
mend  stockings.  Besides,  my  uncle  has  two  hundred  livres 
of  mine  in  his  hands,  and  although  he  is  brother-in-law  to 
the  bailiff,  and  volontiers  brutal,  yet  I  will  make  him  pay 
it  every  sous.'  '  And  I,'  said  the  soldier,  '  have  fifteen 
livres  in  my  pocket,  besides  two  louis  that  I  have  lent  to 
a  poor  farmer  to  enable  him  to  pay  taxes,  and  which  he 
will  repay  me  when  he  is  able.' 

" '  You  see.  Sir,'  said  Fanchon  to  me,  '  that  we  are  not 
objects  of  compassion.  May  we  not  be  happy,  my  good 
friend  (turning  to  her  lover  with  a  look  of  exquisite  ten- 
derness), if  it  be  not  our  own  fault?'  *  If  you  are  not,  ma 
douce  amie  !'  said  the  soldier  with  great  warmth,  'je  serai 
bien  ^  plaindrc'  " 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


427 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


As  the  circulation  of  Fors  increases,  the  correspondence  connected 
with  it  must  of  course,  and  that  within  no  long  time,  become  unman - 
ageable,  except  by  briefest  reference  to  necessary  points  in  letters  of 
real  value ;  many  even  of  such  may  not  be  acknowledged,  except  with 
the  general  thanks  which  I  render  in  advance  to  all  who  write  either 
with  the  definite  purpose  of  helping  me,  or  of  asking  explanation  of 
what  I  have  said. 

A  letter  of  great  interest  has  thus  lain  by  me  since  Christmas,  though 
the  writer  would  know  I  had  received  it  by  my  instant  use  of  the  book 
he  told  Kie  of, — Professor  Kirk's.  With  reference  to  the  statements 
therein  made  respecting  the  robbing  of  the  poor  by  the  rich,  through 
temptation  of  drink,  the  letter  goes  on  :  — 

But  to  niy  mind  the  enquiry  does  not  reach  deep  enough.  I  would 
know,  first,  why  it  is  that  the  workers  have  bo  little  control  over  their 
appetites  in  this  direction  ?  {a)  and  what  the  remedy  ?  secondly,  why 
is  it  that  those  who  wish  to  drain  the  working  men  are  permitted  to 
govern  them  ?  {h)  and  what  the  remedy  ?  (c) 

The  answers  to  each  questien  will,  I  think,  V)o  found  to  be  nearly 
related. 

**The  possibility  of  a  watchful  and  exacting:,  yet  respected,  govern- 
ment within  a  government,  is  well  shown  by  the  existence  and  disci- 
pline of  the  Society  of  Friends,  of  which  I  am  a  member.  Our  society 
is,  no  doubt,  greatly  injured  by  narrow  views  of  religious  truth  ;  yet 
may  it  not  be  that  their  change  from  an  agricultural  to  a  trading 
people  has  done  the  most  to  sap  the  vital  strength  of  their  early  days  V 
But  the  tree  is  not  without  good  fruit  yet.  A  day  or  two  ago  the  fol- 
owing  sentence  was  extracted  by  me  from  a  newspaper  notice  of  the 
death  of  Robert  Charleton,  of  Bristol : — 

*In  him  the  poor  and  needy,  the  oppressed,  the  fallen  and  friend 
less,  and  the  lonely  sufferer,  ever  had  a  tender  and  faithful  friend. 
When  in  trade,  he  was  one  of  the  best  employers  England  could  boast. 
He  lived  for  his  people,  rather  than  expected  them  to  live  for  him; 
and  when  he  did  not  derive  one  penny  profit  from  his  factory,  but  rather 
lost  by  it,  he  still  kept  the  business  going,  for  the  sake  of  his  work- 
people'" (rf). 

The  answers  to  my  correspondent's  questions  are  very  simple  {a)  The 
workers  have  in  general  much  more  control  over  their  appetites  than 
idle  people.    But  as  they  are  for  the  most  part  hindered  by  their  occu- 


428 


F0R8  CLAYIGERA. 


pation  from  all  rational,  and  from  the  best  domestic,  pleasures,  and  as 
manual  work  naturally  makes  people  thirsty,  what  can  they  do  but 
drink?  Intoxication  is  the  only  Heaven  that,  practically,  Christian 
England  ever  displays  to  them.  But  see  my  statements  on  this  point 
in  the  fourth  lecture  in  the  Crown  oj  Wild  Olive^  when  I  get  it  out ; 
(the  unfinished  notes  on  Frederick  keeping  it  back  a  while),  {h)  Because, 
as  the  workingmen  have  been  for  the  last  fifty  years  taught  that  one 
man  is  as  good  as  another,  they  never  think  of  looking  for  a  good  man 
to  govern  them  ;  and  only  those  who  intend  to  pillage  or  cheat  them  will 
ever  come  forward  of  their  own  accord  to  govern  them  ;  or  can  succeed 
in  doing  so,  because  as  long  as  they  trust  in  their  own  sagacity,  any 
knave  can  humbug  them  to  the  top  of  his  bent ;  while  no  wise  man  can 
teach  them  anything  whatever,  contrary  to  their  immediate  notions. 
And  the  distrust  in  themselves,  which  would  make  them  look  for  a  real 
leader,  and  believe  him,  is  the  last  sensation  likely  to  occur  to  them  at 
present ;  (see  my  republican  correspondent  s  observations  on  election,  in 
the  next  letter.)  [c)  My  correspondent  twice  asks  what  is  the  remedy? 
I  believe  none,  now,  but  the  natural  one  ; — namely,  some  of  the  forms  of 
ruin  which  necessarily  cut  a  nation  of  blockheads  down  to  the  ground, 
and  leave  it,  thence  to  sprout  again,  if  there  be  any  life  left  for  it  in  the 
earth,  or  lesson  teachable  to  it  by  adversity.  But,  through  whatever 
catastrophes,  for  any  man  who  cares  for  the  right  and  sees  it,  his  own 
duty  in  the  wreck  is  always  clear — to  keep  himself  cool  and  fearless,  and 
do  what  is  instantly  serviceable  to  the  people  nearest  him,  and  the  best 
lie  can,  silently,  for  all.  Cotton  in  one*s  ears  may  be  necessary — for 
we  are  like  soon  to  have  screaming  enough  in  England,  as  in  the  wreck 
of  the  Northfleet,  if  that  would  do  any  good,  {d)  Yes,  that  is  all  very 
fine ;  but  suppose  that  keeping  useless  work  going  on,  for  the  sak6 
of  the  work-people,  be  not  the  wisest  thing  to  do  for  the  sake  of 
other  people  ?  Of  this  hereafter.  The  sentence  respecting  the  cor- 
rupting power  of  trade,  as  opposed  to  agriculture,  is  certainly  right, 
and  very  notable. 

Perhaps  some  of  my  readers  may  be  surprised  at  my  giving  Fpace 
to  the  following  comments  of  my  inquisitive  Republican  acquaintance 
on  my  endeavours  to  answer  his  questions.  But  they  are  so  character- 
istic of  the  genius  of  Republicanism,  that  I  esteem  them  quite  one  of 
the  best  gifts  of  the  Third  **  Fora"  to  us  :  also,  the  writer  is  sincere, 
and  might  think,  if  I  did  not  print  his  answers,  that  I  treated  him  un- 
fairly. I  may  afterwards  take  note  of  some  points  in  them,  but  have 
no  time  this  month. 

We  are  all  covetous.  I  am  ravenously  covetous  of  the  means  to 
speak  in  such  type  and  on  such  paper  as  you  can  buy  the  use  of.  *  Oh 
that  mine  enemy  would  '  give  me  the  means  of  employing  such  a 
printer  as  you  can  employ  !  "  (Certainly,  he  could  do  nothing  worse 
for  you  !) 


FORS  OLA  VIGERA. 


429 


"  I  find  you  have  published  my  questions,  and  your  criticism  there- 
on. I  thank  you  for  your  *  good  will  to  man,'  but  protest  against  the 
levity  of  your  method  of  dealing  with  politics. 

''You  assume  that  you  understand  me,  and  that  I  don't  understand 
myself  or  you.  I  fully  admit  that  1  don't  understand  you  or  myself,  an  i 
I  declare  that  neither  do  you  understaiid  me.  But  I  will  pass  hyper- 
criticism  (and,  by  the -by,  I  am  not  su  e  that  I  know  what  that  com- 
pound word  means  ;  you  will  know,  of  course,  for  me)  and  tackle 
your  '  Answers.' 

''1.  You  evade  the  meaning — the  question, — for  I  cannot  think  you 
mean  that  the  '  world,'  or  an  '  ocean,'  can  be  rightfully  regarded  by 
legislators  as  the  private  property  of  '  individuals.' 

2.  *  It  never  was,  and  never  can  be.'  The  price  of  a  cocoanut  was 
the  cost  of  labour  in  ciimbmg  the  tree  ;  the  climber  ate  the  nut. 

*'  3.  What  do  you  understand  by  a  *  tax'  ?  The  penny  paid  for  the 
conveyance  of  a  letter  is  not  a  tax.  Lord  Somf-boiy  says  I  must  jierish 
of  hunger,  or  pay  him  for  permission  to  dig  in  the  land  on  whicli  I  was 
born.  He  taxes  me  that  he  may  live  without  labouring,  and  do  you 
say  '  of  course,'  'quite  rightfully'  ? 

"4.? 

"  5.  You  may  choose  a  pig  or  horse  for  yourself,  but  I  claim  the 
right  of  choosing  mine,  even  though  you  know  that  you  could  choose 
better  animals  for  me.  By  your  system,  if  logically  carried  out,  we 
should  have  no  elections,  but  should  have  an  emperor  of  the  world, — 
the  man  who  knew  himself  to  be  the  most  intelligent  of  all.  I  suppose 
you  should  be  allowed  to  vote  ?  It  is  Eomebody  else  who  must  have  no 
political  voice  ?  Where  do  you  draw  the  line  ?  Just  below  John 
Ruskin  ?  *  Is  a  man  so  little  and  his  polish  so  much  ?  Men  and  women 
must  vote,  or  must  not  submit.  I  have  bought  but  little  of  the  polish 
sold  at  schools  ;  but,  ignorant  as  I  am,  I  would  not  yield  as  the  *  sub- 
ject' of  thirty  million  Ruskins,  or  of  the  king  they  might  elect  without 
consulting  me.  You  did  not  let  either  your  brain  or  your  heart  speak 
when  you  answered  that  question. 

^'6.  *  Beneficial. '  I  claim  the  right  of  personal  judgment,  and  I 
would  grant  the  exercise  of  that  right  to  every  man  and  woman. 

"7.  'Untrue.'  Untrue.  Lord  Somebody  consumes,  with  the  aid 
of  a  hundred  men  and  women,  whom  he  keeps  from  productive  in- 
dustry, as  much  as  would  Bui!ice  to  maintain  a  hundred  families.  A 
hundred— yes,  a  thousand  navvies.  '  Destroying'  ?  Did  you  forget  that 
so  many  admirals,  generals,  colonels,  and  captains,  were  your  law- 
:aakcrs?  Are  they  not  professional  destroyers?  I  could  fill  your  pages 
with  a  list  of  other  destructive  employments  of  your  legislators. 

"8.  His  the  tax  gatherer  too  busy  a  time  of  it  to  attend  to  the 
duties  added  by  the  establishment  of  a  National  Post  Office  ?  W^e  re- 
move a  thousand  toll-bars,  and  collect  the  assessment  annually  with 
economy.  We  eat  now,  and  are  poisoned,  and  pay  dearly.  The  buyers 
and  sellers  of  bread  '  have  a  busy  time  of  it.' 

9.  Thank  you  for  the  straightforwardness.  But  I  find  you  ask  me 
what  I  mean  by  a  '  State.'  I  meant  it  as  you  accepted  it,  and  did  not 
think  it  economical  to  bother  you  or  myself  with  a  page  of  incomplete 
definitions. 

*  My  corresponflent  will  pt^rbaps  be  snn>riaed  to  henr  that  I  h«ve  never  in  my  life  voted 

for  any  cuudidalo  tor  Parliixinent,  a.iv\  that  t  nevi^r  uieuu  to. 


430 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


**  10.  '  See  Munera  Pulveris!  '  And,  ye  '  workmen  and  labourers,* 
go  and  consult  the  Emperor  of  China. 

You  speak  of  a  king  who  killed  'without  wrath^  and  without 
doubting  his  Tightness,'  and  of  a  collier  who  killed  with  *  consciousness.' 
Glorious,  ignorant  brute  of  a  king !  Degraded,  enlightened  collier  !  It 
is  enough  to  stimulate  a  patriot  to  bum  all  the  colleges  and  libraries. 
Much  learning  makes  us  ignoble  !  No !  it  is  the  much  labour  and  the 
bad  teaching  of  the  labourer  by  those  who  never  earned  their  food  by 
the  sweat  of  their  own  brow," 


FORS  CLAVIGERA 

LETTERS 

w>  the  workmen  and  labourers  of  great  brh  ajk 

Volume  11. 


FORS  CLAYIGERA 


LETTER  XXX. 

Brantwood, 

April  19,  1873. 

On  the  thirteenth  shelf  of  the  south  bookcase  of  my  home- 
library,  stand,  first,  Kenelm  Digby's  Broad  Stone  of  Hon- 
our,  then,  in  five  volumes,  bound  in  red,  tlie  history  of  the 
ingenious  gentleman,  Don  Quixote  of  La  Mancha  ; "  and 
then,  in  one  volume,  bound  in  green,  a  story  no  less  pathetic, 
called  the  Mirror  of  Peasants. 

Its  author  does  not  mean  the  word  "  mirror  "  to  be  under- 
stood in  the  sense  in  which  one  would  call  Don  Quixote  the 
"  Mirror  of  Chivalry  ;  "  but  in  that  of  a  glass  in  which  a  man 
— beholding  his  natural  heart,  may  know  also  the  hearts  of 
other  men,  as,  in  a  glass,  face  answers  to  face. 

The  author  of  this  story  was  a  clergyman  ;  but  employed 
the  greater  part  of  his  day  in  writing  novels,  having  a  gift 
for  that  species  of  composition  as  well  as  for  sermons,  and 
observing,  though  he  gave  both  excellent  in  their  kind,  that 
his  congregation  liked  their  sermons  to  be  short,  and  his 
readers,  their  novels  to  be  long. 

Among  them,  however,  were  also  many  tiny  novelettes,  of 
which,  young  ladies,  I  to-day  begin  translating  for  you  one 
of  the  shortest  ;  hoping  that  you  will  not  think  the  worse  of 
it  for  being  written  by  a  clergyman.  Of  this  author  I  will 
only  say,  that,  though  I  am  not  prejudiced  in  favour  of  per- 
sons of  bis  profession,  I  think  him  the  wisest  man,  take  him 


4 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


all  in  all,  with  whose  writings  I  am  acquainted  ;  chiefly  be- 
cause he  showed  his  wisdom  in  pleasant  and  unappalling 
ways  ;  as  for  instance,  by  keeping,  for  the  chief  ornament 
of  his  study  (not  being  able  to  afford  expensive  books),  one 
book  beautifully  bound,  and  shining  with  magnificence  of 
golden  embossing  ;  this  book  of  books  being  his  register 
out  of  whioh  he  read,  from  the  height  of  his  pulpit,  the 
promises  of  marriage.  "  Dans  lequel  il  lisait,  du  haut  de  la 
chaire,  les  promesses  de  mariage." 

He  rose  always  early  ;  breakfasted  himself  at  six  o'clock  ; 
and  then  got  ready  with  his  own  hands  the  family  breakfast, 
liking  his  servants  better  to  be  at  work  out  of  doors  :  wrote 
till  eleven,  dined  at  twelve,  and  spent  the  afternoon  in  his 
parish  work,  or  in  his  fields,  being  a  farmer  of  shrewdest  and 
most  practical  skill  ;  and  through  the  Sundays  of  fifteen 
years,  never  once  was  absent  from  his  pulpit. 

And  now,  before  I  begin  my  little  story,  which  is  a  trans- 
lation of  a  translation,  for  the  original  is  German,  and  I  can 
only  read  French,  I  must  say  a  few  serious  words  as  to  the 
sense  in  which  I  wish  you  to  receive  what  religious  instruction 
this  romantic  clergyman  may  sometimes  mingle  with  his 
romance.  He  is  an  Evangelical  divine  of  the  purest  type. 
It  is  therefore  primarily  for  my  Evangelical  readers  that  I 
translate  this  or  others  of  his  tales  ;  and  if  they  have  read 
either  former  letters  of  Fors  or  any  of  my  later  books, 
they  must  know  that  I  do  not  myself  believe  in  Evangelical 
theology.  But  I  shall  with  my  best  care,  represent  and 
enforce  this  clergyman's  teaching  to  my  said  Evangelical 
readers,  exactly  as  I  should  feel  it  my  duty,  if  I  were  talk- 
ing to  a  faithful  Turk,  to  represent  and  enforce  to  him  any 
passage  of  the  Koran  which  was  beyond  all  question  true, 
in  its  reference  to  practical  life  ;  and  with  the  bearings  of 
which  I  was  more  familiar  than  he.  For  I  think  that  our 
common  prayer  that  God  "  would  take  away  all  ignorance, 
hardness  of  heart,  and  contempt  of  His  word,  from  all  Jews, 
Turks,  infidels,  and  heretics,"  is  an  entirely  absurd  one.  I 
do  not  think  all  Jews  have  hard  hearts  ;  nor  that  all  infidels 
would  despise  God's  word,  if  only  they  could  hear  it  ;  nor 


FOnS  CLAVIGERA. 


5 


do  I  in  the  least  know  whether  it  is  my  neighbour  or  m^^self 
who  is  really  the  heretic.  But  I  pray  that  prayer  for  myself 
as  well  as  others  ;  and  in  this  form,  that  God  would  make 
ail  Jews  honest  Jews,  all  Turks  honest  Turks,  all  infidels 
honest  infidels,  and  all  Evangelicals  and  heretics  honest 
Evangelicals  and  heretics  ;  that  so  these  Israelites  in  whom 
there  is  no  guile,  Turks  in  whom  there  is  no  guile,  and  so  on, 
may  in  due  time  see  the  face,  and  know  the  power,  of  the 
King  alike  of  Israel  and  Esau.  Now  therefore,  3'oung  ladies, 
I  beg  you  to  understand  that  I  entirely  sympathize  with  this 
Evangelical  clergyman's  feelings  because  I  know  him  to  be 
honest  :  also,  that  I  give  you  of  his  teaching  what  is  univer- 
sally true  :  and  that  you  may  get  the  more  good  from  his 
story,  I  will  ask  you  first  to  consider  with  yourselves  what 
St.  James  means  by  saying  in  the  eighth  verse  of  his  general 
Epistle,  "  Let  the  brother  of  low  degree  rejoice  in  that  he  is 
exalted,  but  the  rich  in  that  he  is  made  low  ;  "  and  if  you 
find,  as  you  generally  will,  if  you  think  seriously  over  any 
verse  of  your  Bibles  whatsoever,  that  you  never  have  had, 
and  are  never  likely  to  have,  the  slightest  idea  what  it  means, 
perhaps  you  will  permit  me  to  propose  the  following  expla- 
nation to  you.  That  while  both  rich  and  poor  are  to  be  con- 
tent to  remain  in  their  several  states,  gaining  only  by  the 
due  and  natural  bettering  of  an  honest  man's  settled  life  ;  if, 
nevertheless,  any  chance  should  occur  to  cause  sudden  differ- 
ence in  either  of  their  positions,  the  poor  man  might  wisely 
desire  that  it  should  be  some  relief  from  the  immediate  press- 
ure of  poverty,  while  the  rich  should  esteem  it  the  surest 
sign  of  God's  favour,  if,  without  fault  of  his  own,  he  were 
forced  to  know  the  pain  of  a  lower  condition. 

I  have  noticed,  in  Sesame  and  Lilies,  §  2,  the  frantic  fear 
of  the  ordinary  British  public,  lest  they  should  fall  below 
their  proper  "  station  in  life."  It  appears  that  almost  the 
only  real  sense  of  duty  remaining  now  in  the  British  con- 
science is  a  passionate  belief  in  the  propriety  of  keeping 
up  an  appearance  ;  no  matter  if  on  other  people's  money, 
so  only  that  there  be  no  signs  of  their  coming  down  in  the 
world. 


6 


FGRS  CLA  VIGERA, 


I  sti^iild  be  very  glad  therefore  if  any  of  my  young  lady 
readers  who  consider  themselves  religious  persons,  would  in- 
form me  whether  they  are  satisfied  with  my  interpretation  of 
the  text  ;  and  if  so,  then  how  far  they  would  consent,  with- 
out complaining,  to  let  God  humble  them,  if  He  wished  to  V 
If,  for  instance,  they  would,  without  pouting,  allow  Him  to 
have  His  way,  even  to  the  point  of  forcing  them  to  gain 
their  bread  by  some  menial  service, — as,  suppose,  a  house- 
maid's ;  and  whether  they  would  feel  aggrieved  at  being 
made  lower  housemaid  instead  of  upper.  If  they  have  read 
their  Bible  to  so  good  purpose  as  not  to  care  which,  I  hope 
the  following  story  may  not  be  thought  wholly  beneath  their 
attention  ;  concerning,  as  it  does,  the  housemaid's  principal 
implement  ;  or  what  (supposing  her  a  member  of  St.  George's 
company)  we  may  properly  call  her  spear,  or  weapon  of 
noble  war. 

THE  BROOM  MERCHANT. 

Brooms  are,  as  we  know,  among  the  imperious  necessities 
of  the  epoch  ;  and  in  every  household,  there  are  many  needful 
articles  of  the  kind  which  must  be  provided  from  day  to  day, 
or  week  to  week  ;  and  which  one  accordingly  finds,  every- 
where, persons  glad  to  supply.  But  we  pay  dailv  less  and 
less  attention  to  these  kindly  disposed  persons,  since  we  have 
been  able  to  get  the  articles  at  their  lowest  possible  price. 

Formerly  it  was  not  thus.  The  broom  merchant,  the  egg 
merchant,  the  sand  and  rottenstone  merchant,  were,  so  to 
speak,  part  of  the  family  ;  one  was  connected  with  them  by 
very  close  links  ;  one  knew  the  day  on  which  each  would 
arrive  ;  and  according  to  the  degree  of  favour  they  were  in, 
one  kept  something  nice  for  their  dinner  ;  and  if  by  any 
chance,  they  did  not  come  to  their  day,  they  excused  them- 
selves, next  time,  as  for  a  very  grave  fault  indeed.  They 
considered  the  houses  which  they  supplied  regularly,  as  the 
stars  of  their  heaven, — took  all  the  pains  in  the  world  to 
serve  them  well, — and,  on  quitting  their  trade  for  anything 
more  dignified,  did  all  they  could  to  be  replaced  either  by 
their  children,  or  by  some  cousin,  or  cousine.    There  was  thus 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


7 


a  reciprocal  bond  of  fidelity  on  one  side,  and  of  trust  on  the 
other,  which  unhappily  relaxes  itself  more  and  more  every 
day,  in  the  measure  that  also  family  spirit  disappears. 

The  broom  merchant  of  Rychisvvyl  was  a  servant  of  this 
sort ;  he  whom  one  regrets  now,  so  often  at  Berne, — whom 
everybody  was  so  fond  of  at  Thun  !  The  Saturday  miglit 
sooner  have  been  left  out  of  the  almanack,  than  the  broom-man 
not  appear  in  Thun  on  the  Saturday.  He  had  not  always  been 
the  broom-man  ;  for  a  long  time  he  had  only  been  the  broom- 
boy ;  until,  in  the  end,  the  boy  had  boys  of  his  own,  who  put 
themselves  to  push  his  cart  for  him.  His  father,  who  had 
been  a  soldier,  died  early  in  life  ;  the  lad  was  then  very  young, 
and  his  mother  ailing.  His  elder  sister  had  started  in  life 
many  a  day  before,  barefoot,  and  had  found  a  place  in  help- 
ing a  woman  who  carried  pine-cones  and  turpentine  to  Berne. 
When  she  had  won  her  spurs,  that  is  to  say,  shoes  and  stock- 
ings, she  obtained  advancement,  and  became  a  governess,  of 
poultry,  in  a  large  farm  near  the  town.  Her  mother  and 
brother  were  greatly  proud  of  her,  and  never  spoke  but  with 
respect  of  their  pretty  Babeli.  Hansli  could  not  leave  hi.« 
mother,  who  had  need  of  his  help,  to  fetch  her  wood,  and  the 
like.  They  lived  on  the  love  of  God  and  good  people  ;  but 
badly  enough.  One  day,  the  farmer  they  lodged  with  says 
to  Hansli  : 

"  My  lad,  it  seems  to  me  you  might  try  and  earn  something 
now  ;  you  are  big  enough,  and  sharp  enough." 

"I  wish  I  could,"  said  Hansli  ;  "but  I  don't  know  how." 

"  I  know  something  you  could  do,"  said  the  farmer.  "  Set 
to  work  to  make  brooms  ;  there  are  plenty  of  twigs  on  my  wil- 
lows. I  only  get  them  stolen  as  it  is  ;  so  they  shall  not  cost 
you  much.    You  shall  make  me  two  brooms  a  year  of  them."  * 

"Yes,  that  would  be  very  fine  and  good,"  said  Hansli  ; 
"  but  where  shall  I  learn  to  make  brooms  ?  " 

"  Pardieu,f  there's  no  such  sorcery  in  the  matter,"  said  the 
farmer.    "  I'll  take  on  me  the  teaching  of  you  ;  many  a  year 

*  Far  wiser  than  letting  him  gather  them  as  valueless, 
f  Not  translateable.    In  French,  it  has  the  form  of  a  passionate  oath, 
but  the  spirit  of  a  gentle  one. 


8 


FOMS  CLAVIGERA, 


now  I've  made  all  the  brooms  we  use  on  the  farm  myself, 
and  I'll  back  m^^self  to  make  as  good  as  are  made  ;  *  you'll 
want  few  tools,  and  may  use  mine  at  first." 
-  All  which  was  accordingly  done  ;  and  God's  blessing  came 
on  the  doing  of  it.  Hansli  took  a  fancy  to  the  work  ;  and 
the  farmer  was  enchanted  with  Hansli. 

"  Don't  look  so  close  ;  f  put  all  in  that  is  needful,  do  the 
thing  well,  so  as  to  show  people  they  may  put  confidence  in 
you.  Once  get  their  trust,  and  your  business  is  done,"  said 
alwa>'s  the  farmer,  J  and  Hansli  obeyed  him. 

In  the  beginning,  naturally,  things  did  not  go  very  fast  ; 
nevertheless  he  placed  §  what  he  could  make  ;  and  as  he  be- 
came quicker  in  the  making,  the  sale  increased  in  proportion. 
Soon,  everybody  said  that  no  one  had  such  pretty  brooms  as 
the  little  merchant  of  Rychiswyl ;  and  the  better  he  succeeded, 
the  harder  he  worked.  His  mother  visibly  recovered  liking  for 
life.  Now  the  battle's  won,"  said  she  ;  "  as  soon  as  one  can 
gain  one's  bread  honourably,  one  has  the  right  to  enjoy  one- 
self, and  what  can  one  want  more  ?"  Always,  from  that  time, 
she  had,  every  day,  as  much  as  she  liked  to  eat  ;  nay,  even 
every  day  there  remained  something  over  for  the  next  :  and 
she  could  have  as  much  bread  as  she  liked.  Indeed,  Hansli 
very  often  brought  her  even  a  little  white  bread  back  from 
the  town,  whereupon  ||  how  happy  did  she  not  feel  herself  ! 
and  how  she  thanked  God  for  having  kept  so  many  good 
things  for  her  old  days. 

On  the  contrary,  now  for  a  little  while,  Hansli  was  looking 
cross  and  provoked.    Soon  he  began  actually  to  grumble. 

Things  could  not  go  on  much  longer  that  way  ;  he  could 
not  put  up  with  it."    When  the  farmer  at  last  set  himself  to 

*  Head  of  house  doing  all  he  can  do  well^  himself.  If  he  had  not  had 
time  to  make  the  brooms  well,  he  would  have  bought  them. 

f  Do  not  calculate  so  closely  how  much  you  can  afford  to  give  for  the 
price. 

X^oi  meaning     you  can  cheat  them  afterwards,"  but  that  the  cus- 
tomer would  not  leave  him  for  another  broom-maker. 
§  Sold. 

I  Aussi  '*  aUo^  how  happy  she  felt.  Aussi  is  untranslateable  in  this 
pretty  use;  so  hereafter  I  shall  put  it,  as  an  English  word,  in  its  place« 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


9 


find  out  what  that  meant,  Hansli  declared  to  him  that  he  had 
too  many  brooms  to  carry  ;  and  could  not  carry  tliem,  and 
that  even  when  the  miller  took  them  on  his  cart,  it  was  very 
inconvenient,  and  that  he  absolutely  wanted  a  cart  of  his  own, 
but  he  hadn't  any  money  to  buy  one,  and  didn't  know  any- 
body who  was  likely  to  lend  him  any.  You  are  a  gaby,"* 
said  the  peasant.  Look  you,  I  won't  have  you  become  one 
of  those  people  who  think  a  thing's  done  as  soon  as  they've 
dreamt  it.  That's  the  way  one  spends  one's  money  to  make 
the  fish  go  into  other  people's  nets.  You  want  to  buy  a  cart, 
do  you  ?  why  don't  you  make  one  yourself  ?  " 

Hansli  put  himself,f  to  stare  at  the  farmer  with  his  mouth 
open,  and  great  eyes. 

"  Yes,  make  it  yourself  :  you  will  manage  it,  if  you  make 
up  your  mind,"  went  on  the  farmer.  "  You  can  chip  wood 
well  enough,  and  the  wood  won't  cost  you  much — what  I 
haven't,  another  peasant  will  have  ;  and  there  must  be  old 
iron  about,  plenty,  in  the  lumber-room.  I  believe  there's 
even  an  old  cart  somewhere,  which  you  can  have  to  look  at — 
or  to  use,  if  you  like.  Winter  will  be  here  soon  ;  set  your- 
self to  work,  and  by  the  spring  all  will  be  done,  and  you 
won't  have  spent  a  threepenny  piece, J  for  you  may  pay  the 
smith  too,  with  brooms,  or  find  a  way  of  doing  without  him 
— who  knows  ?  " 

Hansli  began  to  open  his  eyes  again.  "  I  make  a  cart  ! — 
but  how  ever  shall  I  ? — I  never  made  one."  "  Gaby,"  answered 
the  farmer,  "one  must  make  everything  once  the  first  time. 
Take  courage,  and  it's  half  done.  If  people  took  courage 
solidly,  there  are  many  now  carrying  the  beggar's  wallet,  who 
would  have  money  up  to  their  ears,  and  good  metal,  too." 
Hansli  was  on  the  point  of  asking  if  the  peasant  had  lost  his 

*  Nigaud, "  Good  for  nothing  but  trifles  ;  worthless,  but  without  sense 
of  vice  ;  (vaut-rien,  means  viciously  worthless).  The  real  sense  of  this 
word  here  would  be    Handless  fool,"  but  said  good-humouredlj. 

f  Se  mit  a  regarder.  I  shall  always  translate  such  passages  with  the 
literal  idiom — put  himself. 

X  A  single  batz,  about  three  halfpence  in  bad  silver,  flat  struck:  I 
shall  use  the  word  without  translating  henceforward. 


10 


FORS  CLAYIGERA, 


head.  Nevertheless,  he  finished  by  biting  at  the  notion  *, 
and  entering  into  it  little  by  little,  as  a  child  into  cold  water. 
The  peasant  came  now  and  then  to  help  him  ;  and  in  spring 
the  new  cart  was  read}'',  in  such  sort  that  on  Easter  Tuesday 
Hansli  conducted  it,*  for  the  first  time,  to  Berne,  and  the 
following  Saturday  to  Thun,  also  for  the  first  time.  The  joy 
and  pride  that  this  new  cart  gave  him,  it  is  difficult  to  form 
anything  like  a  notion  of.  If  anybody  had  proposed  to  give 
him  the  Easter  ox  for  it,  that  they  had  promenaded  at  Berne 
the  evening  before,  and  which  weighed  w^ell  its  twenty-five 
quintals,  he  wouldn't  liave  heard  of  such  a  thing.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  everybody  stopped  as  they  passed,  to  look  at  his 
cart  ;  and,  whenever  he  got  a  chance,  he  put  himself  to  ex- 
plain at  length  what  advantages  that  cart  had  over  every 
other  cart  that  had  yet  been  seen  in  the  world.  He  asserted 
very  gravely  that  it  went  of  itself,  except  only  at  the  hills  ; 
where  it  was  necessary  to  give  it  a  touch  of  the  hand.f  A 
cookmaid  said  to  him  that  she  would  not  have  thought  him 
so  clever  ;  and  that  if  ever  she  wanted  a  cart,  she  would 
give  him  her  custom.  That  cookmaid,  always,  afterwards, 
when  she  bought  a  fresh  supply  of  brooms,  had  a  present  of 
two  little  ones  into  the  bargain,  to  sweep  into  the  corners  of 
the  hearth  with  ;  things  which  are  very  convenient  for  maids 
who  like  to  have  everything  clean  even  into  the  corners  ;  and 
who  always  wash  their  cheeks  to  behind  their  ears.  It  is 
true  that  rnaids  of  this  sort  are  thin-sprinkled  enough.  J 

From  this  moment,  Hansli  began  to  take  good  heart  to  his 
work  :  his  cart  was  for  him  his  farm  ;  §  he  worked  with  real 
joy  ;  and  joy  in  getting  anything  done  is,  compared  to  ill- 

*  Pushed  it.    No  horse  wanted. 

f  Coup  de  main,  a  nice  French  idiom  meaning  the  stroke  of  hand  as 
opposed  by  that  of  a  senseless  instrument.  The  phrase  Takingf  a 
place  by  a  coup  de  main  "  regards  essentially  not  so  much  the  mere 
difference  between  sudden  and  long  assault,  as  between  assault  with 
flesh  or  cannon. 

X  Assez  clair  semees. 

§  He  is  now  a  capitalist,  in  the  entirely  wholesome  and  proper 
sense  of  the  word.  See  answer  of  Pall  Mall  Gazette^  driven  to  have  re* 
course  to  the  simple  truth,  to  my  third  question  in  last  Fors, 


FORS  CLAVIQERA. 


IJ 


humour,  what  a  sharp  hatchet  is  to  a  rusty  one,  in  cutting 
wood.  The  fanners  of  Rychiswyl  were  delighted  with  the 
boy.  There  wasn't  one  of  them  who  didn't  say,  "  When  you 
want  twigs,  you've  only  to  take  tliem  ifi  my  field  ;  but  don't 
damage  the  trees,  and  think  of  the  wife  sometimes  ;  women 
use  so  many  brooms  in  a  year  that  the  devil  couldn't  serve 
them."  Hansli  did  not  fail  ;  also  was  he  in  great  favour  with 
all  the  farm-mistresses.  They  never  had  been  in  the  way  of 
setting  any  money  aside  for  buying  brooms  ;  they  ordered 
their  husbands  to  provide  them,*  but  one  knows  how  things 
go,  that  way.  Men  are  often  too  lazy  to  make  shavings,f 
how  much  less  brooms  ! — aussi  the  women  were  often  in  a 
perfect  famine  of  brooms,  and  the  peace  of  the  household 
had  greatly  to  suffer  for  it.  But  now,  Hansli  was  there  be- 
fore one  had  time  to  think  ;  and  it  was  very  seldom  a 
paysanne  J  was  obliged  to  say  to  him  !  Hansli,  don't  forget 
us,  we're  at  our  last  broom."  Besides  tlie  convenience  of 
this,  Hansli's  brooms  were  superb — very  different  from  the 
wretched  things  which  one's  grumbling  husband  tied  up 
loose,  or  as  rough  and  ragged  as  if  they  had  been  made  of  oat 
straw.  Of  course,  in  these  houses,  Hansli  gave  his  brooms 
for  nothing  ;  yet  they  were  not  the  worst  placed  pieces  of 
his  stock  ;  for,  not  to  s])eak  of  the  twigs  given  him  gratis, 
all  the  year  round  he  was  continually  getting  little  presents, 
in  bread  and  milk,  and  such  kinds  of  things,  which  a  paysanne 
has  always  under  her  liand,  and  which  she  gives  without 
looking  too  close.  Also,  rarely  one  churned  butter  without 
saying  to  hini,  Hansli,  we  beat  butter  to-morrow  ;  if  you 
like  to  bring  a  pot,  you  shall  have  some  of  the  beaten."  § 

*  See  above,  the  first  speech  of  the  fanner  to  Hansli,  Many's  the 
year  now,"  etc.  It  would  be  a  sname  for  a  well-to-do  farmer  to  have 
to  buy  brooms  ;  it  is  only  the  wretched  townspeople  whom  Hausli 
counts  on  for  cuat.  m. 

f  Copeaux,  I  don't  understand  this. 

X  The  mistress  of  a  farm  ;  paysan,  the  master,  I  shall  use  paysanne, 
after  this,  without  translation,  and  peasant,  for  paysan;  rarely  want- 
ing the  word  in  our  general  sense. 

S  *  Du  battu,"  I  don't  know  if  ifc  means  the  butter,  or  the  butter- 
milk. 


12 


F0R8  OLAVIOERA. 


And  as  for  fruit,  he  had  more  than  he  could  eat  of  it  ;  so 
that  it  could  not  fail,  things  going  on  in  this  way,  that  Hans 
should  prosper  ;  being  besides  thoroughly  economical.  If  he 
spent  as  much  as  a  batz  on  the  day  he  went  to  the  town,  it 
was  the  end  of  the  world.*  In  the  morning,  his  mother  took 
care  he  had  a  good  breakfast,  after  which  he  took  also  some- 
thing in  his  pocket,  without  counting  that  sometimes  here, 
and  sometimes  there,  one  gave  him  a  morsel  in  the  kitchens 
where  he  was  well  known  ;  and  finally  he  didn't  imagine  that 
he  ought  always  to  have  something  to  eat,  the  moment  he 
had  a  mind  to  it. 

I  am  very  sorry,  but  find  there's  no  chance  of  my  getting  the 
romantic  part  of  my  story  rightly  into  this  letter  ;  so  I  must 
even  leave  it  till  August,  for  my  sketch  of  Scott's  early  life  is 
promised  for  July,  and  I  must  keep  my  word  to  time  more 
accurately  than  hitherto,  else,  as  the  letters  increase  in  num- 
ber, it  is  too  probable  I  may  forget  what  I  promised  in  them; 
not  that  I  lose  sight  even  for  a  moment  of  my  main  purpose; 
but  the  contents  of  the  letters  beinof  absolutelv  as  the  third 
''Fors"  may  order,  she  orders  me  here  and  there  so  fast 
sometimes  that  I  can't  hold  the  pace.  This  unlucky  index, 
for  example  !  It  is  easy  enough  to  make  an  index,  as  it  is  to 
make  a  broom  of  odds  and  ends,  as  rough  as  oat  straw  ;  but 
to  make  an  index  tied  up  tight,  and  that  will  sweep  well  into 
corners,  isn't  so  easy.  Ill-tied  or  well,  it  shall  positively  be 
sent  with  the  July  number  (if  I  keep  my  health),  and  will  be 
only  six  months  late  then  ;  so  that  it  will  have  been  finished 
in  about  a  fourth  of  the  time  a  lawyer  would  have  taken  to 
provide  any  document  for  which  there  was  a  pressing  neces- 
sity. 

In  the  meantime,  compare  the  picture  of  country  life  in 
Switzerland,  already  beginning  to  show  itself  in  outline  in 
our  story  of  the  broom-maker,  with  this  following  account  of 
the  changes  produced  by  recent  trade  in  the  country  life  of 
the  island  of  Jersey.  It  is  given  me  by  the  correspondent 
who  directed  me  to  Professor  Kirk's  book  ;  (see  the  notes  in. 

*  Le  bout  du  monde,"  meauing,  he  never  thought  of  going  an^ 
farther. 


FORS  CLAVIGEBA. 


13 


fast  letter,)  and  is  in  every  point  of  view  of  the  highest 
value.  Compare  especially  the  operations  of  the  great  uni- 
versal law  of  supply  and  demand  in  the  article  of  fruit,  as 
they  affect  the  broom-boy,  and  my  correspondent  ;  and  con- 
sider for  yourselves,  how  far  that  beautiful  law  may  affect, 
in  time  to  come,  not  your  pippins  only,  but  also  your  cheese  ; 
and  even  at  last  your  bread. 

I  give  this  letter  large  print;  it  is  quite  as  important  as 
anytbmg  I  have  myself  to  say.    The  italics  are  mine. 

Mont  X  l*Abbe,  Jersey, 

Apra  17,  1873. 

Dear  Master, — The  lesson  I  have  gathered  here  in  Jersey 
as  to  the  practical  working  of  bodies  of  small  landowners, 
is  that  they  have  three  arch-enemys  to  their  life  and  well- 
being.  First,  the  covetousness  that,  for  the  sake  of  money- 
increase,  permits  and  seeks  that  great  cities  should  drain  the 
island  of  its  life-blood — their  best  men  and  their  best  food  or 
means  of  food  ;  secondly,  love  of  strong  drink  and  tobacco  ; 
and  thirdly,  (for  these  two  last  are  closely  connected,)  want 
of  true  recreation. 

The  island  is  cut  up  into  small  properties  or  holdings,  a 
very  much  larger  proportion  of  these  being  occupied  and  cul- 
tivated by  the  owners  themselves  than  is  the  case  in  England. 
Consequently,  as  I  think,  the  poor  do  not  suffer  as  much  as  in 
England.  Still  the  times  have  altered  greatly  for  the  worse 
within  tiie  memory  of  every  middle-aged  resident,  and  the 
change  has  been  wrought  chiefly  by  the  regular  and  frequent 
commxtnicatioa  with  London  and  Paris,  but  more  especially 
the  first,  which  in  the  matter  of  luxuries  of  the  table,  has  a 
maw  insatiableJ^  Thus  the  Jersey  farmer  finds  that,  by  de- 
voting his  best  labour  and  land  to  the  raising  of  potatoes 
sufficiently  early  to  obtain  a  fancy  price  for  them,  very  large 
money-gains  are  sometimes  obtained, — subject  also  to  large 
risks  ;  for  spring  frosts  on  the  one  hand,  and  being  out- 
stripped by  more  venturous  farmers  on  the  other,  are  the 
Jersey  farmers'  Scylla  and  Charybdis. 

Now  for  the  results.  Land,  especially  that  with  southern 
aspect,  has  increased  marvellously  in  price.  Wages  have 
also  risen.    Li  many  employments  nearly  doubled.  Twenty 

*  Compare  if  you  can  get  at  the  book  in  any  library,  my  article 
on  '*  Home  and  ite  Economies  "  in  the  Conienvporary  liedew  for  May. 


14 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


years  ago  a  carpenter  obtained  Is.  8c?.  per  clay.  Now  he  gets 
35.;  and  field  labourers'  wages  have  risen  nearly  as  much  in 
proportion.  J3itt  food  and  lodging'  have  much  more  than 
doubled.  Potatoes  for  ordinary  consumption  are  now  from 
25.  6c?.  to  35.  6c?.  per  cabot  (40  lb.);  here  I  put  out  of  court 
the  early  potatoes,  which  bring,  to  those  who  are  fortunate 
in  the  race,  three  times  that  price.  Fifteen  years  ago  the 
regular  price  for  the  same  quantity  was  from  5c?.  to  8c?. 
Butter  is  now  Is,  4c?.  per  lb.  Then  it  was  6c?.;  and  milk  of 
course  has  altered  in  the  same  proportion.  Fruit,  which 
formerly  could  he  had  in  lavish^  nay,  almost  fabidous  abun- 
dance, is  now  dearer  than  in  London,  In  fact  I,  who  am  es- 
sentially a  frugivorous  animal,  have  found  myself  unable  to 
indulge  in  it,  and  it  is  only  at  very  rare  intervals  to  be 
found  in  any  shape  at  my  table.  All  work  harder,  and  all 
fare  worse  ;  but  the  poor  specially  so.  The  well-to-do  pos- 
sess a  secret  solace  denied  to  them.  It  is  found  in  the 
"  share  market."  I  am  told  by  one  employed  in  a  banking 
house  and  finance  "  business  here,  that  it  is  quite  wonderful 
how  fond  the  Jersey  farmers  are  of  Turkish  bonds,  Grecian 
and  Spanish  coupons.  Shares  in  mines  seem  also  to  find 
favour  liere.  My  friend  in  the  banking  house  tells  me  that 
he  was  once  induced  to  try  his  fortune  in  that  way.  To  be 
cautious,  lie  invested  in  four  different  mines.  It  was  perhaps 
fortunate  for  him  that  he  never  received  a  penny  of  his 
money  back  from  any  one  of  the  four. 

Another  mode  by  which  the  earnings  of  the  saving  and  in- 
dustrious Jerseyman  find  their  w^ay  back  to  London  or  Paris 
is  the  uncalculated,  but  not  unfrequent,  advent  of  a  spend- 
thrift among  the  heirs  of  the  family.  I  am  told  that  the 
landlord  of  the  house  I  live  in  is  of  this  stamp,  and  that  two 
years  more  of  the  same  rate  of  expenditure  at  Paris  that  he 
now  uses,  will  bring  him  to  the  end  of  his  patrimony. 

But  what  of  the  stimulants,  and  the  want  of  recreation  ? 
I  have  coupled  these  together  because  I  think  that  drink- 
ing is  an  attempt  to  find,  by  a  short  and  easy  way,  the  re- 
ward of  a  true  recreation  ;  to  supply  a  coarse  goad  to  the 
wits,  so  that  there  may  be  forced  or  fancied  increase  of  play 
to  the  imagination,  and  to  experience,  with  this,  an  agreeable 
physical  sensation.  I  think  men  will  usually  drink  to  get  the 
fascinating"  combination  of  the  two.  True  recreation  is  the 
cure,  and  this  is  not  adequately  supplied  here,  either  in  kind 
or  degree,  by  tea-meetings  and  the  various  religious  "ser- 
vices," which  are  almost  the  only  social  recreations  (no  ir- 


F0R8  CLAVIGEHA, 


15 


reverence  intended  by  thus  classing  them)  in  use  among  the 
country  folk  of  Jersey. 

But  I  had  better  keep  to  my  facts.  The  deductions  I  can 
well  leave  to  my  master. 

Here  is  a  fact  as  to  the  vrorking  of  the  modern  finance 
system  here.  There  is  exceedingly  little  gold  coin  in  the 
island  ;  in  place  thereof  vre  use  one-pound  notes  issued  by 
the  banks  of  the  island.  The  j^rincipal  bank  issuing  these^ 
and  also  possessi7ig  by  far  the  largest  list  of  depositors^  has 
just  failed.  Liabilities,  as  estimated  by  the  accoimtaiits,  not 
less  than  £332,000  /  assets  calcidated  by  the  same  authorities 
not  exceeding  £34,000.  The  whole  island  is  thrown  into 
the  same  sort  of  catastrophe  as  English  merchants  bv  the 
Overend-Gurney  failure.  Business  in  the  town  nearly  at 
a  stand-still,  and  failures  of  tradesmen  taking  place  one 
after  another,  with  a  large  reserve  of  the  same  in  prospect. 
But  as  the  country  people  are  as  hard  at  work  as  ever,  and 
the  panic  among  the  islanders  has  hindered  in  nowise  the 
shooting  of  the  blades  through  the  earth,  and  general 
bursting  forth  of  buds  on  the  trees,  I  begin  to  think  the 
island  may  survive  to  find  some  other  chasm  for  their  accu- 
mulations. Unless  indeed  the  champion  slays  the  drairon 
first.  [As  far  as  one  of  the  unlearned  may  have  an  opinion, 
I  strongly  object  both  to  "  Rough  skin,"^and  "Red  skin,'' 
as  name  derivations.  There  have  been  useful  words  de- 
rived from  two  sources,  and  I  shall  hold  that  the  Latin 
prefix  to  the  Saxon  kin  establishes  a  sort  of  relationship  with 
St.  George.] 

I  am  greatly  flattered  by  my  correspondent's  philological 
studies  ;  but  alas,  his  pretty  result  is  untenable  :  no  deriva- 
tion can  stand  astride  on  two  languages  ;  also,  neither  he, 
nor  any  of  my  readers,  must  think  of  me  as  setting  myself 
up  either  for  a  champion  or  a  leader.  If  they  will  look 
back  to  the  first  letter  of  this  book,  they  will  find  it  is  ex- 
pressly written  to  quit  myself  of  public  responsibility  in  pur- 
suing my  private  work.  Its  purpose  is  to  state  clearly  what 
must  be  done  by  all  of  us,  as  we  can,  in  our  place  ;  and  to 
fulfil  what  duty  I  personally  acknowledge  to  the  State  ;  also 
I  have  promised,  if  I  live,  to  show  some  example  of  what  I 
know  to  be  necessary,  if  no  more  able  person  will  show  it 
first 


16 


FOES  CLAVIGERA, 


That  is  a  very  different  thing  from  pretending  to  lead 
ership  in  a  movement  which  must  one  day  be  as  wide  as  the 
world.  Nay,  even  my  marching  days  may  perhaps  soon  be 
over,  and  the  best  that  I  can  make  of  myself  be  a  faithful 
signpost.  But  wliat  I  am,  or  what  I  fail  to  be,  is  of  no 
moment  to  the  cause.  The  two  facts  which  I  have  to  teach, 
or  sign,  though  alone,  as  it  seems,  at  present,  in  the  signa- 
ture, that  food  can  only  be  got  out  of  the  ground,  and 
happiness  only  out  of  honesty,  are  not  altogether  depend- 
ent on  any  one's  championship,  for  recognition  among  man- 
kind. 

For  the  present,  nevertheless,  these  two  important  pieces 
of  information  are  never,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  presented  in 
any  scheme  of  education  either  to  the  infantine  or  adult 
mind.  And,  unluckily,  no  other  information  whatever,  with- 
out acquaintance  with  these  facts,  can  produce  either  bread 
and  butter,  or  felicity.  I  take  the  following  four  questions, 
for  instance,  as  sufficiently  characteristic,  out  of  the  seventy- 
eight,  proposed,  on  their  Fifth  subject  of  study,  to  the  chil- 
dren of  St.  Matthias'  National  School,  Granby  Street,  Bethnal 
Green,  (school  fees,  twopence  or  threepence  a  week,)  by  way 
of  enabling  them  to  pass  their  First  of  May  pleasantly,  in 
this  blessed  year  1873. 

1.  Explain  the  distinction  between  an  identity  and  an  equa- 

tion, and  give  an  easy  example  of  each.  Show  that  if 
a  simple  equation  in  x  is  satisfied  by  two  different  values 
of  a;,  it  is  an  identity. 

2.  In  what  time  will  a  sum  of  money  double  itself  if  in- 

vested at  10  j^er  cent,  per  annum,  compound  interest? 

3.  How  many  different  permutations  can  be  made  of  the 

letters  in  the  word  ChilUamooMah  ?  How  many  if 
arranged  in  a  circle,  instead  of  a  straight  line?  And 
how  many  different  combinations  of  them,  two  and  two, 
can  be  made  ? 


F0R8  GLAVIGERA. 


17 


4.  Show  that  if  a  and  /5  be  constant,  and  <^  and  X  variable 

and  if 

cos^  a  cos^  /3  (tan^  a  cos^  \  +  tan^  ^  sin^  X) 
tan'^  a  cos'*  ^  cos'*  X  +  tan'^  P  cos*  a  sin'  X 

sin'^  tt  cos^  <f>  +  sin*  )S  sin®  <^ 
tan*  tt  cos*  <^  -f  tan*    sin*  <^ 

thencos'  )8  tan  <^  =  cos*  a  tan*  X,  unless  a  =:  /3     n  w, 

I  am  bound  to  state  that  I  could  not  answer  any  one  of 
these  interrogations  myself,  and  that  my  readers  must  there- 
fore allow  for  the  bias  of  envy  in  the  expression  of  my 
belief  that  to  have  been  able  to  answer  the  sort  of  questions 
which  the  First  of  May  once  used  to  propose  to  English 
children, — whether  they  knew  a  cowslip  from  an  oxlip,  and 
a  blackthorn  from  a  white,  would  have  been  incomparably 
more  to  the  purpose,  both  of  getting  their  living,  and  liking  it. 
Vol.  IL—Z 


.18 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


The  following  expression  of  the  wounded  feelings  of  the  Daily  News 
is  perhaps  worth  preserving : 

Mr.  Raskin's  Fors  Clamgera  has  alreadj  become  so  notorious  as  a 
curious  magazine  of  the  blunders  of  a  man  of  genius  who  has  travelled 
out  of  his  province,  that  it  is  perhaps  hardly  worth  while  to  notice  any 
fresh  blunder.  No  one  who  writes  on  financial  subjects  need  be  at  all 
surprised  that  Mr.  Ruskin  funnily  misinterprets  what  he  has  said,  and 
we  have  ourselves  just  been  the  victim  of  a  misinterpretation  of  the 
mrt.  Mr.  Ruskin  quotes  a  single  sentence  from  an  article  which  ap- 
peared in  our  impression  of  the  8d  of  March,  and  places  on  it  the  in- 
terpretation that  •  whenever  you  have  reason  to  think  that  anybody  has 
charged  you  threepence  for  a  twopenny  article,  remember  that,  accord- 
ing to  the  Daily  Neics,  the  real  capital  of  the  community  is  increased.' 
We  need  hardly  tell  our  readers  that  we  wrote  no  nonsense  of  that  kind. 
Our  object  was  to  show  that  the  most  important  effect  of  the  high 
price  of  coal  was  to  alter  the  distribution  of  the  proceeds  of  production 
in  the  community,  and  not  to  diminish  the  amount  of  it ;  that  it  was 
quite  possible  for  real  production,  which  is  always  the  most  important 
matter  in  a  question  of  material  wealth,  to  increase,  even  with  coal  at 
a  high  price ;  and  that  there  was  such  an  increase  at  the  lime  we  were 
writing,  although  coal  was  dear.  These  are  certainly  very  different 
propositions  from  the  curious  deduction,  which  Mr.  Ruskin  makes  from 
a  single  short  sentence  in  a  long  article,  the  purport  of  which  was  clear 
enough.  There  is  certainly  no  cause  for  astonishment  at  the  blunders 
which  Mr.  Ruskin  makes  in  political  economy  and  finance,  if  his  method 
is  to  rush  at  conclusions  without  patiently  studying  the  drift  of  what 
he  reads.  Oddly  enough,  it  may  be  added,  there  is  one  way  in  which 
dear  coal  may  increase  the  capital  of  a  country  like  England,  though 
Mr.  Ruskin  seems  to  think  the  thing  impossible.  We  are  exporters  of 
coal,  and  of  course  the  higher  the  price  the  more  the  foreigner  has  to 
pay  for  it.  So  far,  therefore,  the  increased  price  is  advantageous, 
although  on  balance,  every  one  knows,  it  is  better  to  have  cheap  coal 
than  dear." 

Let  me  at  once  assure  the  editor  of  the  Dai^y  News  that  I  meant  him 
no  disrespect  in  choosing  a  '  long '  article  for  animadversion.  I  had 
imagined  that  the  length  of  his  articles  was  owing  rather  to  his  sense 
of  the  importance  of  their  subject  than  to  the  impulsiveness  and  rash 
splendour  of  his  writing.  I  feel,  indeed,  how  much  the  consolation  it 
conveys  is  enhanced  by  this  fervid  eloquence  ;  and  even  when  I  had 
my  pocket  picked  the  other  day  on  Tower  Hill,  it  might  have  soothed 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


19 


my  ruffled  temper  to  reflect  that,  in  the  beautiful  language  of  the 
Daily  News^  the  most  important  effect  of  that  operation  was  to  alter 
the  distribution  of  the  proceeds  of  production  in  the  community,  and 
not  to  diminish  the  amount  of  it.''  But  the  Editor  ought  surely  to  be 
grateful  to  me  for  pointing  out  that,  in  his  present  state  of  mind,  he 
may  not  only  make  one  mistake  in  a  long  letter,  but  two  in  a  short 
one.  Their  object,  declares  the  Daily  News^  (if  I  would  but  have 
taken  the  pains  to  appreciate  their  efforts, )  ' '  was  to  show  that  it  was 
quite  possible  for  real  production  to  increase,  even  with  coal  at  a  high 
price.  '  It  is  quite  possible  for  the  production  of  newspaper  articles  to 
increase,  and  of  many  other  more  useful  things.  The  speculative  pub- 
lic probably  knew,  without  the  help  of  the  Daily  News,  that  they  might 
still  catch  a  herring,  even  if  they  could  not  broil  it.  But  the  rise  of 
price  in  coal  itself  was  simply  caused  by  the  diminution  of  its  produc- 
tion, or  by  rogfuery. 

Again,  the  intelligent  journal  observes  that  '*dear  coal  may  increase 
the  capital  of  a  country  like  England,  because  we  are  exporters  of  coal, 
and  the  higher  the  price,  the  more  the  foreigner  has  to  pay  for  it." 
We  are  exporters  of  many  other  articles  besides  coal,  and  foreigners 
are  beginning  to  be  so  foolish,  finding  the  prices  rise,  as,  instead  of 

having  more  to  pay  for  them,"  never  to  buy  them.  The  Daily  Ne\C4y 
however,  is  under  the  impression  that  over-  instead  of  under-selling,  is 
the  proper  method  of  competition  in  foreign  markets,  which  is  not  a 
received  view  in  economical  circles. 

I  observe  that  the  Daily  News,  referring  with  surprise  to  the  conclu- 
sions which  unexpectedly,  though  incontrovertibly,  resulted  from  their 
euthusiastic  statement,  declare  they  need  hardly  tell  their  readers  they 
*' wrote  no  nonsense  of  that  kind.''  But  I  cannot  but  feel,  after  their 
present  better-considered  effusion,  that  it  would  be  perhaps  well  on 
their  part  to  warn  their  readers  how  many  other  kinds  of  nonsense  they 
will  in  future  be  justified  in  expecting. 


20 


FORS  CLAVIOEMA. 


LETTER  XXXI. 

Of  the  four  great  English  tale-tellers  whose  dynasties  have 
set  or  risen  within  my  own  memory — Miss  Edgeworth,  Scott, 
Dickens,  and  Thackeray — I  find  myself  greatly  at  pause  in 
conjecturing,  however  dimly,  what  essential  good  has  been 
effected  by  them,  though  they  all  had  the  best  intentions. 
Of  the  essential  mischief  done  by  them,  there  is,  unhappily, 
no  doubt  whatever.  Miss  Edgeworth  made  her  morality  so 
impertinent  that,  since  her  time,  it  has  only  been  with  fear 
and  trembling  that  any  good  novelist  has  ventured  to  show 
the  slightest  bias  in  favour  of  the  Ten  Commandments. 
Scott  made  his  romance  so  ridiculous,  that,  since  his  day,  one 
can't  help  fancying  helmets  were  always  pasteboard,  and 
horses  were  always  hobby.  Dickens  made  everybody  laugh, 
or  cry,  so  that  they  could  not  go  about  their  business  till 
they  had  got  their  faces  in  wrinkles  ;  and  Thackeray  settled 
like  a  meatfly  on  whatever  one  had  got  for  dinner,  and  made 
one  sick  of  it. 

That,  on  the  other  hand,  at  least  Miss  Edgeworth  and 
Scott  have  indeed  some  inevitable  influence  for  good,  I  am 
the  more  disposed  to  think,  because  nobody  now  will  read 
them.  Dickens  is  said  to  have  made  people  good-natured. 
If  he  did,  I  wonder  what  sort  of  natures  they  had  before ! 
Thackeray  is  similarly  asserted  to  have  chastised  and  re- 
pressed flunkeydom — which  it  greatly  puzzles  me  to  hear, 
because,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  there  isn't  a  carriage  now  left  in 
all  the  Row  with  anybody  sitting  inside  it  :  the  people  who 
ought  to  have  been  in  it  are,  every  one,  hanging  on  behind, 
the  carriaore  in  front. 

What  good  these  writers  have  done,  is  therefore,  to  me,  I 
repeat,  extremely  doubtful.  But  what  good  Scott  has  in 
him  to  do,  I  find  no  words  full  enouofh  to  tell.  His  ideal  of 
honour  in  men  and  women  is  inbred,  indisputable  ;  fresh  as 
the  air  of  his  mountains  ;  firm  as  their  rocks.    His  concep- 


lioRiS  CLAY  Hi  ERA. 


21 


tion  of  purity  in  woman  is  even  higher  tlian  Dante's  ;  his 
reverence  for  the  filial  relation,  as  deep  as  Virgil's  ;  sym- 
pathy universal  ; — there  is  no  rank  or  condition  of  men  of 
which  he  has  not  shown  the  loveliest  aspect  ;  his  code  of  moral 
principle  is  entirely  defined,  yet  taught  with  a  reserved  sub- 
tlety like  Nature's  own,  so  that  none  but  the  most  earnest 
readers  perceive  the  intention  :  and  his  opinions  on  all  prac- 
tical subjects  are  final  ;  the  consummate  decisions  of  accurate 
and  inevitable  common  sense,  tempered  by  the  most  graceful 
kindness. 

That  he  had  the  one  weakness — I  will  not  call  it  fault — of 
desiring  to  possess  more  and  more  of  the  actual  soil  of  the 
land  which  was  so  rich  to  his  imagination,  and  so  dear  to 
his  pride  ;  and  that  by  this  postern-gate  of  idolatry,  entered 
other  taints  of  folly  and  fault,  punished  by  supreme  misery, 
and  atoned  for  by  a  generosity  and  solemn  courage  more 
admirable  than  the  unsullied  wisdom  of  his  happier  days,  I 
have  ceased  to  lament  :  for  all  these  things  make  him  only 
the  more  perfect  to  us  as  an  example,  because  he  is  not  ex- 
empt from  common  failings,  and  has  his  appointed  portion 
in  common  pain. 

I  said  we  were  to  learn  from  him  the  true  relations  of 
Master  and  Servant  ;  and  learning  these,  there  is  little  left 
for  us  to  learn  ;  but,  on  every  subject  of  immediate  and  vital 
interest  to  us,  we  shall  ?ynd^  as  we  study  his  life  and  words, 
that  both  are  as  authoiitative  as  thev  are  clear.  Of  his  im- 
partiality  of  judgment,  I  think  it  is  enough,  once  for  all,  to 
bid  you  observe  that,  though  himself,  by  all  inherited  disposi- 
tion and  accidental  circumstances,  prejudiced  in  favour  of 
the  Stuart  cause,  the  aristocratic  character,  and  the  Catholic 
religion, — the  only  perfectly  noble  character  in  his  first  novel 
is  that  of  a  Hanoverian  colonel,*  and  the  most  exquisitely 

*  Colonel  Talbot,  in  Waverley  ;  I  need  not,  surely,  nametlie  other  : — 
note  only  that,  in  speaking  of  heroism,  I  never  admit  into  the  field  of  com- 
parison the  merely  stage-ideals  of  impcssible  virtue  and  fortune — (Ivan- 
hoe,  Sir  Kenneth,  and  the  like) — but  only  persons  whom  Scott  meant 
to  be  real.  Observe  also  that  with  Scott,  as  with  Titian,  you  must 
often  expect  the  most  tender  pieces  of  completion  in  subordinate 
characters. 


22 


FOnS  CLAVIGEEA, 


finished  and  heroic  character  in  all  his  novels,  that  of  a  Pres- 
byterian milkmaid. 

But  before  I  press  any  of  his  opinions — or  I  ought  rather 
to  say,  knowledges — upon  you,  I  must  try  to  give  you  some 
idea  of  his  own  temper  and  life.  His  temper,  I  say  ;  the 
mixture  of  clay,  and  the  fineness  of  it,  out  of  which  the  Pot- 
ter made  him  ;  and  of  his  life,  what  the  power  of  the  third 
Fors  had  been  upon  it,  before  his  own  hands  could  make  or 
mar  his  fortune,  at  the  turn  of  tide.  I  shall  do  this  merely 
by  abstracting  and  collating  (with  comment)  some  passages 
out  of  Lockhart's  life  of  him  ;  and  adding  any  elucidatory 
pieces  which  Lockhart  refers  to,  or  which  I  can  find  my- 
self, in  his  own  works,  so  that  you  may  be  able  to  read 
them  easily  together.  And  observe,  I  am  not  writing,  or  at* 
tempting  to  write,  another  life  of  Scott  ;  but  only  putting 
toofether  bits  of  Lockhart's  life  in  the  order  which  mv  side- 
notes  on  the  pages  indicate  for  my  own  reading  ;  and  I  shall 
use  Lockhart's  words,  or  my  own,  indifferently,  and  without 
the  plague  of  inverted  commas.  Therefore,  if  anything  is 
Avrong  in  my  statement,  Lockhart  is  not  answerable  for  it;  but 
my  own  work  in  the  business  will  nevertheless  be  little  more 
than  what  the  French  call  putting  dots  on  the  i's,  and  adding 
such  notes  as  may  be  needful  for  our  present  thought. 

Sir  Walter  was  born  on  the  loth  August,  1771,  in  a  house 
belonging  to  his  father,  at  the  head  of  the  College  Wynd,  Ed- 
inburgh. The  house  was  pulled  down  to  make  room  for  the 
northern  front  of  the  New  College  ;  and  the  wise  people  of 
Edinburgh  then  built,  for  I  don't  know  how  many  thousand 
pounds,  a  small  vulgar  Gothic  steeple  on  the  ground,  and 
called  it  the  "  Scott  Monument."  There  seems,  however,  to 
have  been  more  reason  than  usual  for  the  destruction  of  the  CoU 
lege  Wynd,  for  Scott  was  the  first  survivor  of  seven  children 
born  in  it  to  his  father,  and  appears  to  have  been  saved  only 
by  the  removal  to  the  house  in  George's  Square,*  which  his 

*  I  beg  ray  readers  to  observe  that  I  never  flinch  from  stating  a  fact 
that  tells  against  me.  This  George's  Square  is  in  that  New  Town  of 
Edinburgh  which  I  said,  in  the  first  of  these  letters,  I  should  like  tode- 
fltroy  to  the  ground. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


23 


father  always  afterwards  occupied  ;  and  by  being  also  sent 
soon  afterwards  into  the  open  country.  He  was  of  the  pu- 
rest Border  race — seventh  in  descent  from  Wat  of  Harden 
and  the  Flower  of  Yarrow.  Here  are  his  six  ancestors,  from 
the  sixteenth  century,  in  order  : — 

1.  Walter  Scott  (Auld  Wat)  of  Harden, 

2.  Sir  William  Scott  of  Harden. 

3.  Walter  Scott  of  Raeburn. 

4.  Walter  Scott,  Tutor  of  Raeburn. 

5.  Robert  Scott  of  Sandy-Knowe. 

6.  Walter  Scott,  citizen  of  Edinburgh. 

I  will  note  briefly  what  is  important  respecting  each  of 
these. 

I.  Wat  of  Harden.  Harden  means  '  the  ravine  of  hares.' 
It  is  a  glen  down  which  a  little  brook  flows  to  join  the  river 
Borthwick,  itself  a  tributary  of  the  Teviot,  six  miles  west 
of  Hawick,  and  just  opposite  Branxholm.  So  long  as  Sir 
Walter  retained  his  vigorous  habits,  he  made  a  yearly  pil- 
grimage to  it,  with  whatever  friend  happened  to  be  his  guest 
at  the  time.* 

Wat's  wife,  Mary,  the  Flower  of  Yarrow,  is  said  to  have 
chiefly  owed  her  celebrity  to  the  love  of  an  English  captive 
— a  beautiful  child  whom  she  had  rescued  from  the  tender 
mercies  f  of  Wat's  moss-troopers,  on  their  return  from  a 
Cumberland  foray.  The  youth  grew  up  under  her  protec- 
tion, and  is  believed  to  have  written  both  the  words  and 
music  of  many  of  the  best  songs  of  the  Border.  \ 

This  story  is  evidently  the  germ  of  that  of  the  Xay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel^  only  the  captivity  is  there  of  a  Scottish 

♦  Lockhart's  Life,  8vo.  Edinburgh  :  Cadell,  1837.  Vol.  i.  p.  65.  In 
my  following  foot-notes  I  shall  only  give  volume  and  page — the  book 
being  understood. 

f  i.  67.  What  sort  of  tender  mercies  were  to  be  expected  ? 

X  His  name  unknown,  according  to  Leyden,  is  perhaps  discoverable  ; 
but  what  songs  ?  Though  composed  by  an  Englishman,  have  they  the 
special  character  of  Scottish  music? 


24 


FOltS  CLAVIGEilA, 


boy  to  the  English.  The  lines  describing  Wat  of  Harden 
are  in  the  4th  canto, — 

Marauding  chief  ;  his  sole  delight 
The  moonlight  raid,  the  morning  fight. 
Not  even  the  Flower  of  Yarrow's  charms, 
In  youth,  might  tame  his  rage  for  arms  ; 
And  still  in  age  he  spurned  at  rest, 
And  still  his  brows  the  helmet  pressed, 
Albeit  the  blanched  locks  below 
Were  white  as  Dinlay's  spotless  snow."  * 

With  these,  read  also  the  answer  of  the  lady  of  Brank* 
some,  23rd  and  24th  stanzas, — 

'  Say  to  your  lords  of  high  emprize, 
Who  war  on  women  and  on  boys, — 
For  the  young  heir  of  Branksome's  line, 
God  be  his  aid ;  and  God  be  mine  : 
Through  me,  no  friend  shall  meet  his  doom  : 
Here,  while  I  live,  no  foe  finds  room.' 
♦  ♦  ♦  DC 

Proud  she  looked  round,  applause  to  claim; 
Then  lightened  Thirlstane's  eye  of  flame  ; 

His  bugle  Watt  of  Harden  blew. 
Pensils  f  and  pennons  wide  were  flung. 
To  heaven  the  Border  slogan  rung, 

'  St.  Mary  for  the  young  Buccleugh  ! '  " 

Let  us  stop  here  to  consider  what  good  there  may  be  in 
all  this  for  us.  The  last  line,  "  St.  Mary  for  the  young  Buc- 
cleugh !  "  probably  sounds  absurd  enough  to  you.  You  have 
nothing  whatever  to  do,  you  think,  with  either  of  these  per- 

*  Dinlay  ; — where  ? 

f  Pensil,  a  flag  hanging  down — *  pensile.'  Pennon,  a  stiff  flag  sus- 
tained by  a  cross  arm,  like  the  broad  part  of  a  weathercock.  Properly, 
it  is  the  stiff-set  feather  of  an  arrow. 

Ny  autres  riens  qui  d'ore  ne  fust 
Fors  que  les  pennons,  et  le  fust.'* 

*' Romance  of  the  Rose,"  of  Love's  arrows  :  Chaucer  translates, 

For  all  was  gold,  men  might  see, 
Out-take  the  feathers  and  the  tree." 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


25 


soiiages.  You  don't  care  for  any  St.  Mary  ;  and  still  less 
for  any,  either  young  or  old,  Buccleugh  ? 

Well,  I'm  sorry  for  you: — but  if  you  don't  care  for  St. 
Mary,  the  wife  of  Joseph,  do  you  care  at  all  for  St.  Mary- 
x\nne,  the  wife  of  Joe?  Have  you  any  faith  in  the  holiness 
of  your  own  wives,  who  are  here,  in  flesh  and  blood?  or  do 
you  verily  wish  them,  as  Mr.  Mill*  would  have  it — sacrifice 
all  pretence  to  saintship,  as  to  holy  days — to  follow  "some 
more  lucrative  occupation  than  that  of  nursing  the  baby"? 
And  you  don't  care  for  the  young  Buccleugh  ?  Cut  away 
the  cleugh,  then,  and  read  the  Buc  backwards.  Do  you  care 
for  your  own  cub  as  much  as  Sir  Walter  would  have  cared 
for  his  own  beast  ?  (see,  farther  on,  how  he  takes  care  of 
his  wire-haired  terrier.  Spice),  or  as  any  beast  cares  for  its 
cub?  Or  do  you  send  your  poor  little  brat  to  make  money 
for  you,  like  your  wife  ;  as  though  a  cock  should  send  his 
lien  and  chickens  to  pick  up  what  they  could  for  A/m  /  and 
it  were  the  usual  law  of  nature  that  nestlings  should  feed  the 
parent  birds  ?  If  that  be  your  way  of  liberal  modern  life, 
believe  me,  the  border  faith  in  its  Mary  and  its  master,  how- 
ever servile,  was  not  benighted  in  comparison. 

But  the  border  morals?  "Marauding  chief,  whose  sole 
delight,"  etc.  Just  look  for  the  passages  indicated  under 
the  word  ^  theft'  in  my  fine  new  index  to  the  first  two  vol- 
umes of  Fors.  I  will  come  back  to  this  point:  for  the  pres- 
ent, in  order  to  get  it  more  clearly  into  your  minds,  remem- 
ber that  the  Flower  of  Yarrow  was  the  chieftainess  to  whom 
the  invention  of  serving  the  empty  dish  with  two  spurs  in  it, 
for  hint  to  her  husband  that  he  must  ride  for  his  next  dinner, 
is  first  ascribed.  Also,  for  com]')arison  of  the  English  cus- 
toms of  the  same  time,  read  this  little  bit  of  a  letter  of  Lord 
Northumberland's  to  Henry  VIH.  in  1533. f 

*  People  would  not  have  me  speak  any  more  harm  of  Mr.  Mill,  be- 
cause he^s  dead,  T  suppose  ?  Dead  or  alive,  all's  one  to  me,  with  mis- 
chievous persons  ;  but  alas  !  how  very  grievously  all's  two  to  me,  when 
they  are  helpful  and  noble  ones. 

t  Out  of  the  first  of  Scott's  notes  to  the  Lay,  but  the  note  is  bo  long 
that  careless  readers  are  sure  to  miss  the  points  ;  also  I  give  modern 
epelUng  for  greater  ease. 


26 


FOnS  CLAVIGERA. 


"  Please  it  your  most  gracious  Highness  to  be  advertised 
that  my  comptroller,  with  Raynold  Carnaby,  desired  licence 
of  me  to  invade  the  realm  of  Scotland,  to  the  annoyance  of 
your  Highness's  enemies,  and  so  they  did  meet  upon  Mon- 
day before  night,  at  Warhope,  upon  North  Tyne  water,  to 
the  number  of  1,500  men  :  and  so  invaded  Scotland,  at  the 
hour  of  eight  of  the  clock  at  night,  and  actively  did  set  upon 
a  town  *  called  Branxholm,  where  the  Lord  of  Buccleugh 
dwelleth,  albeit  that  knight  he  was  not  at  home.  And  so 
tliey  burnt  the  said  Branxholm,  and  other  towns,  and  kad 
ordered  themselves  so  that  sundry  of  the  said  Lord  Buc- 
cleugh's  servants,  who  did  issue  forth  of  his  gates  were  taken 
prisoners.  They  did  not  leave  one  house,  one  stack  of 
corn,  nor  one  sheaf  without  the  gate  of  the  said  Lord  Buc- 
cleugh unburnt ;  and  so  in  the  breaking  of  the  day  receded 
homeward.  And  thus,  thanks  be  to  God,  your  Highness's 
subjects,  about  the  hour  of  twelve  of  the  clock  the  same  day, 
came  into  this,  your  Highness's  realm,  bringing  with  them 
above  forty  Scotsmen  prisoners,  one  of  them  named  Scott, 
of  the  surname  and  kin  of  the  said  Lord  of  Buccleuo^h.  And 
of  his  household  they  also  brought  three  hundred  nowte " 
(cattle),  "  and  above  sixty  horses  and  mares,  keeping  in  safety 
from  loss  or  hurt  all  your  said  Highness's  subjects." 

They  had  met  the  evening  before  on  the  North  Tyne 
under  Carter  Fell  ;  (you  will  find  the  place  partly  marked 
as  "  Plashett's  coal-fields "  in  modern  atlases  ;)  rode  and 
marched  their  twenty  miles  to  Branxholm  ;  busied  them- 
selves there,  as  we  hear,  till  dawn,  and  so  back  thirty  miles 
down  Liddesdale, — a  fifty  miles'  ride  and  walk  altogether, 
all  finished  before  twelve  on  Tuesday  :  besides  what  pillag- 
ing^ and  burninof  had  to  be  done. 

Now,  but  one  more  point  is  to  be  noticed,  and  we  will  get 
on  with  our  genealogy. 

After  this  bit  of  the  Earl's  letter,  you  will  better  under- 
stand the  speech  of  the  Lady  of  Buccleugh,  defending  her 
castle  in  the  absence  of  her  lord,  and  with  her  boy  taken 
prisoner.  And  now  look  back  to  my  25th  letter,  for  I  want 
you  not  to  forget  Alice  of  Salisbury.  King  Edward's  first 
sight  of  her  was  just  after  she  had  held  her  castle  exactly  in 

*  A  walled  group  of  houses  :  tynen,  Saxon,  to  shut  in  (Johnson). 


FOliS  CLAVIGEEA, 


2: 


this  way,  against  a  raid  of  the  Scots  in  Lord  Salisbury's  ab- 
sence. Edward  rode  night  and  day  to  help  her  ;  and  the 
Scots  besiegers,  breaking  up  at  his  approach,  this  is  what 
follows,  which  you  may  receive  on  Froissart's  telling  as  the 
vital  and  effectual  truth  of  the  matter.  A  modern  English 
critic  will  indeed  always  and  instantly  extinguish  this  vital 
truth ;  there  is  in  it  something  inherently  detestable  to 
him  ;  thus  the  editor  of  Johnes'  Froissart  prefaces  this  very 
story  with  "  the  romance — for  it  is  nothing  more."  Now 
the  labyrinth  of  Crete,  and  the  labyrnith  of  Woodstock,  are 
indeed  out  of  sight  ;  and  of  a  real  Ariadne  or  Rosamond,  a 
blockhead  might  be  excused  for  doubting  ;  but  St.  George's 
Chapel  at  Windsor — (or  Winde-Rose,  as  Froissart  prettily 
transposes  it,  like  Adriane  for  Ariadne)  is  a  very  visible 
piece  of  romance  ;  and  the  stones  of  it  were  laid,  and  the 
blue  riband  which  your  queen  wears  on  her  breast  is  fast- 
ened, to  this  day,  by  the  hand  of  Alice  of  Salisbury. 

"  So  the  King  came  at  noon  ;  and  angry  he  was  to  find 
the  Scots  gone  ;  for  he  had  come  in  such  haste  that  all  his 
people  and  horses  were  dead-tired  and  toiled.  So  every  one 
went  to  rest  ;  and  the  King,  as  soon  as  he  was  disarmed, 
took  ten  or  twelve  knights  with  him,  and  went  towards  the 
castle  to  salute  the  Countess,  and  see  how  the  defence  had 
been  made.  So  soon  as  the  Lady  of  Salisbury  knew  of  the 
King's  coming,  she  made  all  the  gates  be  opened,"  (inmost 
and  outmost  at  once,)  "and  came  out,  so  richly  dressed,  that 
every  one  was  wonderstruck  at  her,  and  no  one  could  cease 
looking  at  her,  nor  from  receiving,  as  if  they  had  been  her 
mirrors,  the  reflection  of  her  great  nobleness,  and  her  great 
beauty,  and  her  gracious  speaking  and  bearing  herself. 
When  she  came  to  the  King,  she  bowed  down  to  the  earth, 
over  against  him,  in  thanking  him  for  his  help,  and  brought 
him  to  the  castle,  to  delight  him  and  honor  him — as  she 
who  well  knew  how  to  do  it.  Every  one  looked  at  her,  even 
to  amazement,  and  the  King  himself  could  not  stop  looking 
at  her,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  in  the  world  never  was 
lady  who  was  so  much  to  be  loved  as  she.  So  they  went 
hand  in  hand  into  the  castle,  and  the  Lady  led  him  first 


28 


FOES  CLAVIGEIiA. 


into  the  great  hall,  and  then  into  her  own  chamber,  (what 
the  French  now  call  a  pouting-rooni,  but  the  ladies  of  that 
day  either  smiled  or  frowned,  but  did  not  pout,)  which  was 
nobly  furnished,  as  befitted  such  lady.  And  always  the 
King  looked  at  the  gentle  Lady,  so  hard  that  she  became 
all  ashamed.  When  he  had  looked  at  her  a  long  while,  he 
went  away  to  a  window,  to  lean  upon  it,  and  began  to  think 
deeply.  The  Lady  went  to  cheer  the  other  knights  and 
squires  ;  then  ordered  the  dinner  to  be  got  ready,  and  the 
room  to  be  dressed.  When  she  had  devised  all,  and  com- 
manded her  people  what  seemed  good  to  her,  she  returned 
with  a  gladsome  face  before  the  King," — in  whose  presence 
we  must  leave  her  vet  awhile,  havino-  other  matters  to  attend 
to. 

So  much  for  Wat  of  Harden's  life  then,  and  his  wife's. 
We  shall  get  a  little  faster  ou  with  the  genealogy  after  this 
fair  start. 

II.  Sir  William  Scott  of  Harden. 

Wat's  eldest  son  ;  distinguished  by  the  early  favor  of 
James  VL 

In  his  youth,  engaging  in  a  foray  on  the  lands  of  Sir 
Gideon  Murray  of  Elibank,  and  being  taken  prisoner,  Mur- 
ray offers  him  choice  between  being  hanged,  or  marrying  the 
plainest  of  his  daughters.  The  contract  of  marriage,  written 
on  the  parchment  of  a  drum,  is  still  in  possession  of  the 
family  of  Harden.* 

This  is  Lockhart's  reading  of  the  circumstances,  and  I 
give  his  own  statement  of  them  in  the  note  below.  But  his 
assumption  of  the  extreme  plainness  of  the  young  lady,  and 
of  the  absolute  worldly-mindedness  of  the  mother,  are  both 
examples  of  the  modern  manner  of  reading  traditions,  out 
of  which  some  amusemeift  may  be  gathered  by  looking  only 

*  i.  68.  ' '  The  indignant  laird  was  on  the  point  of  desiring  his  prisoner 
to  say  a  last  prayer,  when  his  more  considerate  dame  interposed  milder 
counsels,  suggesting  that  the  culprit  was  born  to  a  good  estate,  and 
that  they  had  three  unmarried  daughters.  Young  Harden,  it  is  said, 
not  without  hesitation,  agreed  to  save  his  life  by  taking  the  plainest  of 
the  three  off  their  hands." 


FORS  CLAVrOEUA. 


29 


at  them  on  the  grotesque  side,  and  interpreting  that  gro- 
tesqueness  ungenerously.  There  may,  indeed,  be  farther 
ground  than  Lockhart  has  thought  it  worth  while  to  state 
for  his  color  of  the  facts  ;  but  all  that  can  be  justly  gathered 
from  those  he  has  told  is  that,  Sir  Gideon  having  determined 
the  death  of  his  troublesome  neighbor.  Lady  Murray  inter- 
fered to  save  his  life  ;  and  could  not  more  forcibly  touch  her 
husband's  purpose  than  by  reminding  him  that  hostility 
might  be  better  ended  in  alliance  than  in  death. 

Tiie  sincere  and  careful  affection  which  Sir  William  of 
Harden  afterwards  shows  to  all  his  children  by  the  Maid  of 
Elibank,  and  his  naming  one  of  them  after  her  father,  induce 
me  still  farther  to  trust  in  the  fairer  reading  of  the  tradition. 
I  should,  indeed,  have  been  disposed  to  attach  some  weight, 
on  the  side  of  the  vulgar  story,  to  the  curiously  religious 
tendencies  in  Sir  William's  children,  which  seem  to  point  to 
some  condition  of  feeling  in  the  mother,  arisino:  out  of 
despised  life.  Women  are  made  nobly  religious  by  the 
possession  of  extreme  beauty,  and  morbidly  so  by  distressed 
consciousness  of  the  want  of  it  ;  but  there  is  no  reason  for 
insisting  on  this  probability,  since  both  the  Christian  and 
surname  of  Sir  Gideon  Murray  point  to  his  connection  with 
the  party  in  Scotland  whicli  was  at  this  time  made  strong  in 
battle  by  religious  faith,  and  melancholy  in  peace  by  religious 
passion. 

III.  Walter  Scott,  first  Laird  of  Raeburn  ;  third  son  of  Sir 
William  and  this  enforced  bride  of  Elibank.  They  had  four 
sons  altogether  ;  the  eldest,  William,  becomes  the  second 
Sir  William  of  Harden  ;  their  father  settled  the  lands  of 
Raeburn  upon  Walter ;  and  of  Highchester  on  his  second 
son,  Gideon,  named  after  the  rough  father-in-law,  of  Elibank. 

Now,  about  this  time  (1657),  George  Fox  comes  into 
Scotland,  boasting  that  as  he  first  set  his  feet  upon  Scot- 
tish ground  he  felt  the  seed  of  grace  to  sparkle  about  him 
like  innumerable  sparks  of  fire."  And  he  forthwith  succeeds 
in  making  Quakers  of  Gideon,  Walter,  and  Walter's  wife. 
This  is  too  much  for  Sir  William  of  Harden,  the  eldest  broth- 
er, who  not  only  remains  a  staunch  Jacobite,  but  obtains 


30 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


order  from  tlie  Privy  Council  of  Scotland  to  imprison  his 
brother  and  brother's  wife  ;  that  they  may  hold  no  further 
converse  with  Quakers,  and  also  to  ^'  separate  and  take  away 
their  children,  being  two  sons  and  a  daughter,  from  their 
family  and  education,  and  to  breed  them  in  some  convenient 
plac§."  Which  is  accordingly  done  ;  and  poor  Walter,  who 
had  found  pleasantly  conversible  Quakers  in  the  Tolbooth  of 
Edinburgh,  is  sent  to  Jedburgh,  with  strict  orders  to  the 
Jedburgh  magistrates  to  keep  Quakers  out  of  his  wa}^  The 
children  are  sent  to  an  orthodox  school  by  Sir  William  ;  and 
of  the  daughter  I  find  nothing  further;  but  the  two  sons 
both  became  good  scholars,  and  were  so  effectually  cured  of 
Quakerism,  that  the  elder  (I  don't  find  his  Christian  name), 
just  as  he  came  of  age,  was  killed  in  a  duel  with  Pringle  of 
Crichton,  fought  with  swords  in  a  field  near  Selkirk — ever 
since  called,  from  the  Raeburn's  death,  "the  Raeburn  mead- 
ow-spot ; " — and  the  younger,  Walter,  who  then  became 
"Tutor  of  Raeburn,"  guardian  to  his  infant  nephew, 
intrigued  in  the  cause  of  the  exiled  Stuarts  till  he  had  lost 
all  he  had  in  the  world — ran  a  narrow  risk  of  beinjr  hano^ed 
— was  saved  by  the  interference  of  Anne,  Duchess  of  Buc- 
cleugh — founded  a  Jacobite  club  in  Edinburgh,  in  which  the 
conversation  is  said  to  have  been  maintained  in  Latin — and 
wore  his  beard  undipped  to  his  dying  day,  vowing  no  razor 
should  pass  on  it  until  the  return  of  the  Stuarts,  whence  he 
held  his  border  name  of  "  Beardie." 

It  is  only  when  we  remember  how  often  this  history  must 
have  dwelt  on  Sir  Walter's  mind  that  we  can  understand  the 
tender  subtlety  of  design  with  which  he  has  completed,  even 
in  the  weary  time  of  his  declining  life,  the  almost  eventless 
story  of  Medgamitlet,  and  given,  as  we  shall  presently  see 
in  connection  with  it,  the  most  complete,  though  disguised, 
portion  of  his  own  biography. 

IV.  Beardie.  I  find  no  details  of  Beardie's  life  given  by 
Scott,  but  he  was  living  at  Leasudden  when  his  landlord, 
Scott  of  Harden,*  living  at  Mertoun  House,  addressed  to 

*  Eldest  son,  or  grandson,  of  Sir  William  Scott  of  Harden,  the 
second  in  our  genealogy. 


FORS  CLAVIGEJIA, 


31 


him  the  lines  given  in  the  note  to  the  introduction  to  the 
sixth  canto  of  Marmio?i,  in  which  Scott  himself  partly 
adopts  the  verses,  writing  from  Mertoun  House  to  Richard 
Heber. 

*'  For  course  of  blood  our  proverbs  dream, 
la  warmer  than  the  mountain  stream. 
And  thus  my  Christmas  still  I  hold 
Where  my  great-grandsire  came  of  old,* 
*  With  amber  beard  and  flaxen  hair, 
And  reverend  apostolic  air, 
The  feast  and  holytide  to  share, 
And  mix  sobriety  with  wine, 
And  honest  mirth  with  thoughts  divine.* 
Small  thought  was  his,  in  after-time. 
E'er  to  be  hitched  into  a  rhyme. 
The  simple  sire  could  only  boast 
That  he  was  loyal  to  his  cost. 
The  banished  race  of  kings  revered, 
And  lost  his  hand — but  kept  his  beard, — " 

"a  mark  of  attachment,"  Scott  adds  in  his  note,  "which  I 
suppose  had  been  common  during  Cromwell's  usurpation  ; 
for  in  Cowley's  Cutter  of  Coleman  Street  one  drunken  cava- 
lier upbraids  another  that  when  he  was  not  able  to  pay  a 
barber,  he  affected  to  Svear  a  beard  for  the  King.'" 

Observe,  here,  that  you  must  always  be  on  your  guard,  in 
reading  Scott's  notes  or  private  letters,  against  his  way  of 
kindly  laughing  at  what  he  honours  more  deeply  than  he 
likes  to  confess.  The  house  in  which  Beardie  died  was  still 
standing  wLen  Sir  Walter  wrote  his  autobiography,  (1808), 
at  the  north-east  entrance  of  the  churchyard  of  Kelso. 

He  left  three  sons.  Any  that  remain  of  the  family  of  the 
elder  are  long  since  settled  in  America  (male  heirs  extinct). 
James  Scptt,  well  known  in  India  as  one  of  the  original  set* 
tiers  of  Prince  of  Wales  Island^  was  a  son  of  the  youngest, 
who  died  at  Lasswade,  in  Midlothian  (first  mention  of  Scott's 
Lasswade). 

But  of  the  second  son,  Scott's  grandfather,  we  have  to 
learn  much. 


*  Came,  by  Invitation  from  bis  landlord,  Scott  of  Harden. 


32 


FORS  CLAVIGEEA. 


V.  Robert  Scott  of  Saiidv-Knowe,  second  son  of  Beardie. 
I  cannot  shorten  Scott's  own  account  of  the  circumstances 
which  determined  his  choice  of  life. 

"  My  grandfather  was  originally  bred  to  the  sea,  but  being 
shipwrecked  near  Dundee  in  his  trial  voyage,  he  took  such  a 
sincere  dislike  to  that  element,  that  he  could  not  be  per- 
suaded to  a  second  attempt.  This  occasioned  a  quarrel  be^ 
tween  him  and  his  fatlier,  who  left  him  to  shift  for  himselfo 
Tlobert  was  one  of  those  active  spirits  to  whom  this  was  no 
misfortune.  He  turned  Wiiig  upon  the  spot,  and  fairly  ab- 
jured his  father's  })olitics  and  his  learned  poverty.  His 
chief  and  relative,  Mr.  Scott  of  Harden,  gave  him  a  lease  of 
the  farm  of  Sandy-Knowe,  comprehending  the  rocks  in  the 
centre  of  which  Smailholm  or  Sandy-Knowe  Tower  is  situ- 
ated. He  took  for  his  shepherd  an  old  man  called  Hogg, 
who  willingly  lent  him,  out  of  respect  to  his  family,  his 
whole  savings,  about  £30,  to  stock  the  new  farm.  AVith 
this  sum,  which  it  seems  was  at  the  time  sufficient  for  the 
purpose,  the  master  and  servant  *  set  off  to  purchase  a  stock 
of  sheep  at  Whitsun-tryste,  a  fair  held  on  a  hill  near  Wooler, 
in  Northumberland.  The  old  shepherd  went  carefully  from 
drove  to  drove,  till  he  found  a  hirsel  likely  to  answer  their 
purpose,  and  then  returned  to  tell  his  master  to  come  up  and 
conclude  the  bargain.  But  what  was  his  surprise  to  see  him 
galloping  a  mettled  hunter  about  the  race-course,  and  to  find 
he  had  expended  the  whole  stock  in  this  extraordinary  pur- 
chase !  Moses'  bargain  of  green  spectacles  did  not  strike 
more  dismay  into  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield's  family  than  my 
grandfather's  rashness  into  the  poor  old  shepherd.  The 
thing,  however,  was  irretrievable,  and  they  returned  without 
the  sheep.  In  the  course  of  a  few  days,  however,  my  grand- 
father, who  was  one  of  the  best  horsemen  of  his  time,  at- 
tended John  Scott  of  Harden's  hounds  on  this  same  horse, 
and  displayed  him  to  such  advantage  that  he  sold  him  for 
double  the  original  price.  The  farm  was  now  stocked  in 
earnest,  and  the  rest  of  mv  ofrand father's  career  was  that  of 
successful  industry.  He  was  one  of  the  first  who  were  active 
*  Here,  you  see,  our  subject  beg-ius  to  purpose! 


FOnS  CLAVIGEIIA. 


Ml  the  cattle  trade,  afterwards  carried  to  such  an  extent  be- 
tween the  Highlands  of  Scotland  and  the  leading  counties 
in  England,  and  by  his  droving  transactions  acquired  a  con- 
siderable sum  of  money.  He  was  a  man  of  middle  stature, 
extremely  active,  quick,  keen,  and  fiery  in  his  temper,  stub- 
bornly honest,  and  so  distinguished  for  his  skill  in  country 
matters  that  he  was  the  general  referee  in  all  points  of  dis- 
pute which  occurred  in  the  neighbourhood.  His  birth  being 
admitted  as  gentle,  gave  liim  access  to  the  best  society  in 
the  county,  and  his  dexterity  in  country  sports,  particularly 
hunting,  made  him  an  acceptable  companion  in  the  field  as 
well  as  at  the  table." 

Thus,  then,  between  Auld  Wat  of  Harden,  and  Scott's 
grandfather,  we  have  four  generations,  numbering  approxi- 
mately a  hundred  and  fifty  years,  from  1580  to  1730,*  and 
in  that  time  we  have  the  great  change  in  national  manners 
from  stealing  cattle  to  breeding  and  selling  tiiem,  which 
at  first  might  seem  a  change  in  the  way  of  gradually  in- 
creasing" honesty.  But  observe  that  this  Jirst  cattle-dealer 
of  our  line  is  stubbornly  honest,"  a  quality  which  it  would 
be  unsafe  to  calculate  upon  in  any  dealer  of  our  own  days. 

Do  you  suppose,  then,  that  this  honesty  was  a  sudden  and 
momentary  virtue — a  lightning  fiash  of  probity  between  the 
two  darknesses  of  Auld  Wat's  tliievinof  and  modern  cozening:? 

Not  so.  ^  That  open  tiueving  had  iio  dishonesty  in  it 
whatsoever.  Far  tiic  contrary.  Of  all  conceivable  ways  of 
getting  a  living,  except  by  actual  digging  of  the  ground, 
this  is  precisely  the  honestest.  All  other  gentlemanly  pro- 
fessions but  this  have  a  taint  of  dishonesty  in  them.  Even 
the  best — the  physician's — involves  temptation  to  many 
forms  of  cozening.  How  many  second-rate  mediciners  have 
lived,  think  you,  on  prescriptions  of  bread  pills  and  r«se- 
coloured  water? — how  many,  even  of  leading  physicians,  owe 
all  their  success  to  skill  unaided  by  pretence?  Of  clergy- 
men, how  many  preach  wholly  Avhat  they  know  to  be  true 

*  I  efive  the  round  numbers  for  better  remembering'.    Wnt  of  Harden 
married  the  Flower  of  Ynrrow  in  15G7;  Robert  of  Sandy-Knowe  mar- 
ried Barbara  Haliburton  in  1728. 
Vol.  II.-  li 


Si 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


without  fear  of  their  congregations  ?  Of  lawyers,  of  authorSj 
of  painters,  what  need  we  speak  ?  These  all,  so  far  as  they 
try  to  please  the  mob  for  their  living,  are  true  cozeners,— 
unsound  in  the  very  heart's  core.  But  Wat  of  Harden, 
setting  iTjy  farm  on  fire,  and  driving  off  my  cattle,  is  no 
rogue.  An  enemy,  yes,  and  a  spoiler  ;  but  no  more  a  rogue 
than  the  rock  eagles.  And  Robert  the  first  cattle-dealer's 
honesty  is  directly  inherited  from  his  race,  and  notable  as  a 
virtue,  not  in  opposition  to  their  character,  but  to  ours.  For 
men  become  dishonest  by  occult  trade,  not  by  open  rapine. 

There  are,  nevertheless,  some  very  definite  faults  in  our 
pastoral  Robert  of  Sandy-Knowe,  which  Sir  Walter  himself 
inherits  and  recognizes  in  his  own  temper,  and  which  were 
in  him  severely  punished.  Of  the  rash  investment  of  the 
poor  shepherd's  fortune  we  shall  presently  hear  what  Sir 
Walter  thought.  Robert's  graver  fault,  the  turning  Whig 
to  displease  his  father,  is  especially  to  be  remembered  in 
connection  with  Sir  Walter's  frequent  warnings  against  the 
sacrifice  to  momentary  passion  of  what  ought  to  be  the  fixed 
principles  of  youth.  It  has  not  been  enough  noticed  that 
the  design  of  his  first  and  greatest  story  is  to  exhibit  and 
reprehend,  while  it  tenderly  indicates  the  many  grounds  for 
forgiving,  the  change  of  political  temper  under  circumstances 
of  personal  irritation. 

But  in  the  virtues  of  Robert  Scott,  far  outnumbering  his 
failings,  and  above  all  in  this  absolute  honesty  and  his  con- 
tentment in  the  joy  of  country  life,  all  the  noblest  roots  of 
his  grandson's  character  found  their  happy  hold. 

Note  every  syllable  of  the  description  of  him  given  in  the 
introduction  to  the  third  canto  of  Marmion  : 

*'  Still,  with  vain  fondness,  could  I  trace 
Anew  each  kind  familiar  face 
That  brightened  at  our  evening  fire ; 
From  the  thatched  mansion's  grey-haired  sire, 
Wise  without  learning,  plain,  and  good, 
And  sprung  of  Scotland's  gentler  blood ; 
WTiose  eye  in  age,  quick,  clear,  and  keen. 
Showed  what  in  youth  its  glance  had  beeni 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


35 


Whose  doom  discording  neighbours  sought. 
Content  with  equity  unbought, 
To  him,  the  venerable  priest, 
Our  frequent  and  familiar  guest. " 

Note,  I  say,  every  word  of  this.  The  faces  "  brightened 
at  the  evening  fire," — not  a  patent  stove;  fancy  the  difference 
in  effect  on  the  imagination,  in  the  dark  long  nights  of  a  Scot- 
tish winter,  between  the  flickering  shadows  of  firelight,  and 
utter  gloom  of  a  room  warmed  by  a  close  stove  ! 

"The  thatched  mansion's." — The  coolest  roof  in  summer, 
warmest  in  winter.  Amonsf  the  various  mischievous  thinors 
done  in  France,  apparently  by  the  orders  of  Napoleon  III., 
but  in  reality  by  the  foolish  nation  uttering  itself  through 
his  passive  voice,  (he  being  all  his  days  only  a  feeble  Pan's 
pipe,  or  Charon's  boatswain's  whistle,  instead  of  a  true  king,) 
the  substitution  of  tiles  for  thatch  on  the  cottages  of  Picardy 
was  one  of  the  most  barbarous.  It  was  to  prevent  fire,  for- 
sooth !  and  all  the  while  the  poor  peasants  could  not  afford 
candles,  except  to  drip  about  over  their  church  floors.  See 
above,  24,  31. 

"Wise  without  learning." — By  no  means  able,  this  border 
rider,  to  state  how  many  different  arrangements  may  ,be 
made  of  the  letters  in  the  word  Chillianwaliah.  He  contrived 
to  exist,  and  educate  his  grandson  to  come  to  something, 
without  that  information. 

"  Plain,  and  good." — Consider  the  value  there  is  in  tliat 
virtue  of  plainness — legibility,  shall  we  say  ? — in  the  letters 
of  character.  A  clear-printed  man,  readable  at  a  glance. 
There  are  such  things  as  illuminated  letters  of  character  also, 
—beautifully  unreadable  ;  but  this  legibility  in  the  head  of 
a  family  is  greatly  precious. 

"  And  sprung  of  Scotland's  gentler  blood." — I  am  not  sure 
if  this  is  merely  an  ordinary  expression  of  family  pride,  or 
whether,  which  I  rather  think,  Scott  means  to  mark  distinctly 
the  literal  gentleness  and  softening  of  cliaracter  in  his  grand- 
father, and  in  the  Lowland  Scottish  shepherd  of  his  day,  as 
opposed  to  the  still  fiery  temper  of  the  Highland  clans — the 
blood  being  equally  pure,  but  the  race  altogether  softer  and 


86  FORS  CLA  YIGERA,. 

more  Saxon.  Even  Auld  Wat  was  fair-haired,  and  Beardie 
has  "  amber  beard  and  flaxen  hair." 

Whose  doom  discording"  neighbours  sought, 
Content  with  equity  uubought." — 

Here  you  have  the  exactly  right  and  wise  condition  of  the 
legal  profession. 

All  good  judging,  and  all  good  preacliing,  must  be  given 
gratis.  Look  back  to  what  I  have  incidentally  said  of  lawyers 
and  clergy,  as  professional — that  is  to  say,  as  living  by  their 
judgment,  and  sermons.  You  will  perhaps  now  be  able  to 
receive  my  conclusive  statement,  that  all  such  professional 
sale  of  justice  and  mercy  is  a  deadly  sin.  A  man  may  sell 
the  work  of  his  hands,  but  not  his  equity,  nor  his  piety.  Let 
him  live  by  his  spade  ;  and  if  his  neighbours  find  him  wise 
enough  to  decide  a  dispute  between  them,  or  if  he  is  in 
modesty  and  simplicity  able  to  give  them  a  piece  of  pious 
advice,  let  him  do  so,  in  Heaven's  name,  but  not  take  a  fee 
for  it. 

Finally,  Robert  Scott  is  a  cattle-dealer,  yet  a  gentleman, 
giving  us  the  exact  balance  of  right  between  the  pride  which 
refuses  a  simple  employment,  and  the  baseness  which  makes 
that  simple  employment  disgraceful,  because  dishonest.  Being 
wholly  upright,  he  can  sell  cattle,  yet  not  disgrace  his  lineage. 
We  shall  return  presently  to  his  house  ;  but  must  first  com- 
plete, so  as  to  get  our  range  of  view  within  due  limits,  the 
sketch  of  the  entire  ancestral  line. 

VI.  Walter  Scott,  of  George's  Square,  Edinburgh,  Scott's 
father,  born  1729. 

He  was  the  eldest  son  of  Robert  of  Sandy-Knowe,  and  had 
three  brothers  and  a  sister,  namely.  Captain  Robert  Scott,  in 
East  India  Service  ;  Thomas  Scott,  cattle-dealer,  following 
his  father's  business  ;  a  younger  brother  who  died  early, 
(also)  in  East  India  Service  ;  and  the  sister  Janet,  whose  part 
in  Scott's  education  was  no  less  constant,  and  perhaps  more 
influential,  than  even  his  mother's.  Scott's  regard  for  one  of 
his  Indian  uncles,  and  his  regret  for  the  other's  death,  are 
both  traceable  in  the  development  of  the  character  of  Colonel 


FOliS  CLAVIQEBA. 


37 


Mannering  ;  but  of  his  uncle  Thomas,  and  his  aunt  Jessie, 
there  is  much  more  to  be  learned  and  thought  on. 

The  cattle-dealer  followed  his  fathers  business  prosper- 
ously ;  was  twice  married — first  to  Miss  Raeburn,  and  then 
to  Miss  Rutherford  of  Knowsouth — and  retired,  in  his  old 
age,  upon  a  handsome  independence.  Lockhart,  visiting 
him  with  Sir  Walter,  two  years  before  the  old  man's  death, 
(he  being  then  eighty-eight  years  old,)  thus  describes  him  : 

"  I  thought  him  about  the  most  venerable  figure  I  had 
ever  set  my  eyes  on, — tall  and  erect,  with  long  flowing  tresses 
of  the  most  silvery  whiteness,  and  stockings  rolled  up  over 
his  knees,  after  the  fashion  of  three  generations  back.  He 
sat  reading  his  Bible  without  spectacles,  and  did  not,  for  a 
moment,  perceive  that  any  one  had  entered  his  room  ;  but  on 
recognizing  his  nephew  he  rose  with  cordial  alacrity,  kissing 
him  on  both  cheeks,  and  exclaiming,  *  God  bless  thee,  Walter, 
my  man  ;  thou  hast  risen  to  be  great,  but  thou  wast  always 
good.'  His  remarks  were  lively  and  sagacious,  and  delivered 
with  a  touch  of  that  humour  which  seems  to  have  been  shared 
by  most  of  the  family.  He  had  the  air  and  manners  of  an 
ancient  gentleman,  and  must  in  his  day  have  been  eminently 
handsome."  * 

Next  read  Sir  Walter  Scott's  entry  made  in  his  copy  of 
the  Haliburton  Memorials  : — 

"  The  said  Thomas  Scott  died  at  Monklaw,  near  Jedburgli, 
at  two  of  the  clock,  27tli  Januarv,  18'-23,  in  the  90th  vear  of 
his  life,  and  fully  possessed  of  all  his  faculties.  He  read  till 
nearly  the  year  before  his  death  ;  and  being  a  great  musician 
on  the  Scotch  pipes,  had,  when  on  his  deathbed,  a  favourite 
tune  played  over  to  him  by  his  son  James,  that  he  might  be 
sure  he  left  him  in  full  possession  of  it.  After  hearing  it,  he 
hummed  it  over  himself,  and  corrected  it  in  several  of  the 
notes.  The  air  was  that  called  *  Sour  Plums  in  Galashiels.* 
When  barks  and  other  tonics  were  given  him  during  his  last 
illness,  he  privately  spat  them  into  his  handkerchief,  saying, 
as  he  had  lived  all  his  life  without  taking  doctors'  drugs,  he 
wished  to  die  without  doing  so." 

No  occasion  whatever  for  deathbed  repentances,  you  per- 


eS8 


FOliS  CLAVIGERA. 


ceive,  on  the  part  of  this  old  gentleman  ;  no  particular  care 
even  for  the  disposition  of  his  handsome  independence  ;  but 
here  is  a  bequest  of  which  one  must  see  one's  son  in  full  pos- 
session— here  is  a  thing  to  be  well  looked  after,  before  setting 
out  for  heaven,  that  the  tune  of  "  Sour  Plums  in  Galashiels" 
may  still  be  played  on  earth  in  an  incorrupt  manner,  and  no 
damnable  French  or  English  variations  intruded  upon  the 
solemn  and  authentic  melody  thereof.  His  views  on  the  sub« 
ject  of  Materia  Medica  are  also  greatly  to  be  respected. 

"  I  saw  more  than  once,"  Lockhart  goes  on,  "  this  respect- 
able man's  sister  (Scott's  aunt  Janet),  who  had  married  her 
cousin  Walter,  Laird  of  Raeburn,  thus  adding  a  new  link  to 
the  closeness  of  the  family  connection.  She  also  must  have 
been,  in  her  youth,  remarkable  for  personal  attractions  ;  as  it 
was,  she  dwells  on  my  memory  as  the  perfect  picture  of  an 
old  Scotch  lady,  with  a  great  deal  of  simple  dignity  in  her 
bearing,  but  with  the  softest  eye  and  the  sweetest  voice,  and 
a  charm  of  meekness  and  gentleness  about  every  look  and 
expression.  She  spoke  her  native  language  pure  and  undi- 
luted, but  without  the  slightest  tincture  of  that  vulgarity 
which  now  seems  almost  unavoidable  in  the  oral  use  of  a  dia- 
lect so  long  banished  from  courts,  and  which  has  not  been 
avoided  by  any  modern  writer  who  has  ventured  to  intro- 
duce it,  with  the  exception  of  Scott,  and  I  may  add,  speaking 
generally,  of  Burns.  Lady  Raeburn,  as  she  was  universally 
styled,  may  be  numbered  with  those  friends  of  early  days 
whom  her  nephew  has  alluded  to  in  one  of  his  prefaces  as 
preserving  what  we  may  fancy  to  have  been  the  old  Scotch 
of  Holyrood." 

To  this  aunt,  to  his  grandmother,  his  mother,  and  to  the 
noble  and  most  wise  Rector  of  the  High  School  of  Edin- 
burgh, Dr.  Adam,  Scott  owed  the  essential  part  of  his  "  edu- 
cation," which  beofan  in  this  manner.  At  ei^^hteen  months 
old  his  lameness  came  on,  from  sudden  cold,  bad  air,  and 
other  such  causes.  His  mother's  father.  Dr.  Rutherford, 
advised  sending  him  to  the  country;  he  is  sent  to  his  grand- 
father's at  Sandy-Knowe,  where  he  first  becomes  conscious 
of  life,  and  where  his  grandmother  and  Aunt  Janet  beauti- 


FORS  CLAYIGERA. 


39 


fully  instruct,  but  partly  spoil  him.  When  he  is  eight  years 
old,  he  returns  to,  and  remains  in,  his  father's  house  at 
George's  Square.    And  now  note  the  following  sentence: — 

"  I  felt  the  change  from  being  a  single  indulged  brat,  to 
becoming  a  member  of  a  large  family,  rery  severely  ;  for 
under  the  gentle  government  of  my  kind  grandmother,  who 
was  meekness  itself,  and  of  my  aunt,  who,  though  of  a  high- 
er temper,  was  exceedingly  attached  to  me,  1  had  acquired  a 
degree  of  license  which  could  not  be  permitted  in  a  large 
family.  I  had  sense  enough,  however,  to  bend  my  temper 
to  my  new  circumstances  ;  but  such  was  the  agony  which  I 
internally  experienced,  that  I  have  guarded  against  nothing 
more,  in  the  education  of  my  own  family,  than  against  their 
acquiring  habits  of  self-willed  caprice  and  domination." 

The  indulgence,  however,  no  less  than  the  subsequent  dis- 
cipline, had  been  indeed  altogether  wholesome  for  the  boy, 
he  being  of  the  noble  temper  which  is  the  better  for  hav- 
ing its  way.  The  essential  virtue  of  the  training  he  had  in 
his  grandfather's  and  father's  house,  and  his  aunt  Jessie's  at 
Kelso,  I  will  trace  further  in  next  letter. 


LETTER  XXXII. 

I  DO  not  know  how  far  I  shall  be  able  in  this  letter  to  carry 
you  forward  in  the  story  of  Scott's  life  ;  let  me  first,  there- 
fore, map  its  divisions  clearly  ;  for  then,  wherever  we  have 
to  stop,  we  can  return  to  our  point  in  fit  time. 

First,  note  these  three  great  divisions — essentially  those 
of  all  men's  lives,  but  singularly  separate  in  his, — the  days 
of  youth,  of  labour,  and  of  death. 

Youth  is  properly  the  forming  time — that  in  which  a  man 
makes  himself,  or  is  made,  what  he  is  for  ever  to  he.  Then 
comes  the  time  of  labour,  when,  having  become  the  best  he 
can  be,  he  does  the  best  he  can  do.  Then  the  time  of  death, 
which,  in  happy  lives,  is  very  short  :  but  always  a  time. 
The  ceasing  to  breathe  is  only  the  end  of  death. 


40 


FOnS  OLA  via  ERA. 


Scott  records  the  beginning  of  his  own  in  tlie  following 
entry  in  his  diary,  which  reviews  the  life  then  virtually 
ended: — 

December  ISth,  1825.* — What  a  life  mine  has  been  ! — 
half  educated,  almost  wholly  neglected,  or  left  to  myself  ; 
stuffing  my  head  with  most  nonsensical  trash,  and  under-i 
valued  by  most  of  my  companions  for  a  time  ;  getting  for- 
ward, and  held  a  bold,  clever  fellow,  contrary  to  the  opinion 
of  all  who  thought  me  a  mere  dreamer;  broken-hearted  for 
two  years  ;  my  heart  handsomely  pieced  again,  but  the  crack 
will  remain  till  my  dying  day.  Rich  and  poor  four  or  five 
times  :  once  on  the  verge  of  ruin,  yet  opened  a  new  source 
of  wealth  almost  overflowing.  Now  to  be  broken  in  my 
pitch  of  pride,  f    .    .  . 

"  Nobody  in  the  end  can  lose  a  penny  by  me  ;  tliat  is  one 
comfort.  Men  will  think  pride  has  had  a  fall.  Let  them  in- 
dulge in  their  own  pride  in  thinking  that  my  fall  will  make 
them  higher,  or  seem  so  at  least.  I  have  the  satisfaction  to 
recollect  that  my  prosperity  has  been  of  advantage  to  many, 
and  to  hope  that  some  at  least  will  forgive  my  transient 
wealth  on  account  of  the  innocence  of  my  intentions,  and 
my  real  wish  to  do  good  to  the  poor.  Sad  hearts,  too,  at 
Darnick,  and  in  the  cottages  of  Abbotsford.  I  have  half 
resolved  never  to  see  the  place  again.  How  could  1  tread 
my  hall  with  such  a  diminished  crest  ? — how  live  a  poor,  in- 
debted man,  where  I  was  once  the  wealthy,  the  honoured  ? 
I  was  to  have  gone  there  on  Saturday,  in  joy  and  prosperity, 
to  receive  my  friends.  My  dogs  will  wait  for  me  in  vain. 
It  is  foolish,  but  the  thoughts  of  parting  from  these  dumb 
creatures  have  moved  me  more  than  any  of  the  painful  reflec- 
tions I  have  put  down.  Poor  things,  I  must  get  them  kind 
masters  !  There  mav  be  vet  those  who,  lovinof  me,  may  love 
my  dog  because  it  has  been  mine.  I  must  end  these  gloomy 
forebodinofs,  or  I  shall  lose  the  tone  of  mind  with  which  men 
should  meet  distress.  I  feel  my  dogs'  feet  on  my  knees  ;  I 
hear  them  whining,  and  seeking  me  everywhere." 

He  was  fifty-four  on  the  loth  August  of  that  year,  and 
spoke  his  last  words — "  God  bless  you  all," — on  the  21st 
September,  1832;  so  ending  seven  years  of  death. 

*  Vol.  vi.,  p.  164. 

f  Portion  omitted  short,  and  of  no  moment  just  now.  I  shall  refei 
to  it  afterwards. 


FOUS  CLAVIGERA. 


His  youth,  like  the  youth  of  all  the  greatest  men,  had  been 
long,  and  rich  in  peace,  and  altogether  accumulative  and 
crescent.  I  count  it  to  end  with  that  pain  which  you  see  he 
remembers  to  his  dying  day,  given  him  by — Lilias  Red- 
gauntlet,  in  October,  1796.  Whereon  he  sets  himself  to  his 
work,  which  goes  on  nobly  for  thirty  years,  lapping  over  a 
little  into  the  death-time*  [Woodstock  showing  scarcely  a 
trace  of  diminution  of  power). 

Count,  therefore,  thus: — 

Youth,  twenty-five  years  .  .  1771 — 1796. 
Labour-time,  thirty  years  .  .  1796 — 1826. 
Death-time,  seven  years        .       .        1825 — 1832. 

The  great  period  of  mid-life  is  again  divided  exactly  in 
the  midst  by  the  change  of  temper  which  made  him  accurate 
instead  of  fantastic  in  delineation,  and  therefore  habitually 
write  in  prose  rather  than  verse.  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  is 
his  last  poem,  (1810).  Mokeby^  (1812)  is  a  versified  novel  ; 
the  Lord  of  the  Lsles  is  not  so  much.  The  steady  legal  and 
historical  work  of  1810 — 1814,  issuing  in  the  Essay  on 
Scottish  Judicature^  and  the  Life  of  Swift^  with  prepara- 
tion for  his  long-cherished  purpose  of  an  edition  and  Life 
of  Pope^\  ("the  true  deacon  of  the  craft,"  as  Scott  often 
called  him,)  confirmed,  while  they  restrained  and  chastised, 
his  imaginative  power  ;  and  Waverley,  (begun  in  1805)  was 
completed  in  1814.  The  apparently  unproductive  year  of 
accurate  study,  1811,  divides  the  thirty  years  of  mid-life  in 
the  precise  centre,  giving  fifteen  to  song,  and  fifteen  to  his- 
tory. 

You  may  be  surprised  at  my  speaking  of  the  novels  as 
history.  But  Scott's  final  estimate  of  his  own  work,  given 
in  1830,  is  a  perfectly  sincere  and  perfectly  just  one  ;  (re- 
ceived, of  course,  with  the  allowance  I  have  warned  you  al- 

*  The  actual  toil  gone  throngh  by  him  is  far  greater  during  the  last 
years  than  before — in  fact  it  is  unceasing  and  mortal  ;  but  I  count  only 
as  the  true  labour-time  that  which  is  healthy  and  fruitful. 

t  If  my  own  life  is  spared  a  little  longer,  I  can  at  least  rescue  Pope 
from  the  hands  of  his  present  scavenger  biographer;  but  alas,  for 
Scott's  loving  hand  and  noble  thought,  lost  to  him  I 


42 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


ways  to  make  for  his  manner  of  reserve  in  expressing  deep 
feelings).  He  replied  *  tliat  in  what  he  had  done  for 
Scotland  as  a  writer,  he  was  no  more  entitled  to  the  merit 
which  had  been  ascribed  to  him  than  the  servant  who  scours 
the  brasses  to  the  credit  of  having  made  them  ;  that  he  had 
perhaps  been  a  good  housemaid  to  Scotland,  and  given  the 
country  a  'rubbing  up;'  and  in  so  doing  might  have  de- 
served some  praise  for  assiduity,  and  that  was  all."  Dis- 
tinguish, however,  yourselves,  and  remember  that  Scott 
always  tacitly  distinguishes,  between  the  industry  which 
deserves  praise,  and  the  love  which  disdains  it.  You  do  not 
praise  Old  Mortality  for  his  love  to  his  people  ;  you  praise 
him  for  his  patience  over  a  bit  of  moss  in  a  troublesome 
corner.  Scott  is  the  Old  Mortality,  not  of  tables  of  stone, 
but  of  the  fleshly  tables  of  the  heart. 

We  address  ourselves  to-day,  then,  to  begin  the  analy- 
sis of  the  influences  upon  him  during  the  first  period  of 
twenty-five  years,  during  which  he  built  and  filled  the  treas- 
ure-house of  his  own  heart.  But  this  time  of  youth  I  must 
again  map  out  in  minor  detail,  that  we  may  grasp  it  clearly. 

1.  From  birth  to  three  years  old.  In  Edinburgh,  a  sickly 
child;  permanent  lameness  contracted,  1771 — 1774. 

2.  Three  years  old  to  four.  Recovers  health  at  Sandy- 
Knowe.    The  dawn  of  conscious  life,  1774 — 1775. 

3.  Four  years  old  to  five.  At  Bath,  with  his  aunt,  pass- 
ing through  London  on  the  way  to  it.  Learns  to  read,  and 
much  besides,  1775—1776. 

4.  Five  years  old  to  eight.  At  Sandy-Knowe.  Pastoral 
life  in  its  perfectness  forming  his  character  :  (an  important 
though  short  interval  at  Prestonpans  begins  his  interest  in 
seashore),  1776—1779. 

5.  Eight  years  old  to  twelve.  School  life,  under  the  Rec- 
tor Adams,  at  High  School  of  Edinburgh,  with  his  aunt  Janet 
to  receive  him  at  Kelso,  1779—1783. 

6.  Twelve  years  old  to  fifteen.  College  life,  broken  by  ill- 
ness, his  uncle  Robert  taking  good  care  of  him  at  Rosebank, 
1783—1786. 

♦  To  the  speech  of  Mr.  Baillie  of  Jerviswoode ;  vol.  vii.,  p.  321. 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


43 


7.  Fifteen  to  twenty-five.  Apprenticeship  to  his  father, 
and  law  practice  entered  on.  Study  of  human  life,  and  of 
various  literature  in  Edinburgh.  His  first  fee  of  any  im- 
portance expended  on  a  silver  taper-stand  for  his  mother. 
1786—1796. 

You  have  thus  *  seven  ages  '  of  his  youth  to  examine,  one 
by  one  ;  and  this  convenient  number  really  comes  out  with- 
out the  least  forcing  ;  for  the  virtual,  though  not  formal,  ap- 
prenticeship to  his  father — happiest  of  states  for  a  good  son 
—continues  through  all  the  time  of  his  legal  practice.  I 
only  feel  a  little  compunction  at  crowding  the  Prestonpans 
time  together  with  the  second  Sandy-Knowe  time  ;  but  the 
former  is  too  short  to  be  made  a  period,  though  of  infinite 
importance  to  Scott's  life.  Hear  how  he  writes  of  it,*  re- 
visiting the  place  fifty  3^ears  afterwards  : 

"  I  knew  the  house  of  Mr.  Warroch,  where  we  lived,"  (see 
where  the  name  of  the  Point  of  Warroch  in  Guy  Mariner- 
ing  comes  from  !)  "  I  recollected  my  juvenile  ideas  of  dig- 
nity attendant  on  the  large  gate,  a  black  arch  which  lets  out 
upon  the  sea.  I  saw  the  Links  where  I  arranged  my  shells 
upon  the  turf,  and  swam  my  little  skiff  in  the  pools.  Many 
recollections  of  my  kind  aunt — of  old  George  Constable — of 
Dalgetty  "  (you  know  that  name  also,  don't  you?),  "  a  virt- 
uous half-pay  lieutenant,  who  swaggered  his  solitary  walk 
on  the  parade,  as  he  called  a  little  open  space  before  the 
same  port."  (Before  the  black  arch,  Scott  means,  not  the 
harbour.)  And  he  falls  in  love  also  there,  first — as  chil- 
dren love." 

And  now  we  can  begin  to  count  the  rosary  of  his  youth, 
bead  by  bead, 

1st  period — From  birth  to  three  years  old. 

I  have  hitherto  said  nothing  to  you  of  his  father  or  mother, 
nor  shall  I  yet,  except  to  bid  you  observe  that  they  had  been 
thirteen  years  married  when  Scott  was  born  ;  and  that  his 
mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  physician,  Dr.  Rutherford, 
who  had  been  educated  under  Boerhaave.  This  fact  might 
be  carelessly  passed  by  you  in  reading  Lockhart  ;  but  if  you 

♦  Vol.vii.,p.  218. 


44 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


will  take  the  pains  to  look  through  Johnson's  life  of  Boer- 
haave,  you  will  see  how  perfectly  pure  and  beautiful  and 
strong  every  influence  was,  which,  from  whatever  distance, 
touched  the  early  life  of  Scott.  1  quote  a  sentence  or  two 
from  Johnson's  closing  account  of  Dr.  Rutherford's  master  : — 

There  was  in  his  air  and  motion  something  rough  and 
artless,  but  so  majestic  and  great  at  the  same  time,  that  no 
man  ever  looked  upon  him  without  veneration,  and  a  kind  of 
tacit  submission  to  the  superiority  of  his  genius.  The  vigour 
and  activity  of  his  mind  sparkled  visibly  in  his  eyes,  nor  was 
it  ever  observed  that  any  change  of  his  fortune,  or  altera- 
tion in  his  affairs,  whether  happy  or  unfortunate,  affected 
his  countenance. 

"  His  greatest  pleasure  was  to  retire  to  his  house  in  the 
country,  where  he  had  a  garden  stored  with  all  the  herbs 
and  trees  which  the  climate  would  bear  ;  here  he  used  to 
enjoy  his  hours  unmolested,  and  prosecute  his  studies  with- 
out interruption.'*  * 

The  school  of  medicine  in  Edinburgh  owed  its  rise  to  this 
man,  add  it  was  by  his  pupil  Dr.  Rutherford's  advice,  as  we 
saw,  that  the  infant  Walter's  life  was  saved.  His  mother 
could  not  nurse  him,  and  his  first  nurse  had  consumption. 

*  Not  to  break  awaj  from  my  text  too  long,  I  add  one  or  two  far- 
ther points  worth  notice,  here  : — 

*'Boerhaave  lost  none  of  his  hours,  but  when  he  had  attained  one 
science  attempted  another.  He  added  physick  to  divinity,  chemistry 
to  the  mathematicks,  and  anatomy  to  botany. 

He  knew  the  importance  of  his  own  writings  to  mankind,  and  lest 
he  might,  by  a  roughness  and  barbarity  of  style  too  frequent  among 
men  of  great  learning,  disappoint  his  own  intentions,  and  make  his 
labours  less  useful,  he  did  not  neglect  the  politer  arts  of  eloquence 
and  poetry.  Thus  was  his  learning  at  once  various  and  exact,  profound 
and  agreeable. 

But  his  knowledge,  however  uncommon,  holds  in  his  character  but 
the  second  place  ;  his  virtue  was  yet  much  more  uncommon  than  his 
learning. 

"  Being  once  asked  by  a  friend,  who  had  often  admired  his  patience 
under  great  provocations,  whetber  he  knew  what  it  was  to  be  angry 
and  by  what  means  he  had  so  entirely  suppressed  that  impetuous  and 
ungovernable  passion,  he  answered,  with  the  utmost  frankness  and  sin- 
cerity, that  he  was  naturally  quick  of  resentment,  but  that  he  had,  by 
daily  prayer  and  meditation,  at  length  attained  to  this  mastery  over 
himself.  » 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


45 


To  this,  and  the  close  air  of  the  wynd,  must  be  attributed 
the  strength  of  the  childish  fever  which  took  away  the  use 
of  the  right  limb  when  he  was  eighteen  months  old.  How 
many  of  your  own  children  die,  think  you,  or  are  wasted 
with  sickness,  from  the  same  causes,  in  our  increasing 
cities  ?  Scott's  lameness,  however,  we  shall  find,  was,  in  the 
end,  like  every  other  condition  of  his  appointed  existence, 
helpful  to  him. 

A  letter  from  my  dear  friend.  Dr.  John  Brown,*  corrects 
(to  my  great  delight)  a  mistake  about  George's  Square  I 
made  in  my  last  letter.  It  is  not  in  the  New  Town,  but  in 
what  was  then  a  meadow  district,  sloping  to  the  south  from 
old  Edinburgh  ;  and  the  air  of  it  would  be  almost  as  healthy 
for  the  child  as  that  of  the  open  country.  But  the  change 
to  George's  Square,  thouiarh  it  checked  the  illness,  did  not 
restore  the  use  of  the  limb  ;  the  bov  wanted  exercise  as  well 
as  air,  and  Dr.  Rutherford  sent  him  to  his  other  grandfather's 
farm. 

II.  1774—1775.  The  first  year  at  Sandy-Knowe.  In  this 
year,  note  first  his  new  nurse.  The  child  had  a  maid  sent 
with  him  to  prevent  his  being  an  inconvenience  to  the  family. 
This  maid  had  left  her  heart  behind  her  in  Edinburgh  (ill 
trusted),f  and  went  mad  in  the  solitude  ; — "  tempted  by  the 
devil,"  she  told  Alison  Wilson,  the  liousekeeper,  "to  kill  the 
child  and  bury  it  in  the  moss.'' 

"  Alison  instantly  took  possession  of  my  person,"  says 
Scott.  And  there  is  no  more  said  of  Alison  in  the  auto- 
biography. 

But  what  the  old  larin-housekeeper  must  have  been  to  the 
child,  is  told  in  the  most  finished  piece  of  all  the  beautiful 
story  of  Old  Mortality,  Among  his  many  beautifully  in* 
vented  names,  here  is  one  not  invented — very  dear  to  him. 

'  I  wish  to  speak  an  instant  with  one  Alison  Wilson,  who 
resides  here,'  said  Henry. 

*  She's  no  at  hame  the  day,'  answered  Mrs.  Wilson  in 
propria  persona — the  state  of  whose  headdress  perhaps  in- 
spired her  with  this  direct  mode  of  denying  herself — 'and 

^  See  terminal  notes.  f  Autobiography,  p.  15. 


46 


F0R8  CLAVIOERA. 


ye  are  but  a  mislear'd  person  to  speer  for  her  in  sic  a  manner. 
Ye  might  have  had  an  M  under  your  belt  for  Mistress  Wilson 
of  Milnwood.' "  Read  on,  if  you  forget  it,  to  the  end,  that 
third  chapter  of  the  last  vohime  of  Old  Mortality.  The 
story  of  such  return  to  the  home  of  childhood  has  been  told 
often;  but  never,  so  far  as  I  have  knowledge,  so  exquisitely. 
I  do  not  doubt  that  Elphin's  name  is  from  Sandy-Knowe 
also;  but  cannot  trace  it. 

Secondly,  note  his  grandfathers'  medical  treatment  of 
him;  for  both  his  grandfathers  were  physicians, — Dr.  Ruth- 
erford, as  we  have  seen,  so  professed,  by  whose  advice  he  is 
sent  to  Sandy-Knowe.  There,  his  cattle-dealing  grandfather, 
true  physician  by  diploma  of  Nature,  orders  him,  whenever 
the  day  is  fine,  to  be  carried  out  and  laid  down  beside  the 
old  shepherd  among  the  crags  or  rocks  around  which  he  fed 
his  sheep.  "The  impatience  of  a  child  soon  inclined  me  to 
struggle  with  my  infirmity,  and  I  began  by  degrees  to  stand, 
to  walk,  and  to  run.  Although  the  limb  affected  was  much 
shrunk  and  contracted,  my  general  health,  which  was  of 
more  importance,  was  much  strengthened  by  being  fre- 
quently in  the  open  air;  and,  in  a  word,  I,  loho  in  a  city  had 
probably  been  coyidemned  to  hopeless  and  helpless  decrepitude^ 
(italics  mine,)  was  now  a  healthy,  high-spirited,  and,  my 
lameness  apart,  a  sturdy  child, — non  sine  dis  animosus  in- 
fans." 

This,  then,  is  the  beginning  of  Scott's  conscious  existence, 
— laid  down  beside  the  old  shepherd,  among  the  rocks,  and 
among  the  sheep.  "  He  delighted  to  roll  about  in  the  grass 
all  day  long  in  the  midst  of  the  flock,  and  the  sort  of  fellow- 
siiip  he  formed  with  the  sheep  and  lambs  impressed  his  mind 
with  a  decree  of  affectionate  feelino-  towards  them  which 
lasted  throughout  life."  * 

Such  cradle,  and  such  companionship,  Heaven  gives  its 
favourite  children. 

In  1837,  two  of  the  then  maid-servants  of  Sandy-Knowe 
were  still  living  in  its  neighbourhood  ;  one  of  them,  "  Tibby 

*His  own  words  to,  Mr.  Skene  of  Rubislaw,  vol.  1,  p.  88,  spoken  while 
Turner  v/as  sketching  Smailhclm  Tower,  vol.  vii. ,  p.  302« 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


47 


Hunter,  remembered  the  child  Scott's  coming,  well.  The 
young  ewe-milkers  delighted,  she  says,  to  carry  him  about 
on  their  backs  among  the  crags  ;  and  he  was  *  very  gleg 
(quick)  at  the  uptak,  and  soon  kenned  every  sheep  and  lamb 
by  head-mark  as  well  as  any  of  them.'  His  great  pleasure, 
however,  was  in  the  society  of  the  *  aged  hind'  recorded  in 
the  epistle  to  Erskine.  *  Auld  Sandy  Ormistoun,'  called, 
from  the  most  dignified  part  of  his  function,  *the  cow-bailie,' 
had  the  chief  superintendence  of  the  flocks  that  browsed 
upon  'the  velvet  tufts  of  loveliest  green.'  \i  the  child  saw 
him  in  the  morning,  he  could  not  be  satisfied  unless  the  old 
man  would  set  him  astride  on  his  shoulder,  and  take  him  to 
keep  him  company,  as  he  lay  watching  his  charge. 

The  cow-bailie  blew  a  particular  note  on  his  whistle 
which  signified  to  the  maid-servants  in  the  house  below 
when  the  little  boy  wished  to  be  carried  home  again." 

"  Every  sheep  and  lamb  by  head-mark  ;  " — that  is  our  first 
lesson;  not  an  easy  one,  you  will  find  it,  if  you  try  the  flock 
of  such  a  farm.  Only  yesterday  (I2th  July,  1873,)  I  saw  the 
dairy  of  one  half  filled  witli  the  '  berry-bread'  (large  flat-baked 
cakes  enclosing  layers  of  gooseberries)  prepared  by  its  mis- 
tress for  her  shearers  ; — the  flock  being  some  six  or  seven 
hundred,  on  Coniston  Fells. 

That  is  our  first  lesson,  then,  very  utterly  learned  'by 
heart.'  This  is  our  second,  (marginal  note  on  Sir  Walter's 
copy  of  Allan  Ramsay's  Tea-tahle  Miscellany^  ed.  1724): 
"This  book  belonged  to  my  grandfather,  Robert  Scott,  and 
out  of  it  I  was  taught  '  Hardiknute  *  by  heart  before  I  could 
read  the  ballad  myself.  It  was  the  first  poem  I  ever  learnt, 
the  last  I  shall  ever  forget."  *  He  repeated  a  great  part  of 
it,  in  the  forests  of  La  Cava,  in  -the  spring  of  the  year  in 

^  The  Ballad  of  Hardiknute  is  only  a  fragment — but  one  consisting 
of  forty-two  stanzas  of  eight  lines  each.  It  is  the  only  heroic  poem  in 
the  MisceUany  of  which— and  of  the  poem  itself — more  hereafter.  The 
first  four  lines  are  ominous  of  Scott's  own  life  ;  — 

Stately  stept  he  East  the  wa', 

And  stately  stept  he  West ; 
Full  seventy  years  he  now  had  seen, 

With  scarce  seven  years  of  rest." 


48 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


which  he  died ;  and  above  the  lake  Avernus,  a  piece  of  the 
sons:  of  the  ewe-milkers  : — 

•*  Up  the  craggy  mountain,  and  down  the  mossy  glen, 
We  canna'  go  a-milking,  for  Charlie  and  his  men." 

These  I  say,  then,  are  to  be  your  first  lessons.  The  love, 
and  care,  of  simplest  living  creatures  ;  and  the  remembrance 
and  honour  of  the  dead,  with  the  workmanship  for  them  oi 
fair  tombs  of  song. 

The  Border  district  of  Scotland  was  at  this  time,  of  all 
districts  of  the  inhabited  world,  pre-eminently  the  singing 
country, — that  which  most  naturally  expressed  its  noble 
thoughts  and  passions  in  song. 

The  easily  traceable  reasons  for  this  character  are,  I  think, 
the  following  ;  (many  exist,  of  course,  untraceably). 

First,  distinctly  pastoral  life,  giving  the  kind  of  leisure 
which,  in  all  ages  and  countries,  solaces  itself  with  simple 
music,  if  other  circumstances  are  favourable, — that  is  to 
say,  if  the  summer  air  is  mild  enough  to  allow  repose, 
and  the  race  has  imagination  enough  to  give  motive  to 
verse. 

The  Scottish  Lowland  air  is,  in  summer,  of  exquisite  clear- 
ness and  softness, — the  heat  never  so  great  as  to  destroy 
energy,  and  the  shepherd's  labour  not  severe  enough  to  oc- 
cupy wholly  either  mind  or  body.  A  Swiss  herd  may  have 
to  climb  a  hot  ravine  for  thousands  of  feet,  or  cross  a  diffi- 
cult piece  of  ice,  to  rescue  a  lamb,  or  lead  his  flock  to  an  iso- 
lated pasture.  But  the  borderer's  sheep-path  on  the  heath 
is,  to  his  strong  frame,  utterly  without  labour  or  danger  ; 
he  is  free-hearted  and  free-footed  all  the  summer  day  long  ; 
in  winter  darkness  and  snow  finding  yet  enough  to  make  him 
grave  and  stout  of  heart. 

Secondly,  the  soldier's  life,  passing  gradually,  not  in  cow- 
ardice or  under  foreign  conquest,  but  by  his  own  increasing 
kindness  and  sense,  into  that  of  the  shepherd  ;  thus,  without 
humiliation,  leaving  the  war-wounded  past  to  be  recalled  for 
its  sorrow  and  its  fame. 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


49 


Third!},  the  e^itreme  sadness  of  that  past  itself  :  giving 
pathos  and  awe  to  all  the  imagery  and  power  of  Nature. 

Fourthly,  (this  a  merely  physical  cause,  yet  a  very 
notable  one,)  the  beauty  of  the  sound  of  Scottish  streams. 

I  know  no  other  waters  to  be  compared  with  them  ; — such 
streams  can  only  exist  under  very  subtle  concurrence  of  rock 
and  climate.  There  must  be  much  soft  rain,  not  (habitually) 
tearing  the  hills  down  with  floods  ;  and  the  rocks  must  break 
irregularly  and  jaggedly.  Our  English  Yorkshire  shales  and 
limestones  merely  form — carpenter-like — tables  and  shelves 
for  the  rivers  to  drip  and  leap  from  ;  while  the  Cumberland 
and  Welsh  rocks  break  too  boldly,  and  lose  the  multiplied 
chords  of  musical  sound.  Farther,  the  loosely-breaking  rock 
must  contain  hard  pebbles,  to  give  the  level  shore  of  white 
shingle,  through  which  the  brown  water  may  stray  wide,  in 
rippling  threads.  The  fords  even  of  English  rivers  have 
given  the  names  to  half  our  prettiest  towns  and  villages  ; — 
(the  difference  between  ford  and  bridge  curiously — if  one 
may  let  one's  fancy  loose  for  a  moment — characterizing  the 
difference  between  the  baptism  of  literature,  and  the  edifica- 
tion of  mathematics,  in  our  two  great  universities)  ; — but 
the  pure  crystal  of  the  Scottish  pebbles,*  giving  the  stream 
its  gradations  of  amber  to  the  edge,  and  the  sound  as  of 
"  ravishing  division  to  the  lute,"  make  the  Scottish  fords  the 
happiest  pieces  of  all  one's  day  walk.  "  The  farm-house  it- 
self was  small  and  poor,  with  a  common  kailyard  on  one  flank, 
and  a  staring  barn  of  the  doctor's  (*  Douglas*)  erection  on  the 
other  ;  while  in  front  appeared  a  filthy  pond,  covered  with 
ducks  and  duckweed,  f  from  which  the  whole  tenement  liad 
derived  the  unharmonious  designation  of  '  Clarty  Hole.'  But 
the  Tweed  was  everything  to  him  :  a  beautiful  river,  flowing 

*  Lockhart,  in  the  extract  just  below,  calls  them  milk-white.'*  Thia 
is  exactly  right  of  the  pale  bluish  translucent  quartz,  in  which  the 
a<jatescent  veins  are  just  traceable,  and  no  more,  out  of  the  trap  rocks; 
but  the  gneissitic  hills  give  also  exquisitely  brilliant  pure  white  and 
cream-coloured  quartz,  rolled  out  of  their  vein  stones. 

f  With  your  pardon,  Mr.  Lockhart,  neither  ducks  nor  duckweed  are 
in  the  least  derogatory  to  the  purity  of  a  pool. 
Vol.  II.— 4 


50 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


broad  and  bright  over  a  bed  of  milk-white  pebbies,  unless 
where,  here  and  there,  it  darkened  into  a  deep  pool,  over 
hung  as  yet  only  by  the  birches  and  alders  which  had  sur- 
vived the  statelier  growth  of  the  primitive  forest  ;  and  the 
first  hour  that  he  took  possession  he  claimed  for  his  farm  the 
name  of  the  adjoining  ford."*  With  the  murmur^  whisper, 
and  low  fall  of  these  streamlets,  unmatched  for  mystery  aiid 
sweetness,  we  must  remember  also  the  variable,  but  seldom 
wild,  thrilling  of  the  wind  among  the  recesses  of  the  glens  ; 
and,  not  least,  the  need  of  relief  from  the  monotony  of 
occupations  involving  some  rhythmic  measure  of  the  beat 
of  foot  or  hand,  during  the  long  evenings  at  the  hearth- 
side. 

In  the  rude  lines  describing  such  passing  of  hours  quoted 
by  Scott  in  his  introduction  to  the  Border  Minstrelsy ^  \  you 
find  the  grandmother  spinning,  with  her  stool  next  the 
hearth, — "for  she  was  old,  and  saw  right  dimly  "  (fire-light, 
observe,  all  that  was  needed  even  then  ;)  "  she  spins  to  make 
a  web  of  good  Scots  linen,"  (can  you  show  such  now,  from 
your  Glasgow  mills?)  The  father  is  pulling  hemp  (or  beat- 
ing it).  The  only  really  beautiful  piece  of  song  which  1 
heard  at  Verona,  during  several  months'  stay  there  in  1869, 
was  the  low  chant  of  girls  unwinding  the  cocoons  of  the 
silkworm,  in  the  cottages  among  the  olive-clad  hills  on  the 
north  of  the  city.  Never  any  in  the  streets  of  it  ; — there, 
only  insane  shrieks  of  Republican  populace,  or  senseless 
dance-music,  played  by  operatic-military  bands. 

And  one  of  the  most  curious  points  connected  with  the 
study  of  Border-life  is  this  connection  of  its  power  of  song 
either  with  its  industry  or  human  love,  but  never  with  the 
religious  passion  of  its  "  Independent  "  mind.  The  definite 
subject  of  the  piper  or  minstrel  being  always  war  or  love, 
(peasant  love  as  much  honoured  as  the  proudest,)  his  feeling 
is  steadily  antagonistic  to  Puritanism  ;  and  the  discordance 

*  Vol.  ii.,  p.  358;  compare  ii.,  TO.  *' If  it  peemed  possible  to 
scramble  through,  he  scorned  to  go  ten  yards  about,  and  in  fact  pre- 
ferred the  ford,"  etc. 

t  8vo,  1806,  p.  119. 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


61 


of  Scottish  modern  psalmody  is  as  unexampled  among  civil- 
ized nations  as  the  sweetness  of  their  ballads — shepherds'  or 
ploughmen's  (the  plough  and  pulpit  coming  into  fatalest  op- 
position in  Ayrshire)  ;  so  that  Wandering  Willie  must,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  head  the  troop  of  Redgauntlet's  riotous 
fishermen  with  Merrily  danced  the  Quaker's  wife."  And 
see  Wandering  Willie's  own  description  of  his  gudesire  : 
"  A  rambling,  rattling  chiel  he  had  been,  in  his  young  days, 
and  could  play  weel  on  the  pipes  ; — he  was  famous  at 
*  Hoopers  and  Girders  ;'  a'  Cumberland  could  not  touch  him 
at  *  Jockie  Lattin  ;  '  and  he  had  the  Hnest  finger  for  the  back- 
lilt  between  Berwick  and  Carlisle  ; — the  like  o'  Steenie  was 
na  the  sort  they  made  Whigs  o'."  And  yet,  to  this  Puritan 
element,  Scott  owed  quite  one  of  the  most  noble  conditions 
of  his  mental  life. 

But  it  is  of  no  use  trying  to  get  on  to  his  aunt  Janet  in 
this  letter,  for  there  is  yet  one  thing  I  have  to  explain  to  you 
before  I  can  leave  you  to  meditate,  to  purpose,  over  that 
sorrowful  piece  of  Scott's  diary  with  which  it  began. 

If  you  had  before  any  thoughtful  acquaintance  with  his 
general  character,  or  with  his  writings,  but  had  not  studied 
this  close  of  his  life,  you  cannot  but  iiave  read  with  surprise, 
in  the  piece  of  the  diary  I  quoted,  the  recurring  sentences 
showing  the  deep  wounds  of  his  pride.  Your  impression  of 
him  was,  if  thoughtfully  received,  that  of  a  man  modest  and 
self-forgetful,  even  to  error.  Yet,  very  evidently,  the  bitterest 
pain  under  his  fallen  fortune  is  felt  by  his  pride. 

Do  you  fancy  the  feeling  is  only  by  chance  so  strongly  ex- 
pressed in  that  passage  ? 

It  is  dated  18th  December.    Now  read  this  : — 

February  5t/i,  1826. — Missie  was  in  the  drawing-room, 
and  overheard  William  Clerk  and  me  laughing  excessively 
at  some  foolery  or  other  in  the  back  room,  to  her  no  small 
surprise,  which  she  did  not  keep  to  herself.  But  do  people 
suppose  that  he  was  less  sorry  for  his  poor  sister,  or  I  for  my 
lost  fortune  ?  If  I  have  a  very  strong  passion  in  the  world, 
it  is  pride  ;  and  that  never  hinged  upon  world's  gear,  which 
was  always,  with  me — Light  come,  light  go." 


52 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


You  will  not  at  first  understand  the  tone  of  this  last  piece 
in  which  two  currents  of  thought  run  counter,  or,  at  least, 
one  with  a  back  eddy ;  and  you  may  think  Scott  did  not 
know  himself,  and  that  his  strongest  passion  was  not  pride  ; 
and  that  he  did  care  for  world's  gear. 

Not  so,  good  reader.  Never  allow  your  own  conceit  lo 
betray  you  into  that  extremest  folly  of  thinking  that  you 
can  know  a  great  man  better  than  he  knows  himself.  Ho 
may  not  often  wear  his  heart  on  his  sleeve  for  you  ;  but 
when  he  does,  depend  upon  it,  he  lets  you  see  deep,  and  see 
true. 

Scott's  ruling  passion  loas  pride  ;  but  it  was  nobly  set — 
on  his  honour,  and  his  courage,  and  his  quite  conscious  in- 
tellectual power.  The  apprehended  loss  of  honour, — the 
shame  of  what  he  thinks  in  himself  cowardice, — or  the  fear 
of  failure  in  intellect,  are  at  any  time  overwhelming  to  him. 
But  now,  he  felt  that  his  honour  was  safe  ;  his  courage  was, 
even  to  himself,  satisfying  ;  his  sense  of  intellectual  power 
undiminished  ;  and  he  had  therefore  recovered  some  peace 
of  mind,  and  power  of  endurance.  The  evils  he  could  not 
iiave  borne,  and  lived,  have  not  been  inflicted  on  him,  and 
could  not  be.  He  can  laugh  again  with  his  friend  ; — *'but 
do  people  suppose  that  he  was  less  sorry  for  his  poor  sister, 
or  I  for  my  lost  fortune  ?  " 

What  is  this  loss,  then,  which  he  is  grieving  for — as  for  a 
lost  sister  ?  Not  world's  gear,  "  which  was  always,  with  me, 
Light  come,  light  go." 

Somethino:  far  other  than  that. 

Read  but  these  three  short  sentences  more,*  out  of  the 
entries  in  December  and  January  : — 

My  heart  clings  to  the  place  I  have  created  :  there  is 
scarce  a  tree  on  it  that  does  not  owe  its  being  to  me." 

"  Poor  Will  Laidlaw — poor  Tom  Purdie — such  news  will 
wring  your  hearts  ;  and  many  a  poor  fellow  besides,  to  whom 
my  prosperity  was  daily  bread." 

I  have  walked  my  last  on  the  domains  I  have  planted, 
sate  the  last  time  in  the  halls  I  have  built.  But  death  would 

♦  Vol.  vii.,  pp.  164,  166,  196. 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


53 


have  taken  them  from  me  if  misfortune  had  spared  them. — 
My  poor  people,  whom  I  loved  so  well  !  " 

Nor  did  they  love  him  less.  You  know  that  his  house  was 
left  to  him,  and  that  his  "  poor  people  "  served  him  until  his 
death — or  theirs.     Hear  now  how  they  served. 

"The  butler,"  says  Lockhart,  visiting  Abbotsford  in  1827. 
"instead  of  being  the  easy  chief  of  a  large  establishment, 
was  now  doing  half  the  work  of  the  house,  at  probably  half 
his  former  wages.  Old  Peter,  who  had  been  for  five-and- 
twenty  years  a  dignified  coachman,  was  now  plougliman-in- 
ordinary,  only  putting  his  horses  to  the  carriage  upon  high 
and  rare  occasions  ;  and  so  on  with  all  the  rest  that  re- 
mained of  the  ancient  tj^ain.  And  all,  to  my  view,  seemed 
happier  than  they  had  ever  done  before.  Their  good  con- 
duct had  given  every  one  of  them  a  new  elevation  in  liis  own 
mind  ;  and  yet  their  demeanour  had  gained,  in  place  of 
losing,  in  simple  humility  of  observance.  The  great  loss  was 
that  of  William  Laidlaw,  for  whom  (the  estate  being  all  but 
a  fragment  in  the  liands  of  the  trustees  and  their  agent)  there 
was  now  no  occupation  here.  The  cottage  which  his  taste 
had  converted  into  a  loveable  retreat  had  found  a  rent-pay- 
ing tenant  ;  and  he  was  living  a  dozen  miles  off,  on  the  farm 
of  a  relation  in  the  Vale  of  Yarrow.  Every  week,  however, 
he  came  down  to  have  a  ramble  with  Sir  Walter  over  their 
old  haunts,  to  hear  how  the  pecuniary  atmosphere  was  dark- 
ening or  brightening,  and  to  read,  in  every  face  at  Abbots- 
ford,  that  it  could  never  be  itself  again  until  circumstances 
should  permit  his  re-establishment  at  Kaeside. 

"  All  this  warm  and  respectful  solicitude  must  have  had 
a  preciously  soothing  influence  on  the  mind  of  Scott,  who 
may  be  said  to  have  lived  upon  love.  No  man  cared  less 
about  popular  admiration  and  applause  ;  but  for  the  least 
chill  on  the  affection  of  anv  near  and  dear  to  him,  he  had 
the  sensitiveness  of  a  maiden.  I  cannot  forget,  in  partic- 
ular, how  his  eyes  sparkled  when  he  first  pointed  out  to  me 
Peter  Mathieson  guiding  the  plough  on  the  haugh.  *  Egad,' 
said  he,  *  auld  Pepe  '  (this  was  the  children's  name  for  their 
good  friend),  'auld  Pepe's  whistling  at  his  darg.  The  hon- 
est fellow  said  a  yoking  in  a  deep  field  would  do  baith  him 
and  the  blackies  good.  If  things  get  round  with  me,  easy 
shall  be  Pepe's  cushion.'  " 

You  see  there  is  not  the  least  question  about  striking  for 


54 


F0R8  CLAVIQEEA. 


wages  on  the  part  of  Sir  Walter^s  servants.  The  law  of 
supply  and  demand  is  not  consulted,  nor  are  their  wages  de- 
termined by  the  great  principle  of  competition — so  rustic  and 
absurd  are  they  ;  not  but  that  they  take  it  on  them  some- 
times to  be  masters  instead  of  servants  : — 

March  21. — Wrote  till  twelve,  then  out  upon  the 
heights,  and  faced  the  gale  bravely.  Tom  Purdie  was  not 
with  me  ;  he  ivould  have  obliged  me  to  keep  the  sheltered 
ground,^''  * 

You  are  well  past  all  that  kind  of  thing,  you  think,  and 
know  better  how  to  settle  the  dispute  between  Capital  and 
Labour. 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  domestic  servants  ?  "  do  you 
ask  ?  You  think  a  house  with  a  tall  chimney,  and  two  or 
three  hundred  servants  in  it,  is  not  properly  a  house  at  all  ; 
that  the  sacred  words,  Domus,  Duomo,  cannot  be  applied  to 
it  ;  and  that  Giotto,  would  have  refused  to  build  a  Buzzino- 
Tower,  by  way  of  belfry,  in  Lancashire  ? 

Well,  perhaps  you  are  right.  If  you  are  merely  unlucky 
Williams — borrowing  colossal  planes — instead  of  true  ser- 
vants, it  may  well  be  that  Pepe's  own  whistling  at  his  darg 
must  be  very  impossible  for  you,  only  manufactured  whist- 
ling any  more  possible.  Which  are  you  ?  Which  will  you 
be? 

I  am  afraid  there  is  little  doubt  which  you  are  ; — but  there 
is  no  doubt  whatever  which  you  would  like  to  be,  whether 
you  know  your  own  minds  or  not.  You  will  never  whistle 
at  your  dargs  more,  unless  you  are  serving  masters  whom  you 
can  love.  You  may  shorten  your  hours  of  labour  as  much 
as  you  please  ; — no  minute  of  them  will  be  merry,  till  you 
are  serving  truly  :  that  is  to  say,  until  the  bond  of  constant 
relationship — service  to  death — is  again  established  between 
your  masters  and  you.  It  has  been  broken  by  their  sin,  but 
may  yet  be  recovered  by  your  virtue.  All  the  best  of  you 
cling  to  the  least  remnant  or  shadow  of  it.  I  heard  but  the 
other  day  of  a  foreman,  in  a  large  house  of  business,  dis- 

*  Vol.  vii.  p.  9. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


charged  at  a  week's  warning  on  account  of  depression  in 
trade, — who  thereupon  went  to  one  of  the  partners,  and 
showed  him  a  letter  which  he  had  received  a  year  before, 
ofTering  him  a  situation  with  an  increase  of  his  salary  by 
more  than  a  third  ;  which  offer  he  had  refused  without  so 
much  as  telling  his  masters  of  its  being  made  to  him,  that  he 
might  stay  in  the  old  house.  He  was  a  Scotchman — and  1 
am  glad  to  tell  the  story  of  his  fidelity  with  that  of  Pepe 
and  Tom  Purdie.  I  know  not  how  it  may  be  in  the  south  ; 
but  I  know  that  in  Scotland,  and  the  northern  Border,  there 
still  remains  something  of  the  feeling  which  fastened  the 
old  French  word  '  loial '  among  the  dearest  and  sweetest  of 
their  familiar  speech  ;  and  that  there  are  some  souls  yet 
among  them,  who,  alike  in  labour  or  in  rest,  abide  in,  or  will 
depart  to,  the  Land  of  the  Leal. 


**  Sire,  moult  meplaist  vostre  escdle 
Et  vo  liable  comeil  loial^ 
Ne  du  trespasser  iVay  entente; 
Sans  lui  iCaray  ne  hien  ne  mat. 
Amours  ce  vovloir  me  presente, 

Qui  veult  que  tout  mon  appareU 
S&it  mis  d  servir  soir  et  main 
Loiaute^  et  moult  me  m^i'veil 
Comment  Tioms  a  le  cucr  si  min 
Qu^ii  a  dfausette  reclaim,** 


I 


S6 


FOBS  GLAVIGEEA. 


NOTES  AND  COERESPONDENCE. 


I  HAVE  been  making  not  a  few  mistakes  in  Fors  lately ;  and,  indeed, 
am  careless  enough  in  it,  not  solicitous  at  all  to  avoid  mistakes ;  for  be- 
ing entirely  sure  of  my  main  ground,  and  entirely  honest  in  purpose,  I 
know  that  I  cannot  make  any  mistake  which  will  invalidate  my  work, 
and  that  any  chance  error  which  the  third  Fors  may  appoint  for  me,  ia 
often  likely  to  bring  out,  in  its  correction,  more  good  than  if  I  had 
taken  the  pains  to  avoid  it.  Here,  for  instance,  is  Dr.  Brown's  letter, 
which  I  should  not  have  had,  but  for  my  having  confused  George's 
Street  with  George's  Square,  and  having  too  shortly  generalised  my 
experience  of  modern  novel  readers  ;  and  it  tells  me,  and  you,  some- 
thing about  Scott  and  Dickens  which  is  of  the  greatest  use. 

My  dear  Friend, — I  am  rejoiced  to  see  you  upon  Scott.  It  will  be 
a  permanent  good,  your  having  broken  this  ground.  But  you  are  wrong 
in  two  things — George's  Square  is  not  in  the  detestable  New  Town,  ili 
is  to  the  south  of  the  very  Old  Town,  and  near  the  Meadows. 

Then  you  say  'nobody  now  will  read  them'  (Miss  Edge  worth  and 
Sir  Walter),  She  is  less  read  than  I  think  she  should  be,  but  he  is 
enormously  read — here  and  in  America. 

In  the  twelve  months  ending  June,  187;3,  Adam  Black  and  his  soni 
have  sold  over  250,000  Waverleys,  and  1  know  that  when  Dickens— 
that  great  master  of  fun  and  falsetto — went  last  to  America,  and  there? 
was  a  fury  for  him  and  his  books,  the  sale  of  them  only  touched  for  a 
short  time  the  ordinary  sale  of  the  Scott  Novels,  and  subsided  im- 
mensely, soon,  the  Scotts  going  steadily  on  increasing.  Our  young 
*  genteel '  girls  and  boys,  I  fear,  don't  read  them  as  the  same  class  did 
thirty  years  ago,  but  the  readers  of  them,  in  the  body  of  the  people, 
are  immense,  and  you  have  only  to  look  at  the  four  or  five  copies  of  th(r 
whole  set  in  our  public  libraries  to  see  how  they  are  being  read.  That 
is  a  beautiful  drawing  of  Chantrey's,  and  new  tome, — very  like,  having 
the  simple,  childlike  look  which  he  had.  The  skull  is  hardly  high 
enough." 

A  subsequent  letter  tells  me  that  Dinlay  is  a  big  hill  in  Liddesdale  ; 
and  enclosed  (search  for  it  being  made)  the  tune  of  ''Sour  Plums  in 
Galashiels,"  of  which  I  will  only  at  present  bid  you  farther  observe  that 
it  is  the  first  touch  of  the  auld  breadwinner"  that  Wandering  Willie 
plays  to  Darsie. 

Another  valued  correspondent  reminds  me  that  people  might  get  hold 


F0R8  GLAVIOERA. 


57 


of  my  having  spoken,  a  good  many  numbers  back,  of  low  sunshine  at 
six  o'clock  on  an  October  morning;  "  and  truly  enough  it  must  have 
been  well  on  towards  seven. 

A  more  serious,  but  again  more  profitable,  mistake,  was  made  in  the 
June  Fors^  by  the  correspondent  (a  working  man)  who  sent  me  the  ex- 
amination paper,  arranged  from  a  Kensington  one,  from  which  I 
quoted  the  four  questions, — who  either  did  not  know,  or  did  nob 
notice,  the  difference  between  St.  Matthew  and  St.  Matthias.  The 
paper  had  been  set  in  the  schools  of  St.  Matthew,  and  the  chairman 
of  the  committee  of  the  schools  of  St.  Matthias  wrote  to  me  in  violent 
indignation — little  thinking  how  greatly  pleased  I  should  be  to  hear 
of  any  school  in  which  Kensington  questions  were  not  asked, — or  if 
asked,  were  not  likely  to  be  answered. 

I  find  even  that  the  St.  Matthias  children  could  in  all  probability  answer 
the  questions  I  proposed  as  alternative, — for  they  have  liower  shows, 
and  prizes  presented  by  Bishops,  and  appear  to  be  quite  in  an  exem- 
plary phase  of  education  :  all  of  which  it  is  very  pleasant  to  me  to 
learn.  (Apropos  of  the  equivoque  between  St.  3Iatlhew  and  St. 
Matthias,  another  correspondent  puts  me  in  mind  of  the  promise  I 
made  to  find  out  for  you  who  St.  Pancras  was.  I  did  ;  but  did  not 
much  care  to  tell  you — for  I  had  put  him  with  St.  Paul  only  because 
both  their  names  began  with  P  ;  and  found  that  he  was  an  impertinent 
youth  of  sixteen,  who  ought  to  have  been  learning  to  ride  and  swim, 
and  took  to  theology  instead,  and  was  made  a  martyr  of,  and  had  that 
mock-Greek  church  built  to  his  Christian  honour  in  Mary-le-bone.  I 
have  no  respect  whatever  for  boy  or  girl  martyrs  ; — we  old  men  know 
the  value  of  the  dregs  of  life  :  but  young  people  will  throw  the  whole 
of  it  away  for  a  freak,  or  in  a  pet  at  losing  a  toy.) 

I  suppose  I  shall  next  have  a  fiery  letter  abjuring  Kensington  from 
the  committee  of  the  schools  of  St.  Matthew  : — nothing  could  possibly 
give  me  greater  pleasure.  I  did  not,  indeed,  intend  for  some  time  to 
give  you  any  serious  talk  about  Kensington,  and  then  I  meant  to  give 
it  yoa  in  large  print — and  at  length ;  but  as  this  matter  has  been 
*  forced  '  upon  me  (note  the  power  of  the  word  Fors  in  the  first  syllable 
of  that  word)  I  will  say  a  word  or  two  now. 

I  have  lying  beside  me  on  my  table,  in  a  bright  orange  cover,  the 
seventh  edition  of  the  ^  Young  Mechanic's  Instructor;  or,  Workman's 
Guide  to  the  various  Arts  connected  wnth  the  Building  Trades  ;  showing 
how  to  strike  out  all  kinds  of  Arches  and  Gothic  Points,  to  set  out  and 
construct  Skew  Bridges  ;  with  numerous  Illustrations  of  Foundations, 
Sections,  Elevations,  etc.  Receipts,  Rules,  and  Instructions  in  the  art 
of  Casting,  Modelling,  Carving,  Gilding,  Dyeing,  Staining,  Polishing, 
Bronzing,  Lacquering,  Japanning,  Enamelling,  Gasfitting,  Plumbing, 
Glazing,  Painting,  etc.  Jew.^ller's  Secrets,  Miscellaneous  Receipts, 
Useful  Tables,  etc.,  and  a  variety  of  useful  information  designed  spe« 


58 


FORS  CLAVIOEBA. 


cially  for  the  Working  Mechanic. — London :  Brodie  and  Middleton,  79, 
Long  Acre ;  and  all  Booksellers  in  Town  and  Country.    Price,  2s.  M/ 
From  pages  11,  20,  and  21  of  the  introduction  to  this  work,  1 
quote  the  following  observations  on  St.  Paul's,  the  Nineveh  sculptures, 
and  the  Houses  of  Parliament. 

I.  OF  ST.  PAUL'S. 

*•  Since  London  was  first  built,  which  we  are  led  to  believe  was 
about  the  year  50,  by  the  E-omans,  there  has  not  been  a  more  magnifi- 
cent building  erected  in  it  than  St.  Paul's— this  stupendous  edifice 
which  absorbs  the  attention,  and  strikes  with  wonder  all  who  behold 
it,  was  founded  by  Ethelbert,  the  fifih  King  of  Kent,  in  the  year  604 
A.D.  And  it  is  certain  that  since  the  completion  of  this  building  suc- 
ceeding generations  have  made  no  progress  in  the  construction  of  public 
buildings." 

II.  OF  THE  NINEVEH  SCULPTURES. 

*'  There  is  one  feature  in  the  Nineveh  sculptures  which  most  beau- 
tifully illustrates  and  corroborates  the  truth  of  the  Scriptures  ;  any  per- 
son who  has  carefully  read  the  Scriptures  and  has  seen  the  Nineveh 
sculptures,  cannot  fail  to  see  the  beautiful  illustration  ;  it  will  be  remem- 
bered that  the  king  is  spoken  of  in  many  places  as  riding  in  his  char- 
iot, and  of  the  king's  armour-bearer  following  him  to  the  battle.  In 
the  Nineveh  sculptures  you  will  see  the  fact  exemplified — the  king  in 
his  chariot,  and  his  armour-bearer  defending  him  with  his  shield." 

IIL  OF  THE  HOUSES  OF  PARLIAMENT. 

Of  all  the  Gothic  buildings  that  we  have  in  our  country,  both  of 
ancient  and  modern  date,  the  Houses  of  Parliament  are  the  best  and 
most  elaborate  ;  the  first  step  of  its  grandeur  is,  that  it  stands  parallel 
to  the  majestic  stream  of  the  River  Thames,  and  owing  to  its  proximate 
distance  to  the  river,  there  is  no  thoroughfare  between  it  and  the 
water ;  its  open  situation  gives  it  a  sublime  view  from  the  opposite 
side ;  but  especially  from  Westminster  Bridge  its  aspect  is  grand  and 
magnificent  in  the  extreme.  Its  superb  tracery  glitters  in  the  distance, 
in  the  sight  of  the  spectator,  like  the  yellow  autumnal  foliage  of  some 
picturesque  grove,  which  beautifies  the  verdant  valleys  and  bedecks 
the  silvery  hills.  The  majestic  figures  in  their  stately  order,  encan- 
opied  in  their  Gothic  palaces,  bring  to  our  remembrance  the  noble  pa- 
triarchs of  old,  or  the  patriots  of  recent  days.  Its  numerous  pinnacles, 
turrets,  and  towers,  rise  up  into  the  smoky  and  blue  atmosphere  like 
forest  trees,  which  will  stand  as  an  everlasting  memento  of  the  great 
and  noble-minded  generation  who  raised  this  grand  and  magnificent 
structure,  so  that  after-generations  may  say,  '  Surely  our  forefathers 
were  great  and  illustrious  men,  that  they  had  reached  the  climax 
of  human  skill,  so  that  we  cannot  improve  on  their  superb  and  princely 
buildings.' " 


These  three  extracts,  though  in  an  extreme  degree,  are  absolutely 
and  accurately  characteristic  of  the  sort  of  mind,  unexampled  in  any 


F0R8  GLAVIGEBA. 


former  ages  for  its  conceit,  its  hypocrisy,  and  its  sevenfold — or  rather 
seventy  times  sevenfold — ignorance,  the  dregs  of  corrupted  knowl- 
edge, which  modern  art- teaching,  centralized  by  Kensington,  produces 
in  our  workmen  and  their  practical  '  guides.'  How  it  is  produced,  and 
how  the  torturing  examinations  as  to  the  possible  position  of  the  let- 
ters in  the  word  Chillianwallah,  and  the  collection  of  costly  objects  of 
art  from  all  quarters  of  the  world,  end  in  these  conditions  of  fpara- 
lysed  brain  and  corrupted  heart,  I  will  show  you  at  length  in  a  future 
letter. 


60 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


LETTER  XXXIIL 

1  FIND  same  of  my  readers  are  more  interested  in  the  last 
two  numbers  of  Foi^s  than  I  want  them  to  be. 

"Give  up  your  I^hrs  altogether,  and  let  us  have  a  life  of 
Scott,"  they  sa}^ 

They  must  please  to  remember  tliat  T  am  only  examining 
the  conditions  of  the  life  of  this  wise  man,  that  they  may 
learn  how  to  rule  their  own  lives,  or  their  children's,  or  their 
servants'  ;  and,  for  the  present,  with  this  particular  object, 
that  they  may  be  able  to  determine,  for  themselves,  whether 
ancient  sentiment,  or  modern  common  sense,  is  to  be  the 
rule  of  life,  and  of  service. 

I  beg  them,  therefore,  to  refer  constantly  to  that  sum- 
mary of  modern  common  sense  given  by  Mr.  Applegarth, 
and  quoted  with  due  commendation  by  the  Pall  Mall  Ga- 
zeiie  (above,  XXYIIL,  407):— 

"  One  piece  of  vigorous  good  sense  enlivened  the  discus- 
sion. It  was  uttered  by  Mr.  Applegarth,  who  observed  that 
^ no  sentiment  ought  to  be  brought  into  the  subject.'" 

No  sentiment,  you  observe,  is  to  be  brought  into  your  do- 
ing, or  your  whistling,  according  to  Mr.  Applegarth. 

And  the  main  purpose  of  Fors  is  to  show  you  that  there 
is,  sometimes,  in  weak  natural  whistling  quite  as  much  virtue 
as  in  vigorous  steam  whistling.  But  it  cannot  show  you 
this  without  explaining  what  your  darg,  or  'doing,'  is ^ 
which  cannot  be  shown  merely  by  writing  pleasant  biogra- 
phies. You  are  always  willing  enough  to  read  lives,  but 
never  willing  to  lead  them.  For  instance,  those  few  sen- 
tences, almost  casually  given  in  last  Fors,  about  the  Scottish 
rivers,  have  been  copied,  I  see,  into  various  journals,  as  if 
they,  at  any  rate,  w^ere  v/orth  extract  from  the  much  useless 
matter  of  my  books.    Scotchmen  like  to  hear  their  rivers 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


61 


talked  about,  it  appears  !  But  when  last  I  was  up  Huntly 
Burn  wav,  there  was  no  burn  there.  It  had  all  been  drawn 
off  to  somebody's  ^  works  ; '  and  it  is  painful  for  me,  as  au 
author,  to  reflect  that,  "of  all  polluting  liquids  belonging  to 
this  category  (liquid  refuse  from  manufactories),  the  dis- 
charges from  paper  works  are  the  most  difficult  to  deal 
with." 

At  Edinburgh  there  is  a  railroad  station  instead  of  tiie 
North  Loch  ;  the  water  of  Leith  is — well,  one  cannot  say  in 
civilised  company  what  it  is  ;  f  and  at  Linlithgow,  of  all  tlie 
palaces  so  fair, — built  for  a  royal  dwelling,  etc., — the  oil, 
(paraffin,)  floating  on  the  streams,  can  be  ignited,  burning 
with  a  large  flame.J 

My  good  Scottish  friends,  had  you  not  better  leave  off 
pleasing  yourselves  with  descriptions  of  your  rivers  as  they 
were,  and  consider  what  your  rivers  are  to  be?  For  I  cor- 
rect my  derivation  of  Clarty  Hole  too  sorrowfully.§  It  is 
the  Ford  that  is  clarty  now — not  the  Hole. 

To  return  to  our  sentimental  work,  however,  for  a  while. 
I  left  in  my  last  letter  one  or  two  of  the  most  interesting 
points  in  the  first  year  at  Sandy-Knovve  unnoticed,  because 
I  thought  it  best  to  give  you,  by  comparison  with  each 
other,  some  idea  of  the  three  women  who,  as  far  as  educa- 
tion could  do  it,  formed  the  mind  of  Scott.  His  masters 
only  polished  and  directed  it.  His  mother,  grandmother, 
and  aunt  welded  the  steel. 

Hear  first  this  of  his  mother.    (Lockhart,  vol.  i.,  p.  78.) 

"  She  had  received,  as  became  the  daughter  of  an  emi- 
nently learned  physician,  the  best  sort  of  education  then 
bestowed  on  young  gentlewomen  in  Scotland.  The  poet, 
speaking  of  Mrs.  Euphemia  Sinclair,  the  mistress  of  the 
school  at  which  his  mother  was  reared,  to  the  ingenious 
local  antiquary,  Mr.  Robert  Chambers,  said  that     ahe  must 

*  Fourth  Report  of  Rivers  Pollufion  Commission,  p.  52, 
I  See  Analysis  of  Wator  of  Leith,  the  Foul  Burn,  and  Pow  Burn, 
earae  Report,  p.  21. 

:j:Samc  Report;  so  also  the  River  Almond,  pp.  22-45. 
§  See  terminal  Notes. 


62 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


have  been  possessed  of  uncommon  talents  for  education,  as 
all  her  young  ladies  were,  in  after-life,  fond  of  reading,  wrote 
and  spelled  admirably,  were  well  acquainted  with  history 
and  the  belles  lettres,  without  neglecting  the  more  homely 
duties  of  the  needle  and  accompt-book,  and  perfectly  well- 
bred  in  society.'  Mr.  Chambers  adds,  'Sir  Walter  further 
communicated  that  his  mother,  and  many  others  of  Mrs. 
Sinclair's  pupils,  were  sent  afterwards  to  be  finished  offhj 
the  Honourable  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  a  lady  who  trained  her  young 
friends  to  a  style  of  manners  ^vhich  would  now  be  consid- 
ered intolerably  stiff.'  Such  was  the  effect  of  this  early 
training  upon  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Scott,  that  even  when  she 
approached  her  eightieth  year,  she  took  as  much  care  to 
avoid  touching  her  chair  with  her  back,  as  if  she  had  still 
been  under  the  stern  eye  of  Mrs.  Ogilvie." 

You  are  to  note  in  this  extract  three  things.  First,  the 
singular  influence  of  education,  given  by  a  master  or  mis- 
tress of  real  power.  "  All  her  young  ladies  "  {all,  Sir  Wal- 
ter !  do  you  verily  mean  this  ?)  fond  of  reading,"  and  so 
forth. 

Well,  I  believe  that,  with  slight  exception,  Sir  Walter 
did  mean  it.  He  seldom  wrote,  or  spoke,  in  careless  gener- 
alisation. And  I  doubt  not  that  it  is  truly  possible,  by  first 
insisting  on  a  girl's  really  knowing  how  to  read,  and  then 
by  allowing  her  very  few  books,  and  those  absolutely  whole- 
some,— and  not  amusing  ! — to  give  her  a  healthy  appetite 
for  reading.  Spelling,  I  had  thought  was  impossible  to 
many  girls  ;  but  perhaps  this  is  only  because  it  is  not  early 
enough  made  a  point  of  :  it  cannot  be  learned  late. 

Secondly  :  T  wish  Mr.  Chambers  had  given  us  Sir  Walter's 
words,  instead  of  only  the  substance  of  what  he  "further 
communicated."  But  you  may  safely  gather  what  I  want 
you  to  notice,  that  Sir  Walter  attributes  the  essentials  of 
good  breeding  to  the  first  careful  and  scholarly  mistress ; 
and  only  the  formality,  which  he  somewhat  hesitatingly  ap- 
proves, to  the  finishing  hand  of  Mrs.  Ogilvie.  He  would 
have  paid  less  regard  to  the  opinion  of  modern  society  on 
such  matters,  had  he  lived  to  see  our  languid  Paradise  of 
sofas  and  rocking-chairs.    The  beginning,  and  very  nearly 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


6a 


the  end,  of  bodily  education  for  a  girl,  is  to  make  sure  that 
she  can  stand,  and  sit,  upright  ;  the  ankle  vertical,  and  firm 
as  a  marble  shaft  ;  the  waist  elastic  as  a  reed,  and  as  unfa- 
tiguable.  I  have  seen  my  own  mother  travel  from  sunrise 
to  sunset,  in  a  summer's  day,  without  once  leaning  back  in 
the  carriao^e. 

Thirdly  :  The  respectability  belonging  in  those  days  to 
the  profession  of  a  schoolmistress.  In  fact,  I  do  not  myself 
think  that  any  old  lady  can  be  respectable,  unless  she  is  one, 
whether  she  be  paid  for  her  pupils  or  not.  And  to  deserve 
to  be  one,  makes  her  Honourable  at  once,  titled  or  un- 
titled. 

This  much  comes,  then,  of  the  instructions  of  Mrs.  Sinclair 
and  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  and  why  should  not  all  your  daughters  be 
educated  by  Honourable  Mrs.  Ogilvies,  and  learn  to  spell, 
and  to  sit  upright  ?  Then  they  will  all  have  sons  like  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  you  think  ? 

Not  so,  good  friends.  Miss  Rutherford  had  not  wholly 
learned  to  sit  upright  from  Mrs.  Ogilvie.  She  had  some 
disposition  of  her  own  in  that  kind,  dilTerent  from  the  other 
pupils,  and  taught  in  older  schools.  Look  at  the  lines  in  the 
Lay,  where  Conrad  of  Wolfenstein, 

* '  lu  humour  highly  crossed 
About  some  steeds  his  band  had  lost, 
High  words  to  words  succeeding  still. 
Smote  with  his  gauntlet  stout  Hunthill  ; 
A  hot  and  hardy  Rutherford, 
Whom  men  call  Dickon  Draw- the-S word. 
Stem  Rutherford  right  little  said, 
But  bit  his  glove,  and  shook  his  head. — 
A  fortnight  thence,  in  Inglewood, 
Stout  Conrad,  cold  and  drenched  in  blood. 
His  bosom  gored  with  many  a  wound, 
Was  by  a  woodman's  lyme-dog  *  found  ; 
Unknown  the  manner  of  his  death. 
Gone  was  his  brand,  both  sword  and  sheath ; 
But  ever  from  that  time,  'twas  said 
That  Dickon  wore  a  Cologne  blade.'* 

*  Blood-hound,  liora  '  lym,'  Saxon  for  leash. 


64 


FOBS  GLAVIQERA. 


Such  the  race, — such  the  school  education, — of  Scott'a 
mother.  Of  her  home  education,  you  may  judge  by  what 
she  herself  said  of  her  father  to  her  son's  tutor  (whose  ex- 
quisitely grotesque  letter,  for  the  rest,  vol.  i.,  p.  108,)  is 
alone  enough  to  explain  Scott's  inevitable  future  perception 
of  the  weakness  of  religious  egotism. 

Mrs.  Scott  told  me  that,  when  prescribing  for  his  pa- 
tients, it  was  Dr.  Rutherford's  custom  to  offer  up,  at  the 
same  time,  a  prayer  for  the  accompanying  blessing  of  heav- 
en,— a  laudable  practice,  in  which,  I  fear,  he  has  not  been 
generally  imitated  by  those  of  his  profession." 

A  very  laudable  practice  indeed,  good  Mr.  Mitchell  ;  per- 
haps even  a  useful  and  practically  eflicacious  one,  on  occa- 
sion ;  at  all  events  one  of  the  last  remains  of  noble  Puritan- 
ism, in  its  sincerity,  among  men  of  sound  learning. 

For  Dr.  Rutherford  was  also  an  excellent  linguist,  and, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  times,  delivered  his  prelec- 
tions to  the  students  in  Latin,  (like  the  conversation  in 
Beardie's  Jacobite  Club).  Nowadays,  you  mean  to  have  no 
more  Latin  talked,  as  I  understand  ;  nor  prayers  said.  Pills 
— Morison's  and  others — can  be  made  upon  cheaper  terms, 
you  think, — and  be  equally  salutary  ? 

Be  it  so.  In  these  ancient  manners,  however,  Scott's 
mother  is  brought  up,  and  consistently  abides  ;  doubtless, 
having  some  reverence  for  the  Latin  tongue,  and  much  faith 
in  the  medicine  of  prayer  ; — having  had  troubles  about  her 
soul's  safety  also  ;  perhaps  too  solicitous,  at  one  time,  on 
that  point  ;  but  being  sure  she  has  a  soul  to  be  solicitous 
about,  which  is  much  ;  obedient  herself  to  the  severest  laws 
of  morality  and  life  ;  mildly  and  steadily  enforcing  them  on 
her  children  ;  but  naturally  of  light  and  happy  temper,  and 
with  a  strong  turn  to  study  poetry  and  works  of  imagina- 
tion, 

I  do  not  say  anything  of  his  father  till  w^e  come  to  the  ap- 
prenticeship,— except  only  that  he  was  no  less  devout  than  his 
mother,  and  more  formal.  Of  training  which  could  be  known 
or  remembered,  neither  he  nor  the  mother  give  any  to  their 
boy  until  after  the  Sandy-Knowe  time.    But  how  of  the-un- 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


65 


remembered  training?  When  do  you  suppose  the  education 
of  a  child  begins  ?  At  six  months  old  it  can  answer  smile 
with  smile,  and  impatience  with  impatience.  It  can  observe, 
enjoy,  and  suffer,  acutely,  and,  in  a  measure,  intelligently. 
Do  you  suppose  it  makes  no  difference  to  it  that  the  order 
of  the  house  is  perfect  and  quiet,  the  faces  of  its  father  and 
mother  full  of  peace,  their  soft  voices  familiar  to  its  ear,  and 
even  those  of  strangers,  loving  ;  or  that  it  is  tossed  from 
arm  to  arm,  among  hard,  or  reckless,  or  vain-minded  persons, 
in  the  gloom  of  a  vicious  household,  or  the  confusion  of  a 
gay  one?  The  moral  disposition  is,  I  doubt  not,  greatly 
determined  in  those  first  speechless  years.  I  believe  espe- 
cially that  quiet,  and  the  withdrawal  of  objects  likely  to  dis- 
tract, by  amusing,  tlie  child,  so  as  to  let  it  fix  its  attention 
undisturbed  on  every  visible  least  thing  in  its  domain,  is 
essential  to  the  formation  of  some  of  the  best  powers  of 
thought.  It  is  chiefly  to  this  quietude  of  his  own  home  that 
I  ascribe  the  intense  perceptiveness  and  memory  of  the  three- 
years'-old  child  at  Sandy-Knowe  ;  for,  observe,  it  is  in  that 
first  year  he  learns  his  Hardiknute  ;  by  his  aunt's  lielp  he 
learns  to  read  at  Bath,  and  can  cater  for  himself  on  his  re- 
turn. Of  this  aunt,  and  her  mother,  we  must  now  know 
what  we  can.  You  notice  the  difference  which  Scott  him- 
self indicates  between  the  two  :  "  My  grandmother,  who 
was  meekness  itself,  and  my  aunt,  who  was  of  a  higher  tem- 
per." Yet  his  grandmother,  Barbara  Ilaliburton,  was  de- 
scended from  the  so-called,  in  speciality  of  honor,  *  Standard- 
bearer' of  the  Douglases;  and  Dryburgh  Abbey  was  part 
of  her  family's  estate,  they  having  been  true  servants  to  the 
monks  of  it,  once  on  a  time.  Here  is  a  curious  little  piece 
of  lecture  on  the  duties  of  master  and  servant, — Royal 
Proclamation  on  the  8th  of  May,  1535,  by  James  the  Fifth  :  * 
"  Whereas  we,  having  been  advised,  and  knowing  the  said 
gentlemen,  the  Halliburtons,  to  be  letd  and  true  honest  men, 
long  servants  unto  the  saide  abbeye,  for  the  saide  landis, 
stout  men  at  armes,  and  goode  borderers  against  Ingland  ; 
and  doe  therefore  decree  and  ordaine,  tliat  tliey  shall  be  re- 
*  Introductiou  to  Border  Minstrelsy^  p.  86. 
Vol.  11.-5 


66 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA. 


possess'd,  and  bruik  and  enjoy  the  landis  and  steedings  they 
had  of  the  said  abbeye,  i^aying  the  use  and  wonte  :  and  that 
they  sail  be  goode  servants  to  the  said  venerabil  father,  like 
as  they  and  their  predecessours  were  to  the  said  venerabil 
father,  and  his  predecessours,  and  he  a  good  master  to 
them."  The  Abbot  of  Dryburgh,  however,  and  others  in 
such  high  places,  having  thus  misread  their  orders,  and  taken 
on  themselves  to  be  masters  instead  of  ministers,  the  Ref- 
ormation took  its  course  ;  and  Dryburgh  claims  allegiance 
no  more — but  to  its  dead. 

You  notice  the  phrase,  ''good  borderers  against  England." 
Lest  I  should  have  to  put  it  off  too  long,  I  may  as  well,  in 
this  place,  let  you  know  the  origin  of  the  tune  which  Scott  s 
uncle  was  so  fond  of.  From  the  letter  of  one  of  his  friends 
to  Dr.  Brown  I  gratefully  take  the  following  passage  : — 

"  In  the  fourteenth  century  some  English  riders  were 
slaking  their  thirst  on  the  banks  oi  the  Tweed,  nearly  op- 
posite Cartley  Hole, — now  Abbotsford, — where  wild  plums 
grew.  The  borderers  came  down  upon  them  unexpectedly, 
and  annihilated  them,  driving  some  into  the  Tweed,  at  a 
place  called  the  Englishman's  Dyke.  The  borderers  accord- 
ingly thought  their  surprise  sourer  fruit  to  the  invaders  than 
the  plums  they  went  to  pluck,  and  christened  themselves  by 
the  soubriquet  of  '  Sour  Plums  in  Galashiels,'  which  gave  a 
text  for  the  song  and  tune,  and  a  motto  for  the  arms  of  the 
town  of  Galashiels." 

There  is  something  to  think  of  for  you,  when  next  you 
see  the  blackthorn  blow,  or  the  azure  bloom  spread  on  its, 
bossed  clusters  oi  fruit.  I  cannot  find  any  of  the  words  of 
the  song  ;  but  one  beautiful  stanza  of  the  ballad  of  Cos- 
patrick  may  at  least  serve  to  remind  you  of  the  beauty  of 
the  Border  in  its  summer  time  : — 

**  For  to  the  greenwood  I  maun  gae 
To  pu*  the  red  rose  and  the  slae, 
To  pu'  the  red  rose  and  the  thyme, 
To  deck  my  mother's  bour  and  mine." 

"  Meekness  itself,"  and  yet  possibly  with  some  pride  in 
her  also,  this  Barbara,  with  the  ruins  of  her  Dryburgh  still 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


67 


seen  grey  above  the  woods,  from  the  tower  at  whose  foot 
her  grandchild  was  playing.  So  short  the  space  he  had  to 
travel,  when  his  lameness  should  be  cured, — the  end  of  all 
travel  already  in  sight  ! 

Some  pride  in  her,  perhaps  :  you  need  not  be  surprised 
lier  grandchild  should  have  a  little  left. 

"  Many  a  tale"  (she  told  him)  "of  Watt  of  Harden,  Wight 
Willie  of  Aikwood  (Oakwood),  Jamie  Tellfer  of  the  fair 
Dodhead,  and  other  heroes — merry  men,  all  of  the  persuasion 
and  calling  of  Robin  Hood  and  Little  Joiin.  A  more  recent 
hero,  but  not  of  less  note,  was  the  celebrated  De'il  of  Little 
Dean,  whom  she  well  remembered,  as  he  had  married  her 
mother's  sister.  Of  this  extraordinary  person  I  learned 
many  a  story — grave  and  gay,  comic  and  warlike  " — (dearest, 
meek,  grandmamma  !) 

"  Two  or  three  old  books  which  lay  in  the  window-seat 
were  explored  for  my  amusement  in  the  tedious  winter 
days.  Aittomathes  *  and  Ramsay's  Tea-table  Miscellany 
were  my  favourites,  although,  at  a  later  period,  an  odd 
volume  of  Josephus's  Wars  of  the  Jexcs  divided  my  par- 
tiality." 

"  Two  or  three  old  books  in  the  window-seat,"  and  "an  odd 
volume  of  Josephus."  How  entertaining  our  farm  library  ! 
(with  the  Bible,  you  observe  ;)  and  think  how^  much  matters 
have  changed  for  the  better  :  your  package  down  from  Mu- 
die's  monthly,  with  all  the  new  magazines,  and  a  dozen  of 
novels  ;  Good  Words — as  many  as  you  choose, — and  Pro- 
fessor Tyndall's  last  view^s  on  the  subject  of  the  Regelation 
of  Ico.  (Respecting  w'hich,  for  the  sake  of  Scott's  first  love, 
and  for  the  sake  also  of  mv  own  first  love — which  was  of 
snow,  even  more  than  water, — I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to 
Professor  Tyndall,  but  they  must  be  for  next  month,  as  they 
will  bitterly  interrupt  our  sentimental  proceedings.) 

*  "  The  Capacity  and  Extent  of  the  Human  Undemtaiicling  ;  exempli- 
fied in  the  extraordinary  case  of  Automathes,  a  young  nobleman  who 
was  accidentally  left  in  his  infancy  upon  a  desolate  island,  and  con 
tinned  nineteen  years  in  that  solitary  state,  separate  from  all  human 
society.  '    By  John  Kirkby.    1745.    Small  8vo. 


68 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


Nay — with  your  professional  information  that  when  ice 
breaks  you  can  stick  it  together  again,  you  have  also  im- 
aginative literature  of  the  rarest.  Here — instead  of  Ram- 
say's Tea-table  Miscellany,  with  its  Hardiknute  and  other 
ballads  of  softer  tendency, — some  of  them  not  the  best  of 
their  kind,  I  admit, — here  you  have  Mr.  Knatchbull-Hugues- 
sen,  M.P.'s,  Tales  at  Tea-timey^  dedicated  to  the  schoolroom 
teapot,  in  which  the  first  story  is  of  the  "  Pea  Green  Nose," 
and  in  which  (opening  at  random)  I  find  it  related  of  some 
Mary  of  our  modern  St.  Mary's  Lochs,  that  "  Mary  stepped 
forward  hastily,  when  one  of  the  lobsters  sprang  forward, 
and  seized  her  arm  in  his  claw,  saying,  in  a  low,  agitated 
tone  of  voice,"  etc.  etc. 

You  were  better  off,  little  as  you  think  it,  with  that  poor 
library  on  the  window-seat.  Your  own,  at  worst,  though 
much  fingered  and  torn  ; — your  own  mentally,  still  more  ut- 
terly ;  and  though  the  volume  be  odd,  do  you  think  that,  by 
any  quantity  of  reading,  you  can  make  your  knowledge  of 
history,  even  ? 

You  are  so  proud  of  having  learned  to  read  too,  and  I 
warrant  you  could  not  read  so  much  as  Barbara  Ilaliburton's 

*  It  is  impossible  to  concentrate  the  vulgar  modern  vices  of  art  and 
literature  more  densely  than  has  been  done  in  this — in  such  kind,  docu- 
mental— book.  Here  is  a  description  of  the  *  Queen  of  the  Flowers' 
out  of  it,  which  is  so  accurately  characteristic  of  the  *  imagination '  of 
an  age  of  demand  and  supply,  that  I  must  find  space  for  it  in  small 
print.  She  appears  in  a  wood  in  which  '*here  and  there  was  a  mul- 
berry tree  disporting  itself  among  the  rest.  (Has  Mr.  Huguessen,  M.  P. , 
ever  seen  a  mulberry  tree,  or  read  as  much  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  as 
Bottom  ?) 

"  The  face  was  the  face  of  a  lady,  and  of  a  pretty,  exceedingly  good- 
humoured  lady  too ;  but  the  hair  which  hung  down  around  her  head  '* 
— (the  author  had  better  have  written  hung  up) — "  was  nothing  more 
or  less  than  festoons  of  roses, — red,  lovely,  sweet-scented  "  (who  would 
have  thought  it !)  "roses  ;  the  arms  were  apparently  entirely  composed 
of  cloves  and  "  (allspice?  no)  carnations;  the  body  was  formed  of  a 
multitude  of  various  flowers — the  most  beautiful  you  can  imagine,  and 
a  cloak  of  honeysuckle  and  sweetbriar  was  thrown  carefully  over  the 
Bhoulders."  (Italics  mine — care  being  as  characteristic  of  the  growth 
of  the  honeysuckle  as  disport  is  that  of  the  mulberry.) 


FOBS  GLAVIOEUA. 


69 


shield  :  Or,  on  a  bend  azure,  three  mascles  of  the  first  ;  in 
the  second  quarter  a  buckle  of  the  second.  I  meant  to  have 
engraved  it,  but  shall  never  get  on  to  aunt  Jessie  at  this  rate. 

"My  kind  and  affectionate  aunt.  Miss  Janet  Scott,  whose 
memory  will  ever  be  dear  to  me,  used  to  read  these  works  to 
me,  with  admirable  patience,  until  I  could  repeat  long  pas- 
sages by  heart." 

Why  admirable.  Sir  Walter?  Surely  she  might  have 
spent  her  time  more  usefully — lucratively  at  least — than  in 
this  manner  of  'nursing  the  baby.'  Might  you  not  have 
been  safely  left,  to  hunt  up  llardiknute,  in  maturer  years,  for 
yourself  ? 

By  no  manner  of  means.  Sir  Walter  thinks  ;  and  justly. 
With  all  his  gifts,  but  for  tliis  aunt  Janet, — for  his  mother, — 
and  for  Lilias  Redgauntlet, — he  had  assuredly  been  only  a 
hunting  laird,  and  the  best  story-teller  in  the  Lothians. 

We  scarcely  ever,  in  our  study  of  education,  ask  this  most 
essential  of  all  questions  about  a  man,  What  paile?ice  had 
his  mother  or  sister  with  him  ? 

And  most  men  are  apt  to  forget  it  themselves.  Pardon 
me  for  speaking  of  myself  for  a  moment ;  (if  ]  did  not  know 
things  by  my  own  part  in  them,  I  would  not  write  of  them  at 
all).  You  know  that  people  sometimes  call  me  a  good  writer  : 
others  like  to  hear  me  speak.  I  seldom  mis-spell  or  mis-pro- 
nounce a  word,  grossly  ;  and  can  generally  say  what  I  want 
to  say.  Well,  my  own  impression  about  this  power,  such  as 
it  may  be,  is  that  it  was  born  with  me,  or  gradually  gained 
by  my  own  study.  It  is  only  by  deliberate  effort  that  I  recall 
the  long  morning  hours  of  toil,  as  regular  as  sunrise, — toil  on 
both  sides  equal, — by  which,  year  after  year,  my  mother 
forced  me  to  learn  all  the  Scotch  paraphrases  by  heart,  and 
ever  so  many  chapters  of  the  Bible  besides,  (the  eighth  of  1st 
Kings  being  one, — try  it,  good  reader,  in  a  leisure  hour  !  ) 
allowing  not  so  much  as  a  syllable  to  be  missed  or  misplaced  ; 
while  every  sentence  was  required  to  be  said  over  and  over 
again  till  she  was  satisfied  with  the  accent  of  it.    I  recollect 


70 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


a  struggle  between  us  of  about  three  weeks,  concerning  tha 
accent  of  the  ''of  "  in  the  lines 

Shall  any  following'  spring  revive 
The  ashes  of  the  urn  ?  " 

I  insisting,  partly  in  childish  obstinacy,  and  partly  in  true 
instinct  for  rhythm  (being  wholly  careless  on  the  subject 
both  of  urns  and  their  contents),  on  reciting  it,  ''The  ashes 
of  the  urn."  It  was  not,  I  say,  till  after  three  wrecks'  la- 
bour,  that  my  mother  got  the  accent  laid  upon  the  ashes, 
to  her  mind.  But  had  it  taken  tliree  vears,  she  would  have 
done  it,  having  once  undertaken  to  do  it.  And,  assuredly, 
had  she  not  done  it,  I  had  been  simply  an  avaricious  picture 
collector,  or  perhaps  even  a  more  avaricious  money  collector, 
to  this  day  ;  and  had  she  done  it  wrongly,  no  after-study 
would  ever  have  enabled  me  to  read  so  much  as  a  single  line 
of  verse. 

It  is  impossible,  either  in  history  or  biography,  to  arrange 
what  one  wants  to  insist  upon  w^holly  by  time,  or  wholly  by 
rational  connection.  You  must  observe  that  the  visit  to 
England,  of  which  I  am  now  going  to  speak,  interrupts,  with 
a  brilliant  display  of  pyrotechnic  light,  the  steady  burning  of 
the  stars  above  Scott's  childhood.  From  the  teaching  of  hia 
aunt,  before  he  could  read,  I  should  like,  for  several  reasons, 
to  go  on  at  once  to  the  teaching  of  his  mother,  after  he 
could  read  ;  but  I  must  content  myself,  for  the  moment,  with 
adding  the  catalogue  of  mamma's  library  to  that  of  aunt 
Jessie's.  On  the  window-seat  of  Sandy-Knowe — only  to  be 
got  at  the  pith  of  by  help  of  auntie — we  had  the  odd  volume 
of  Josephus,  Automathes,  and  two  or  three  old  books  not 
named.  A  year  later,  mamma  provides  for  us — now  scholars 
ourselves — Pope's  Homer,  Allan  Ramsay's  Eve7^green,  and, 
for  Sundays,  Bunyan,  Gesner's  Death  of  Abel,  and  Rowe's 
(Mrs.)  betters  from  the  Other  'World,  But  we  have  made  our 
grand  tour  in  the  meantime,  and  have  some  new  ideas  of  this 
world  in  our  head  ;  of  w^hich  the  reader  must  now  consider. 

"  I  was  in  my  fourth  year  when  my  father  was  advised 
that  the  Bath  waters  might  be  of  some  advantage  to  my 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


71 


lameness.  My  affectionate  aunt — although  such  a  journey 
promised  to  a  person  of  her  retired  habits  anything  but 
pleasure  or  amusement — undertook  as  readily  to  accompany 
me  to  the  wells  of  Bladud,  as  if  she  had  expected  all  the  de- 
light that  ever  the  prospect  of  a  watering-place  held  out  to 
its  most  impatient  visitants." 

And  why  should  she  not  ?  Does  it  not  seem  somewhat 
strange  to  you,  from  what  you  know  of  young,  or  even 
middle-aged,  aunt  Jessies  of  the  present  day,  that  Miss  Scott 
should  look  upon  the  journey  to  Bath  as  so  severe  a  piece  of 
self-denial  ;  and  that  her  nephew  regards  her  doing  so  as 
a  matter  of  course? 

How  old  was  aunt  Jessie,  think  you  ?  Scott's  father,  the 
eldest  of  a  large  family,  was  born  in  1729, — in  this  year, 
therefore,  was  forty-six.  If  we  uncharitably  suppose  Miss 
Jessie  the  next  oldest,  she  would  be  precisely  of  the  age  of 
Mrs.  Tabitha  Bramble  ;  and  one  could  fancy  her,  it  seems  to 
me,  on  the  occasion  of  this  unforeseen  trip  to  the  most  fashion- 
able watering-place  in  England,  putting  up  her  rose-collard 
neglegay  with  green  robins,  and  her  bloo  quilted  petticot," 
without  feeling  herself  in  the  position  of  a  martyr  led  to  the 
stake.  But  aunt  Jessie  must  really  have  been  much  younger 
than  Mrs.  Tabitha,  and  have  had  the  advantage  of  her  in 
other  particulars  besides  spelling.  She  was  afterwards  mar- 
ried, and  when  Lockhart  saw  her  (1820?) — forty  years  or 
so  after  tliis — had  still  "  the  softest  eye  and  the  sweetest 
voice."  And  from  the  thatched  mansion  of  the  moorland, 
Miss  Jessie  feels  it  so  irksome  and  solemn  a  duty — does 
she? — to  go  to  "the  squares,  the  circus,  and  the  parades, 
which  put  2/ow"  (Miss  Lydia  Melford)  "in  mind  of  the 
sumptuous  palaces  represented  in  prints  and  pictures  ; 
and  the  new  buildings,  such  as  Prince's  Row,  Harlequin's 
Row,  Bladud's  Row,  and  twenty  other  rows  besides," — not 
to  speak  of  a  real  pump  in  a  pump-room,  with  a  handle  to  it^ 
and  other  machinery,  instead  of  the  unpumped  Tweed  ! 

Her  nephew,  however,  judges  her  rightly.  Aunt  Jessie 
could  give  him  no  truer  proof  of  faithful  affection  than  in 


72 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA, 


Ihe  serenity  with  which  she  resolves  to  take  him  to  this 
centre  of  gaiety. 

Whereupon,  you  are  to  note  this,  that  the  end  of  all  right 
education  for  a  woman  is  to  make  her  love  her  home  better 
than  any  other  place  ;  that  she  should  as  seldom  leave  it  as 
a  queen  her  queendom  ;  nor  ever  feel  entirely  at  rest  but 
within  its  threshold. 

For  her  boy,  however,  there  are  things  to  be  seen  in  Bath, 
and  to  be  learned.  acquired  the  rudiments  of  reading 

from  an  old  dame  near  our  lodgings,  and  I  had  never  a  more 
regular  teacher,  though  I  think  1  did  not  attend  her  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  year.  An  occasional  lesson  from  my  aunt 
supplied  the  rest."  Yes,  little  Walter.  If  we  indeed  have 
a  mind  to  our  book,  that  is  all  the  teaching  we  want  ;  we 
shall  perhaps  get  through  a  volume  or  two  in  time. 

"  The  circumstances  I  recollect  of  my  residence  in  Bath 
are  but  trifling  ;  yet  I  never  recall  them  without  a  feeling  of 
pleasure.  The  beauties  of  the  Parade  (which  of  them  I 
know  not),  with  the  river  Avon  winding  around  it,  and  the 
lowing  of  the  cattle  from  the  opposite  hills,  are  warm  in  my 
recollection,  and  are  only  rivalled  by  the  splendours  of  a  toy- 
shop somewhere  near  the  Orange  Grove.  I  had  acquired,  I 
know  not  by  what  means,  a  kind  of  superstitious  terror  for 
statuarv  of  all  kinds.  No  ancient  Iconoclast  or  modern  Cal- 
Annist  could  have  looked  on  the  outside  of  the  Abbey  Church 
(if  I  mistake  not,  the  principal  church  at  Bath  is  so  called,) 
with  more  horror  than  the  image  of  Jacob's  ladder,  with  all 
its  angels,  presented  to  my  infant  eye.  My  uncle*  effect- 
ually combated  my  terrors,  and  formally  introduced  me  to  a 
statue  of  Neptune,  which  perhaps  still  keeps  guard  at  the 
side  of  the  Avon,  where  a  pleasure-boat  crosses  to  Spring 
Gardens." 

"  A  sweet  retreat " — Spring  Gardens  (again  I  quote  Miss 
Lydia) — "  laid  out  in  walks,  and  ponds,  and  parterres  of 
flowers,  and  hard  by  the  Pamprom  is  a  coffee-house  for  the 
ladies,  but  my  aunt  says  young  girls  are  not  admitted,  inas- 
much as  the  conversation  turns  upon  politics,  scandal,  phi« 

*  Robert,  who  comes  to  visit  them  in  Bath,  to  little  Walter's  great  joj. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


73 


losophy,  and  other  subjects  above  our  capacity."  Is  aunt 
Janet  old  enough  and  clever  enough  for  tlie  company,  I 
wonder  ?  And  Walter — what  toys  did  he  mostly  covet  in 
the  Orange  Grove  ? 

The  passage  about  the  effect  of  sculpture  upon  him  is  in- 
tensely interesting  to  me,  partly  as  an  indication  of  the  state 
of  his  own  nascent  imagination,  partly  as  illustrative  of  the 
power  of  religious  sculpture,  meant  to  terrify,  on  the  minds 
of  peasant  children  of  high  faculty.  But  I  cannot  dwell  on 
this  point  here  :  I  must  get  on  to  his  first  sight  of  a  play. 
The  third  Fors — still  favourable  to  him — appoints  it  to  be 
"As  you  like  it." 

A  never-to-be-forgotten  delight,  influencing  him  in  his 
whole  nature  thenceforward.  It  is  uncle  Robert's  doing  this, 
aunt  Jessie  having  been  probably  doubtful  on  the  matter, 
but  irresistibly  coaxed.  Uncle  Robert  has  much  to  answer 
for  !  How  much,  I  can't  tell  you  to-day  ;  nor  for  a  while 
now,  for  I  have  other  matters  on  hand  in  the  next  Fors  or 
two — Glacier  theory,  and  on  the  road  to  it  I  must  not  let 
you  forget  the  broom-market  between  Berne  and  Thun  ;  and 
I've  got  to  finish  my  notes  on  Friedrich  and  his  father,  who 
take  more  noticing  than  I  expected  ;  besides  that  I've 
Friedrich  II.  of  Germany  to  give  some  account  of  ;  and  all 
my  Oxford  work  besides.  I  can  only  again  and  again  beg  the 
many  valued  correspondents  whose  letters  I  must  abruptly 
answer,  to  remember  that  not  one  word  on  any  of  these  sub- 
jects can  be  set  down  without  care  ;  and  to  consider  what 
the  length  of  a  day  is,  under  existing  solar  arrangements. 

Meantime,  here  is  a  point  for  you  to  think  of.  The  boy 
interrupts  the  first  scene  of  the  play  by  crying  aloud,  "  An't 
they  brothers?" — (the  third  Fors  had  appointed  for  him  that 
one  day  he  should  refuse  to  speak  to  his  own  ;) — and  long 
remembers  the  astonishment  with  which  he  "looked  upon 
the  apathy  of  the  elder  part  of  our  company,  who,  having 
the  means,  did  not  spend  every  evening  at  the  theatre." 

How  was  it  that  he  never  could  write  a  Play  ? 


H  F0R8  CLAVIQERA. 

NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


I  HAVE  mislaid,  just  when  I  wanted  it,  a  valuable  letter,  which  gave 
me  the  first  name  of  Abbotsford  accurately, — Clarty  Hole  being  only  a 
corruption  of  it,  and  the  real  name  bearing  no  such  sense.  I  shall  come 
upon  it  some  time  or  other :  meantime,  my  Scottish  readers  must  not 
suppose  I  mean  that  the  treatment  of  rivers  is  worse  in  North  than  in 
South  Britain, — only  they  have  prettier  streams  in  Scotland  to  float 
their  paraffin,  or  other  beautiful  productions  of  modern  art,  or  nature, 
on  the  top  of.  We  had  one  or  two  clear  streams  in  Surrey,  indeed ; 
but  as  I  was  investigating  the  source  of  one  of  them,  only  the  other 
day,  I  found  a  police  office  had  been  built  over  it,  and  that  the  authori- 
ties had  paid  five  hundred  pounds  to  construct  a  cesspool,  with  a  huge 
iron  cylinder  conducting  to  it,  through  the  spring.  Excavating,  I  found 
the  fountain  running  abundantly,  round  the  pipe. 

The  following  paragraph,  and  the  two  subjoined  letters,  appeared  in 
the  same  impression  of  the  Daily  Telegra'ph^  on  the  12th  January,  187J. 
I  wish  to  preserve  them  in  Fors  ;  and  I  print  them  in  this  number,  be- 
cause the  succession  of  the  first  four  names  in  the  statement  of  the 
journal,  associated  with  that  of  the  first  magistrate  of  the  City  of  Lon- 
don, in  connection  with  the  business  in  hand  that  day,  is  to  me  the  most 
pleasant  piece  of  reading— and  I  think  must  be  to  all  of  us  among  the 
most  significant — that  has  lately  met  our  eyes  in  a  public  print ;  and  it 
means  such  new  solemn  league  and  covenant  as  Scott  had  been  fain  to 
see.  My  letter  about  the  Italian  streams  may  well  follow  what  I  have 
said  of  Scottish  ones. 

The  French  Appeal  to  England. 

We  are  happy  to  announce  further  contributions  to  the  fund  which 
is  being  raised  in  response  to  the  appeal  of  the  Bishop  of  Versailles  and 
the  clergy  of  the  Seine-et-Oise  department ;  and  also  to  state  that,  in 
addition  to  those  influential  persons  whom  we  named  yesterday  as  being- 
ready  to  serve  on  a  committee,  two  other  gentlemen  of  high  official  and 
social  position  have  consented  to  join  the  body.  The  list  at  present  is 
as  follows  :  The  Lord  Bishop  of  London;  Dr.  Manning,  Roman  Catholic 
Archbishop  of  Westminster  ;  the  Rev.  Dr.  Brock,  the  Baptist  minister ; 
Mr.  Alfred  de  Rothschild;  and  the  Lord  Mayor,  who  has  courteously 
placed  the  Mansion  House  at  the  service  of  the  committee.  Besides 
these  names,  the  members  of  the  '  Paris  Food  Fund,'  as  will  be  seen 
from  the  subjoined  letter,  propose  to  join  the  more  comprehensive  or- 
ganization. 


FOBS  GLAVIGEUA. 


75 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Daily  Telegraph. 

Sir, — Acting  on  your  suggestion  that  the  '  Paris  Food  Fund,'  which 
I  yesterday  described  to  you,  might  be  advantageously  united  with  that 
which  has  been  suggested  by  the  Bishop  of  Versailles,  I  beg  to  say  that 
Archbishop  Manning,  Professor  Huxley,  Sir  John  Lubbock,  and  Mr. 
Ruskin  will  with  myself,  have  great  pleasure  in  forming  part  of  such  a 
public  committee  as  you  have  advised,  and  in  placing  the  subscription? 
already  sent  to  us  at  its  disposal. 

I  am,  sir,  ycui  obedient  servant, 

Jan.  11/*  James  T.  Knowles.'* 

Daily  Telegraphy  Jan.  12,  1871. 

Roman  Inundations. 

To  the  Editor  of  the  Daily  Telegraph. 

Sir, — May  I  ask  you  to  add  to  your  article  on  the  inundation  of  the 
Tiber  some  momentary  invitatiou  to  your  r^^aders  to  think  with  Horace 
rather  than  to  smile  with  him  V 

"  In  the  briefest  and  proudest  words  he  wrote  of  himself,  he  thought 
of  his  native  land  chiefly  as  divided  into  the  two  districts  of  violent  and 
scanty  waters  : 

Dicar,  qua  violens  obstrepit  Aulidus, 

Et  qua,  pauper  aqu£o,  Daunus  agrestium 

Regnavit  populorum. 

Now  the  anger  and  power  of  that  taunformiA  Avfifins  is  precisely 
because  regnn  Dduiii  prce  fin  it— because  it  fl  jwh  past  the  poor  kingdoms 
which  it  should  enrich.  Stay  it  there,  and  it  is  treasure  instead  of  ruin. 
And  so  also  with  Tiber  and  Eridanus.  They  are  so  much  gold,  at  their 
Kources, — they  are  so  much  death,  if  they  once  break  down  unbridled 
into  the  plains. 

At  the  end  of  your  report  of  the  events  of  the  inundation,  it  is  said 
that  the  King  of  Italy  expressed  *  an  earnest  desire  to  do  something,  as 
far  as  science  and  industry  could  effect  it,  to  prevent  or  mitigate  inun- 
dations for  the  future.' 

Now,  science  and  industry  can  do,  not  'something,'  but  everything; 
and  not  merely  to  miLi«j:ate  inundations — and,  deadliest  of  inundations, 
because  perpetual — maremmas  ;  but  to  change  them  into  national  banks 
instead  of  debts. 

"  The  first  thing  the  King  of  any  country  has  to  do  is  to  manage  the 
streams  of  it. 

"If  he  can  manage  the  streams,  he  can  also  the  people  ;  for  the 
people  also  form  alternately  torrent  and  maremma,  in  pestilential  fury 
or  pestilential  idleness.  They  also  will  change  into  living  streams  of 
men,  if  their  Kings  literally  '  lead  them  forth  beside  the  waters  of  com- 
fort.' Half  the  money  'ost  by  this  inundation  of  Tiber,  spent  rightly  on 
the  hill-sides  last  summer,  would  have  changed  every  wave  of  it  into  so 
much  fruit  and  foliage  in  spring,  where  now  iht^y  will  be  only  burning 
rock.  And  the  men  who  have  been  killed  within  the  1  st  two  months, 
and  whose  work,  and  the  money  spent  in  doing  it.  have  filled  Europe 
with  vuisery  which  fifty  years  will  not  efface,  had  they  been  set  at  tho 


76 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA 


same  cost  to  do  good  instead  of  evil,  and  to  save  life  instead  of  destroy 
it,  might,  by  this  10th  of  January,  1871,  have  embanked  every  danger* 
ous  stream  at  the  roots  of  the  Rhine,  the  Rhone,  and  the  Po,  and  left 
to  Germany,  to  France,  and  to  Italy  an  inheritance  of  blessing  for  cen- 
turies to  come — they  and  their  families  living  all  the  while  in  brightest 
happiness  and  peace.  And  now  !  Let  the  Red  Prince  look  to  it ;  red 
inundation  bears  also  its  fruit  in  time. 

**  I  am,  sir,  your  obedient  servant, 
Jan.  10."  John  Ruskiw/' 


Daily  Tdegraph^  Jan.  12, 187L 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


71 


LETTER  XXXIV. 


Love,  it  is  a  wrathful  peace, 
A  free  acquittance,  without  release. 
And  truth  with  falsehood  all  a-fret, 
And  fear  within  secureness  set ; 
In  heart  it  is  despairing  hope  ; 
And  full  of  hope,  it  is  vain  hope. 
Wise  madness  and  wild  reasonne, 
And   sweet   danger,   wherein  to 
droune. 

A  heavy  burden,  light  to  bear ; 
A  wicked  way,  away  to  wear. 
It  is  discordance  that  can  accord, 
And  accordance  to  discord  ; 
It  is  cunning  without  science, 
Wisdom  without  sapience, 
Wit  without  discretion, 
Having,  without  possession, 
And  health  full  of  malady. 
And  charity  full  of  envy, 
And  restraint  full  of  abundance, 
And  a  greedy  suffisaunce. 

■X-  *  *  * 

Mesment  de  ceste  amour 
Li  plus  sages  n'y  sceunt  tour 
Maiz  ou  entent  je  te  diray 
Une  adt  (outre)  amour  te  descriray 
De  celle  veuil  je  que  pour  t'ame 
Tu  aimes  la  tres-doulce  dame. 
Si  com  dist  la  ste  cpcripture 
Amours  est  fors,  amours  est  dure, 
A^monrs  soustient,  amours  endure. 
Amours  revient,  et  tousjours  dure ; 
Amours  met  en  amer  sa  cure ; 
Amours  loyal,  amours  seure 
Bert,  et  de  servise  nacure. 
Amours  fait  de  propre  commun, 
Amours  fait  de  deux  cuers  un  ; 

*  See  firt-t  te 


Delight  right  full  of  heaviness, 
And  drearihood,  full  of  gladness  ; 
Bitter  sweetness,  and  sweet  error. 
Right  evil  savoured  good  savour ; 
Sin,  that  pardon  hath  within. 
And  pardon,  spotted  outside  with 
sin  : 

A  pain  also  it  is  joyous. 

And  cruelty,  right  piteous  ; 

A  strength  weak  to  stand  upright, 

And  feebleness  full  of  might ; 

Wit  unadvised,  sage  foUie, 

And  joy  full  of  tormentry. 

A  laughter  it  is,  weeping  aye  ; 

Rest,  that  travaileth  night  and  day; 

Also  a  sweet  Hell  it  is, 

And  a  sorrowful  Paradise  ;* 

A  pleasant  gaol,  and  an  easy  prison. 

And  full  of  froste,  summer  season; 

Prime-time,  full  of  froste's  white. 

And  May  devoid  of  all  delight. 
4t  m  m 

Amours  enchace,  ce  me  semble, 
Amours  rent  cuers,  amours  lea 
emble, 

Amours  despiece,  amours  refait, 
Amours  fait  paix,  amours  fait  plait, 
Amours  fait  bel,  amours  fait  lait, 
Toutes  heures  quant  il  lui  plaist 
Amours  attrait,  amours  estrange 
Amours  fait  de  prive  estrange ; 
Amoursseurprent,  amours  emprent; 
Amours  reprent,  amours  esprent, 
II  n*est  riens  qu'amours  ne  face  ; 
Amours  tolt  cuer,amour8  tolt  grace, 
Amours  delie,  amours  enlace. 
Amours  ocist,  amours  efface, 

uinal  note. 


T8 


FOBS  CLA  VIGERA. 


Amours  ne  craint  ne  pic  ne  mace : 
Amoura  fisb  Dieu  venir  en  place, 
Amours  lui  fist  ure  (notre)  char 

prendre, 
Amours  le  fist  devenir  mendre, 
Amours  le  fist  en  la  croix  pendre, 


Amours  le  fist  illec  extend  re, 
Amours  le  fist  le  coste  fendre, 
Amours  le  fist  les  maulx  reprendre* 
Amours  lui  fist  les  bons  aprendre. 
Amours  le  fist  a  nous  venir, 
Amours  nous  fait  a  lui  tenir. 


These  descriptions  of  the  two  kinds  of  noble  love  are  botW 
given  in  the  part  of  the  Romance  of  the  Rose  which  was 
written  by  Jean  de  Meung.*  Chaucer  translated  the  first, 
and  I  have  partly  again  translated  his  translation  into  more 
familiar  English.  I  leave  the  original  French  of  the  other 
for  you  to  work  at,  if  ever  you  care  to  learn  French  ; — the 
first  is  all  that  I  want  you  to  read  just  now  ;  but  they  should 
not  be  separated,  being  among  the  most  interesting  expres- 
sions extant  of  the  sentiment  of  the  dark  ages,  which  Mr. 
Applegarth  is  desirous  of  eliminating  from  modern  business. 

The  two  great  loves, — that  of  husband  and  wife,  repre- 
senting generally  the  family  affections,  and  that  of  mankind, 
to  which,  at  need,  the  family  affection  must  be  sacrificed, — 
include,  rightly  understood,  all  the  noble  sentiments  of  hu- 
manity. Modern  philosophy  supposes  these  conditions  of 
feeling  to  have  been  always  absurd,  and  at  present,  happily, 
nearly  extinct;  and  that  the  only  proper,  or,  in  future,  pos- 
sible, motives  of  human  action  are  the  three  wholly  unsenti- 
mental desires, — the  lust  of  the  flesh,  (hunger,  thirst,  and 
sexual  passion),  the  lust  of  the  eyes,  (covetousness),  and  the 
pride  of  life,  (personal  vanity). 

Thus,  in  a  recent  debate  on  the  treatment  of  Canada,*)*  Sir 
C.  Adderley  deprecates  the  continuance  of  a  debate  on  a 
question  "purely  sentimental."  I  doubt  if  Sir  C.  Adderley 
knew  in  the  least  what  was  meant  by  a  sentimental  ques- 
tion. It  is  a  purely  "  sentimental  question,"  for  instance, 
whether  Sir  C.  Adderley  shall,  or  shall  not,  eat  his  mother, 
instead  of  burying  her.    Similarly,  it  is  a  purely  sentimental 

*  Or  Mehun,  near  Beau^ency,  Loire. 

f  On  Mr.  M'Fie's  motion  for  a  committee  to  consider  the  relatione 
that  subsist  between  the  United  Kingdom  and  the  Colonies.  On  thfi 
varieties  of  filial  sentiment,  compare  Herodotus,  iii.  38 ;  iv,  26. 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


79 


question,  whether,  in  the  siege  of  Samaria,  the  mother  who 
boiled  her  son  and  ate  him,  or  the  mother  who  hid  her  son, 
was  best  fulfilling  her  duty  to  society.  Similarly,  the  rela- 
tions of  a  colony  to  its  mother-country,  in  their  truth  and 
depth,  are  founded  on  purely  parental  and  filial  instincts, 
which  may  be  either  sentimental  or  bestial,  but  must  be  one 
or  the  other.  Sir  Charles  probably  did  not  know  that  the 
discussion  of  every  such  question  must  therefore  be  either 
sentimental  or  bestial. 

Into  one  or  other,  then,  of  these  two  forms  of  sentiment, 
conjugal  and  family  love,  or  compassion,  all  human  happiness, 
properly  so  called,  resolves  itself  ;  but  the  spurious  or  coun- 
ter-happiness of  lust,  covetousness,  and  vanity  being  easily 
obtained,  and  naturally  grasped  at,  instead,  may  altogether 
occupy  the  lives  of  men,  without  ever  allowing  them  to  know 
what  happiness  means. 

But  in  the  use  I  have  just  made  of  the  word  *  compassion,' 
I  mean  something  very  different  from  what  is  usually  under- 
stood by  it.  Compassion  is  the  Latin  form  of  the  Greek 
word  *  sympathy' — the  English  for  both  is  'fellow-feeling'  ; 
and  the  condition  of  delight  in  characters  higher  than  our 
own  is  more  truly  to  be  understood  by  the  word  'compassion' 
than  the  pain  of  pity  for  those  inferior  to  our  own  ;  but  in 
either  case,  the  imaginative  understanding  of  the  natures  of 
others,  and  the  power  of  putting  ourselves  in  their  place,  is 
the  faculty  on  which  the  virtue  depends.  So  that  an  unim- 
aginative person  can  neither  be  reverent  nor  kind.  The  main 
use  of  works  of  fiction,  and  of  the  drama,  is  to  supply,  as  far 
as  possible,  the  defect  of  this  imagination  in  common  minds. 
But  there  is  a  curious  difference  in  the  nature  of  these  works 
themselves,  depeiident  on  the  degree  of  imaginative  power 
of  the  writers,  which  I  must  at  once  explain,  else  T  can 
neither  answer  for  you  my  own  question  put  in  last  Fbrs, 
why  Scott  could  not  write  a  play,  nor  show  you,  which  is 
my  present  object,  the  real  nature  of  sentiment. 

Do  you  know,  in  the  first  place,  wliat  a  play  is  ?  or  what 
a  poem  is  ?  or  what  a  novel  is?  That  is  to  say,  do  you  know 
the  perpetual  and  necessary  distinctions  in  literary  aim  which 


80 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


have  brought  these  distinctive  names  into  use  ?  You  had 
better  first,  for  clearness'  sake,  call  all  the  three  *  poems,'  for 
all  the  three  are  so,  when  they  are  good,  whether  written 
in  verse  or  prose.  All  truly  imaginative  account  of  man  is 
poetic  ;  but  there  are  three  essential  kinds  of  poetry, — one 
dramatic,  one  lyric,  and  one  epic. 

Dramatic  poetry  is  the  expression  by  the  poet  of  other 
people's  feelings,  his  own  not  being  told. 

Lyric  poetry  is  the  expression  by  the  poet  of  his  own 
feelings. 

Epic  poetry  is  account  given  by  the  poet  of  other  people's 
external  circumstances,  and  of  events  happening  to  them, 
with  only  such  expression  either  of  their  feelings,  or  his  own, 
as  he  thinks  may  be  conveniently  added. 

The  business  of  Dramatic  poetry  is  therefore  with  the  heart 
essentially  ;  it  despises  external  circumstance. 

Lyric  poetry  may  speak  of  anything  that  excites  emotion 
in  the  speaker  ;  while  Epic  poetry  insists  on  external  circum- 
stances, and  no  more  exhibits  the  heart-feeling  than  as  it 
may  be  gathered  from  these. 

For  instance,  the  fight  between  the  Prince  of  Wales  and 
Hotspur,  in  Henry  the  Fourth,  corresponds  closely,  in  the 
character  of  the  event  itself,  to  the  fight  of  Fitz-James  with 
Roderick,  in  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  But  Shakespeare's 
treatment  of  his  subject  is  strictly  dramatic  ;  Scott's,  strictly 
epic. 

Shakespeare  gives  you  no  account  whatever  of  any  blow 
or  wound  :  his  stage  direction  is,  briefly,  Hotspur  is 
wounded,  and  falls."  Scott  gives  you  accurate  account  of 
every  external  circumstance,  and  the  finishing  touch  of  botan- 
ical accuracy, — 

Down  came  the  blow  ;  but  in  the  heath 
The  erring  blade  found  bloodless  sheath," — 

makes  his  work  perfect,  as  epic  poetry.  And  Scott's  work 
is  always  epic,  and  it  is  contrary  to  his  very  nature  to  treat 
any  subject  dramatically. 

That  is  t'he  technical  distinction,  then,  between  the  three 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


SI 


modes  of  work.  But  the  gradation  of  power  in  all  three  de- 
pends on  the  degree  of  imagination  with  which  the  writer 
can  enter  into  the  feelings  of  other  people.  Whether  in  ex- 
pressing theirs  or  his  own,  and  whether  in  expressing  their 
feelings  only,  or  also  the  circumstances  surrounding  them, 
his  power  depends  on  his  being  able  to  feel  as  they  do  ;  in 
other  words,  on  his  being  able  to  conceive  character.  And 
the  literature  which  is  not  poetry  at  all,  which  is  essentially 
unsentimental,  or  anti-poetic,  is  that  which  is  produced  by 
persons  who  have  no  imagination  ;  and  whose  merit  (for  of 
course  I  am  not  speaking  of  bad  literature)  is  in  their  wit  or 
sense,  instead  of  their  imagination. 

The  most  prosaic,  in  this  sense,  piece  I  have  ever  myself 
examined,  in  the  literature  of  any  nation,  is  the  Henriade 
of  Voltaire.  You  may  take  that  as  a  work  of  a  man  whose 
head  was  as  destitute  of  imaginative  power  as  it  is  possible 
for  the  healthy  cerebral  organization  of  a  highly  developed 
mammalian  animal  to  be.  The  description  of  the  storm  which 
carries  Henry  to  Jersey,  and  of  the  hermit  in  Jersey  "  que 
Dieu  lui  fit  connaitre,"  and  who,  on  that  occasion,  "  au  bord 
d'une  onde  pure,  offre  un  festin  champetre,"  cannot  be 
rivalled,  for  stupor  in  conceptive  power,  among  printed  books 
of  reputation.  On  the  other  hand,  Voltaire's  wit,  and  reason- 
ing faculties,  are  nearly  as  strong  as  his  imagination  is  weak. 
His  natural  disposition  is  kind  ;  his  sympathy  therefore  is 
sincere  with  any  sorrow  that  he  can  conceive  ;  and  his  indig- 
nation great  against  injustices  of  which  he  cannot  compre- 
hend the  pathetic  motives.  Now  notice  further  this,  which 
is  very  curious,  and  to  me  inexplicable,  but  not  on  that  ac- 
count less  certain  as  a  fact. 

The  imaginative  power  always  purifies  ;  the  want  of  it 
therefore  as  essentially  defiles  ;  and  as  the  wit-power  is  apt 
to  develop  itself  through  absence  of  imagination,  it  seems  as 
if  wit  itself  had  a  defiling  tendency.  In  Pindar,  Homer, 
Virgil,  Dante,  and  Scott,  the  colossal  powers  of  imagination 
result  in  absolute  virginal  purity  of  thought.  The  defect  of 
imagination  and  the  splendid  rational  power  in  Pope  and 
Horace  associate  themselves — it  is  difficult  to  say  in  what 
Vol.  II.— 6 


82 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


decided  measures — with  foulness  of  thought.  The  Candide  o! 
Voltaire,  in  its  gratuitous  filth,  its  acute  reasoning,  and  its 
entire  vacuity  of  imagination,  is  a  standard  of  what  may 
perhaps  be  generally  and  fitly  termed  *  fimetic  literature,* 
still  capable,  by  its  wit,  and  partial  truth,  of  a  certain 
service  in  its  way.  But  lower  forms  of  modern  literature 
and  art — Gustave  Dore's  paintings,  for  instance, — are  the 
corruption,  in  national  decrepitude,  of  this  pessimist  method 
of  thought  ;  and  of  these,  the  final  condemnation  is  true — • 
they  are  neither  fit  for  the  land,  nor  yet  for  the  dunghill. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  curious  problems  respecting  mental 
government  to  determine  how  far  this  fimetic  taint  must 
necessarily  affect  intellects  in  which  the  reasoning  and  im- 
aginative powers  are  equally  balanced,  and  both  of  them 
at  high  level, — as  in  Aristophanes,  Shakespeare,  Chaucer, 
Moliere,  Cervantes,  and  Fielding  ;  but  it  always  indicates 
the  side  of  character  which  is  unsympathetic,  and  therefore 
unkind  ;  (thus  Shakespeare  makes  lago  the  foulest  in 
thought,  as  cruelest  in  design,  of  all  his  villains,)  but  which, 
in  men  of  noble  nature,  is  their  safeguard  against  weak  en- 
thusiasms and  ideals.  It  is  impossible,  however,  that  the 
highest  conditions  of  tenderness  in  affectionate  conception 
can  be  reached  except  by  the  absolutely  virginal  intellect. 
Shakespeare  and  Chaucer  throw  off,  at  noble  work,  the 
lower  part  of  their  natures  as  they  would  a  rough  dress  ; 
and  you  may  also  notice  this,  that  the  power  of  conceiving 
personal,  as  opposed  to  general,  character,  depends  on  this 
purity  of  heart  and  sentiment.  The  men  who  cannot  quit 
themselves  of  the  impure  taint,  never  invent  character, 
properly  so  called  ;  they  only  invent  symbols  of  common 
humanity.  Even  Fielding's  Allworthy  is  not  a  character, 
but  a  type  of  a  simple  English  gentleman  ;  and  Squire 
Western  is  not  a  character,  but  a  type  of  the  rude  English 
squire.  But  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  is  a  character,  as  well  as 
a  type  ;  there  is  no  one  else  like  him  ;  and  the  masters  of 
Tullyveolan,  Ellangowan,  Monkbarns,  and  Osbaldistone  Hall, 
are  all,  whether  slightly  or  completely  drawn,  portraits,  not 
mere  symbols. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


83 


The  little  piece  which  I  shall  to-day  further  translate  for 
you  from  my  Swiss  novel  is  interesting  chiefly  in  showing 
the  power  with  which  affectionate  and  sentimental  imagina- 
tion may  attach  itself  even  to  inanimate  objects,  and  give 
them  personality.  But  the  works  of  its  writer  generally 
show  the  most  wholesome  balance  of  the  sentimental  and 
rational  faculty  I  have  ever  met  with  in  literature  ; — the  part 
of  Gotthelf 's  nature  which  is  in  sympathy  with  Pope  and 
Fielding  enables  him  to  touch,  to  just  the  necessary  point, 
the  lower  grotesqueness  of  peasant  nature,  while  his  own 
conception  of  ideal  virtue  is  as  pure  as  Wordsworth's. 

But  I  have  only  room  in  tKis  Fors  for  a  very  little  bit 
more  of  the  broom-maker.  I  continue  the  last  sentence  of 
it  from  page  12  of  Letter  XXX.: — 

And  then  IJansli  always  knew  that  as  soon  as  he  got 
home  there  would  be  enough  to  eat  ; — his  mother  saw  faith- 
fully to  that.  She  knew  the  difference  it  makes  whether  a 
man  finds  something  ready  to  eat,  when  he  comes  in,  or  not. 
He  who  knows  there  will  be  something  at  home,  does  not 
stop  in  the  taverns  ;  he  arrives  with  an  empty  stomach,  and 
furnishes  it,  highly  pleased  with  all  about  him  ;  but  if  he 
usually  finds  nothing  ready  when  at  home,  he  stops  on  the 
road,  comes  in  when  he  has  had  enough  or  too  much  ;  and 
grumbles  right  and  left. 

"Hansli  was  not  avaricious,  but  economical.  For  things 
really  useful  and  fit,  lie  did  not  look  at  the  money.  In  all 
matters  of  food  and  clothes,  he  wished  his  mother  to  be 
thoroughly  at  ease.  He  made  a  good  bed  for  himself  ;  and 
when  he  had  saved  enough  to  buy  a  knife  or  a  good  tool,  he 
was  quite  up  in  the  air.  He  himself  dressed  well,  not  ex- 
pensively, but  solidly.  Any  one  with  a  good  eye  knows 
quickly  enough,  at  the  sight  of  houses  or  of  people,  whether 
they  are  going. up  or  down.  As  for  Hansli,  it  was  easy  to 
see  he  was  on  his  way  uj) — not  that  he  ever  put  on  an\^thing 
fine,  but  by  his  cleanliness  and  the  careful  look  of  his  things  : 
aussi,  everybody  liked  to  see  him,  and  was  very  glad  to 
know  that  he  prospered  thus,  not  by  fraud,  but  by  work. 
With  all  that,  he  never  forgot  his  prayers.  On  Sunday  he 
made  no  brooms  :  in  the  morning  he  went  to  the  sermon,* 

*  Much  the  most  important  part  of  the  service  in  Protestant  Switzer- 
land, and  a  less  formal  one  than  in  Scotland. 


84 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


and  in  the  afternoon  he  read  a  chapter  of  the  Bible  to  his 
mother,  whose  sight  was  now  failing.  After  that  he  gave 
himself  a  personal  treat.  This  treat  consisted  in  bringing 
out  all  his  money,  counting  it,  looking  at  it,*  and  calculat- 
ing how  much  it  had  increased,  and  how  much  it  would  yet 
increase,  etc.  etc.  In  that  money  there  were  some  v^ery 
pretty  pieces, — above  all,  pretty  white  pieces  "  (silver  among 
the  copper).  "  Hansli  was  very  strong  in  exchanges  ;  he 
took  small  money  willingly  enough,  but  never  kept  it  long  ; 
it  seemed  always  to  him  that  the  wind  got  into  it  and 
carried  it  off  too  quickly.  The  new  white  pieces  gave  him 
an  extreme  pleasure, — above  all,  the  fine  dollars  of  Berne 
with  the  bear,  and  the  superl5  Swiss  of  old  time.  When  he 
had  managed  to  catch  one  of  these,  it  made  him  happy  for 
many  days.f 

"  Nevertheless,  he  had  also  his  bad  days.  It  was  always  a 
bad  day  for  him  when  he  lost  a  customer,  or  had  counted  on 
placing  a  dozen  of  new  brooms  anywhere,  and  found  himself 
briskly  sent  from  the  door  with  '  We've  got  all  we  want.' 
At  first  Hansli  could  not  understand  the  cause  of  such  re- 
buffs, not  knowing  that  there  are  people  who  change  their 
cook  as  often  as  their  shirt — sometimes  oftener, — and  that  he 
couldn't  expect  new  cooks  to  know  him  at  first  sight.  He 
asked  himself  then,  with  surprise,  what  he  could  have  failed 
in, — whether  his  brooms  had  come  undone,  or  whether  any- 
body had  spoken  ill  of  him.  He  took  that  much  to  heart, 
and  would  plague  himself  all  night  to  find  out  the  real 
cause.  But  soon  he  took  the  thing  more  coolly  ;  and  even 
when  a  cook  who  knew  him  very  well  sent  him  about  his 
business,  he  thought  to  himself,  'Bah!  cooks  are  human 
creatures,  like  other  people;  and  when  master  or  mistress 
have  been  rough  with  them  J  because  they've  put  too  much 
pepper  in  the  soup,  or  too  much  salt  in  the  sauce,  or  when 

*  Utmost  wisdom  is  not  in  self-denial,  but  in  learning  to  find  extreme 
pleasure  in  very  little  things. 

f  This  pleasure  is  a  perfectly  natural  and  legitimate  one,  and  all  the 
more  because  it  is  possible  only  when  the  riches  are  very  moderate. 
After  getting  the  first  shilling  of  which  I  told  you,  I  set  my  mind 
greatly  upon  getting  a  pile  of  new  *'lion  shillings,"  as  I  called  them — 
the  lion  standing  on  the  top  of  the  crown ;  and  my  delight  in  the 
bloomy  surface  of  their  dead  silver  is  quite  a  memorable  joy  to  me.  I 
have  engraved,  for  the  frontispiece,  the  two  sides  of  one  of  Hansli's 
Sunday  playthings  ;  it  is  otherwise  interesting  as  an  example  of  the 
comparatively  vulgar  coinage  of  a  people  uneducated  in  art. 

X  Has  quarrelled  with  them. 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


85 


their  schatz  "  (lover, — literally,  treasure)  "  is  gone  off  to  Pep- 
perland,*  the  poor  girls  have  well  the  right  to  quarrel  with 
somebody  else.'  Nevertheless,  the  course  of  time  needs 
brought  him  some  worse  days  still,  which  he  never  got  him- 
self to  take  coolly.  He  knew  now,  personally,  very  nearly 
all  his  trees;  he  had  indeed  given,  for  himself  alone,  names 
to  his  willows,  and  some  other  particular  trees,  as  Lizzie, 
Little  Mary-Anne,  Rosie,  and  so  on.  These  trees  kept  him  in 
joy  all  the  year  round,  and  he  divided  very  carefully  the  pleas- 
ure of  o^atherino:  their  twio-s.  He  treated  the  most  beautiful 
with  great  delicacy,  and  carried  the  brooms  of  them  to  his 
best  customers.  It  is  true  to  say  also  that  these  were  always 
master-brooms.  But  when  he  arrived  thus,  all  joyous,  at  his 
willows,  and  found  his  Lizzie  or  his  Rosie  all  cut  and  torn 
from  top  to  bottom,  his  heart  w^as  so  strained  that  the  tears 
ran  down  his  cheeks,  and  his  blood  became  so  hot  that  one 
could  have  lighted  matches  at  it.  That  made  him  unhappy 
for  a  length  of  time;  he  could  not  swallow  it,  and  all  he 
asked  was  that  the  thief  might  fall  into  his  grip,  not  for 
the  value  of  the  twigs,  but  because  his  trees  had  been  hurt. 
If  Hansli  was  not  tall,  still  he  knew  how  to  use  liis  limbs  and 
his  strength,  and  he  felt  his  heart  full  of  courage.  On  that 
point  he  absolutely  would  not  obey  liis  mother,  who  begged 
him  for  the  love  of  God  not  to  meddle  with  people  who 
might  kill  him,  or  do  him  some  grievous  harm.  But  Hansli 
took  no  heed  of  all  that.  He  lay  in  wait  and  spied  until  he 
caught  somebody.  Then  there  were  blows  and  formidable 
battles  in  the  midst  of  the  solitarv  trees.  Sometimes  Hansli 
got  the  better,  sometimes  he  came  home  all  in  disorder.  But 
at  the  worst,  he  gained  at  least  this,  that  thenceforward  one 
let  his  willows  more  and  more  alone,  as  happens  always  when 
a  thing  is  defended  with  valour  and  preseverance.  What  is 
the  use  of  putting  oneself  in  the  way  of  blows,  when  one 
can  get  things  somewhere  else  w^ithout  danger?  Aussi,  the 
Rychiswyl  farmers  were  enchanted  with  their  courageous 
little  garde-champetre,  and  if  one  or  the  other  saw^  hini  with 
his  hair  pulled,  they  failed  not  to  say,  'Never  mind,  Hansli; 
he  will  have  had  his  dance  all  the  same.  Tell  me  the  next 
time  you  see  anything — I'll  go  with  you,  and  we'll  cure  him 
of  his  taste  for  brooms.'    Whereupon,  Hansli  would  tell  him 

*  "  Les  ont  brusqures.'*  I  can't  get  the  deiivntiou  beyond  Johnson  : 
*' Fr.  brusque;  Gothic,  brafika."  But  the  Italian  brusco  is  connected 
with  the  Provencal  brusca,  thicket,  and  Fr.  broussaille. 


86 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


when  he  saw  anybody  about  that  should  not  be;  the  peas 
ant*  kept  himself  hid;  Hansli  began  the  attack;  the  ad- 
versary, thinking  himself  strongest,  waited  for  him;  once 
the  thief  seized,  the  peasant  showed  himself,  and  all  was 
said.  Then  the  marauder  would  have  got  away  if  he  could, 
but  Hansli  never  let  go  till  he  had  been  beaten  as  was  fit- 
ting. 

"This  was  a  very  efficacious  remedy  against  the  switch- 
stealers,  and  Little  Mary-Anne  and  Rosie  remained  in  per- 
fect security  in  the  midst  of  the  loneliest  fields.  Thus 
Hansli  passed  some  years  without  perceiving  it,  and  with- 
out imagining  that  things  could  ever  change.  A  week 
passed,  as  the  hand  went  round  the  clock,  he  didn't  know 
how.  Tuesdav,  market-dav  at  Berne,  was  there  before  he 
could  think  about  it  ;  and  Tuesday  was  no  sooner  past  than 
Saturday  was  there  ;  and  he  had  to  go  to  Thun,  whether  he 
would  or  no,  for  how  could  the  Thun  people  get  on  without 
him  ?  Between  times  he  had  enough  to  do  to  prepare  his 
cartload,  and  to  content  his  customers, — that  is  to  say,  those 
of  them  that  pleased  him.  Our  Hansli  was  a  man  ;  and 
every  man,  when  his  position  permits  it,  has  his  caprices  of 
liking  and  disliking.  Whenever  one  had  trod  on  his  toes, 
one  must  have  been  very  clever  afterwards  to  get  the  least 
twig  of  a  broom  from  him.  The  parson's  wife,  for  instance, 
couldn't  have  got  one  if  she  would  have  paid  for  it  twice 
over.  It  was  no  use  sending  to  him  ;  every  time  she  did,  he 
said  he  was  very  sorry,  but  he  hadn't  a  broom  left  that  would 
suit  her. 

That  was  because  she  had  one  day  said  to  him  that  he 
was  just  like  other  people,  and  contented  himself  with  put- 
ting a  few  long  twigs  all  round,  and  then  bad  ones  in  the 
middle. 

"  '  Then  you  may  as  well  get  your  brooms  from  somebody 
else,'  said  he  ;  and  held  to  it  too  ; — so  well  that  the  lady 
died  without  ever  having  been  able  to  get  the  shadow  of  a 
broom  from  him. 

"  One  Tuesday  he  was  going  to  Berne  with  an  enormous 
cartful  of  his  prettiest  brooms,  all  gathered  from  his  favour- 
ite trees,  that  is  to  say,  Rosie,  Little  Mary-Anne,  and  com- 
pany. He  was  pulling  with  all  his  strength,  and  greatly 
astonished  to  find  that  his  cart  didn't  go  of  itself,  as  it  did 
at  first  ;  that  it  really  pulled  too  hard,  and  that  something 


Paysan — see  above. 


F0R8  CLAVIOERA. 


87 


must  be  wrong  with  it.  -At  every  moment  he  was  obliged 
to  stop  to  take  breath  and  wipe  his  forehead.  *  If  only  I 
was  at  the  top  of  the  hill  of  Stalden  ! '  said  he.  He  had 
stopped  thus  in  the  little  wood  of  Muri,  close  to  the  bench 
that  the  women  rest  their  baskets  on.  Upon  the  bench  sat 
a  young  girl,  holding  a  little  bundle  beside  her,  and  weeping- 
hot  tears.  Hansli,  who  had  a  kind  heart,  asked  her  what 
she  was  crying  for. 

"  The  young  girl  recounted  to  him  that  she  was  obliged 
to  go  into  the  town,  and  tliat  she  was  so  frightened  she 
scarcely  dared  ;  that  her  father  was  a  shoemaker,  and  that 
all  his  best  customers  were  in  the  town  ;  that  for  a  long 
time  she  had  carried  her  bundle  of  shoes  in,  on  market  days, 
and  that  nothing  had  ever  happened  to  her.  But  behold, 
there  had  arrived  in  the  town  a  new  gendarme,  very  cross, 
who  had  already  tormented  her  every  Tuesday  she  had 
come,  for  some  time  back  ;  and  threatened  her,  if  she  came 
again,  to  take  her  shoes  from  her,  and  put  her  in  prison. 
She  had  begged  her  father  not  to  send  her  any  more,  but 
her  father  was  as  severe  as  a  Prussian  soldier,  and  had  or- 
dered her  to  *go  in,  always  ;  and  if  anybody  hurt  her,  it  was 
with  him  they  would  have  affairs;'  but  what  would  that 
help  her? — she  was  just  as  much  afraid  of  the  gendarme  as 
before. 

"Hansli  felt  himself  touched  with  compassion  ;  above  all, 
on  account  of  the  confidence  the  young  girl  had  had  in  tell- 
ing him  all  this  ;  that  which  certainly  she  would  not  have 
done  to  everybody.  '  But  she  has  seen  at  once  that  I  am 
not  a  bad  fellow,  and  that  I  have  a  kind  heart,'  thought  he. 

"  Poor  Hansli  ! — but  after  all,  it  is  faith  which  saves,  peo- 
ple say." 

My  readers  may  at  first  be  little  interested  by  this  une- 
ventful narrative  ;  but  they  will  find  it  eventually  delightful, 
if  they  accustom  themselves  to  classic  and  sincere  literature  ; 
and  as  an  account  of  Swiss  life  now  fast  passing  away,  it  is 
invaluable.  More  than  the  life  of  Switzerland, — its  very 
snows, — eternal,  as  one  foolishly  called  them, — are  passing 
away,  as  if  in  omen  of  evil.  One-third,  at  least,  in  the  depth 
of  all  the  ice  of  the  Alps,  has  been  lost  in  the  last  twenty 
years  ;  and  the  change  of  climate  thus  indicated  is  without 
any  parallel  in  authentic  history.    In  its  bearings  on  the 


88 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


water  supply  «and  atmospheric  conditions  of  central  Europe., 
it  is  the  most  important  phenomenon,  by  far,  of  all  that 
offer  themselves  to  the  study  of  living  men  of  science  :  yet 
in  Professor  Tyndall's  recent  work  on  the  glaciers,*  though 
he  notices  the  change  as  one  whicli,  "  if  continued,  will  re- 
duce the  Swiss  glaciers  to  the  mere  spectres  of  their  former 
selves,"  he  offers  no  evidence,  nor  even  suggestion,  as  to  the 
causes  of  the  change  itself. 

I  have  no  space  in  this  number  of  Fors  to  say  what  rea- 
son there  is  for  my  taking  notice  of  this  book,  or  the  glacier 
theory,  in  connection  with  the  life  of  Scott.  In  the  inter- 
ests of  general  literature,  it  is  otherwise  fitting  that  the 
nature  of  the  book  itself  should  be  pointed  out. 

Its  nature,  that  is  to  say,  so  far  as  it  has  any.  It  seems 
to  be  written  for  a  singular  order  of  young  people,  whom, 
if  they  were  older,  Professor  Tyndall  assures  them,  it  would 
give  him  pleasure  to  take  up  Mont  Blanc  ;  but  whom  he  can 
at  present  invite  to  walk  with  him  along  the  moraine  from 
the  Jardin,  where  "  perfect  steadiness  of  foot  is  necessary, — 
a  slip  would  be  death  ; "  and  to  whom,  with  Mr.  Hirsch,  he 
can  "confide  confidently  "  the  use  of  his  surveying  chain. 
It  is,  at  all  events,  written  for  entirely  ignorant  people — and 
entirely  idle  ones,  who  cannot  be  got  to  read  without  being 
coaxed  and  flattered  into  the  unusual  exertion.  Here,  my 
friend,"  says  the  Professor,  at  the  end  of  his  benevolently 
alluring  pages,  "our  labours  close!  It  has  been  a  true 
pleasure  to  me  to  have  you  at  my  side  so  long.  You  have 
been  steadfast  and  industrious  throughout.  .  .  .  Stead- 
fast, prudent,  without  terror,  though  not  at  all  times  without 
awe,  I  have  found  you,  on  rock  and  ice.  Give  me  your  hand 
— Goodbye."  Does  the  Professor  count,  then,  upon  7io  read- 
ers but  those  whom  he  can  gratify  with  polite  expressions  of 
this  kind  ?  Upon  none  who  perhaps  unsteadfast,  imprudent, 
and  very  much  frightened  upon  rock  and  ice,  have  neverthe- 
less done  their  own  work  there,  and  know  good  work  of 
other  people's,  from  bad,  anywhere  ;  and  true  praise  from 
false  anywhere  ;  and  can  detect  the  dishonouring  of  name- 
*  The  Forms  of  Water.    King  and  Co.,  Cornhill.  1872. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


89 


able  and  noble  persons,  couched  under  sycophancy  of  the 
nameless  ?  He  has  at  least  had  one  reader  whom  I  can  an- 
swer for,  of  this  inconvenient  sort. 

It  is,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  just  forty  years  (some  day  last 
month)  since  I  first  saw  the  Bernese  Alps  from  above  Schaff- 
hausen.  Since  that  evening  I  have  never  let  slip  a  chance 
of  knowing  anything  definite  about  glaciers  and  their  ways  ; 
and  have  watched  the  progress  of  knowledge,  and  the  oscil- 
lations of  theory,  on  the  subject,  with  an  interest  not  less 
deep,  and  certainh^  more  sincere,  than  it  would  have  been  if 
my  own  industry  had  been  able  to  advance  the  one,  or  my 
own  ingenuity  to  complicate  the  other.  But  only  one  great 
step  in  the  knowledge  of  glaciers  has  been  made  in  all  that 
period  ;  and  it  seems  the  principal  object  of  Professor  Tyn- 
dall's  book  to  conceal  its  having  been  taken,  that  lie  and  his 
friends  may  get  the  credit,  some  day,  of  having  taken  it 
themselves. 

I  went  to  the  University  in  183G,  and  my  best  friend 
there,  among  the  older  masters,  Dr.  Buckland,  kept  me  not 
ill-informed  on  my  favourite  subject,  the  geological,  or  crys- 
tallogical,  question.  Nearly  everything  of  which  Professor 
Tyndall  informs  his  courageous  readers  was  known  then, 
just  as  well  as  it  is  now.  We  all, — that  is  to  say,  all  geolo- 
gists of  any  standing,  and  their  pupils, — knew  that  glaciers 
moved  ;  that  they  were  supplied  by  snow  at  the  top  of  the 
Alps,  and  consumed  by  heat  at  the  bottom  of  them  ;  that 
there  were  cracks  all  through  them,  and  moraines  all  down 
them  ;  that  some  of  their  ice  was  clear,  and  other  ice 
opaque  ;  that  some  of  it  was  sound,  and  some  rotten  ;  and 
that  streams  fell  into  them  at  places  called  mills,  and  came 
out  of  them  at  places  called  grottoes.  We  were,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  somewhat  languidly  content  with  these  articles  of 
information;  we  never  thought  of  wading  breast-deep 
through  snow"  in  search  of  more,  and  still  less  of  "striking 
our  theodolites  with  the  feelings  of  a  general  who  had  won 
a  small  battle."  *    Things  went  on  thus  quietly  enough.  We 

*  When  next  the  reader  has  an  opportunity  of  repeating  Professor 
Tyndall's  experiments  (p.  92)  in  a  wreath  of  dry  Bnow,  I  recommend 


90 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


were  all  puzzled  to  account  for  glacier  motion,  but  never 
thought  of  ascertaining  what  the  motion  really  was.  We 
knew  that  the  ice  slipped  over  the  rocks  at  some  places, 
tumbled  over  them  at  others  ;  gaped,  or  as  people  v^.o 
wanted  to  write  sublimely  always  said,  yawned,  when  it 
was  steep,  and  shut  up  again  when  it  was  level.  And  Mr. 
Charpenticr  wrote  a  thick  volume  to  show  that  it  moved  by 
expansion  and  contraction,  wliich  I  read  all  through,  and 
thought  extremely  plausible.  But  none  of  us  ever  had  the 
slightest  idea  of  the  ice's  being  anything  but  an  entirely 
solid  substance,  which  was  to  be  reasoned  about  as  capable 
indeed  of  being  broken,  or  crushed,  or  pushed,  or  pulled  in 
any  direction,  and  of  sliding  or  falling  as  gravity  and  smooth 
surfaces  might  guide  it,  but  was  always  entirely  rigid  and 
brittle  in  its  substance,  like  so  much  glass  or  stone. 

This  was  the  state  of  affairs  in  1841.  Professor  Agassiz, 
of  Neuchatel,  had  then  been  some  eight  or  ten  years  at  work 
on  the  glaciers  :  had  built  a  cabin  on  one  of  them  ;  walked 
a  great  many  times  over  a  great  many  of  them  ;  described  a 
number  of  their  phenomena  quite  correctly  ;  proposed,  and 
in  some  cases  performed,  many  ingenious  experiments  upon 
them  ;  and  indeed  done  almost  everything  that  was  to  be 
done  for  them — except  find  out  the  one  thing  that  we  wanted 
to  know. 

As  his  malicious  fortune  would  have  it,  he  invited  in  that 
year  (1841)  a  man  of  acute  brains  to  see  what  he  was  about. 
The  invitation  was  accepted.  The  visitor  was  a  mathemati- 
cian ;  and  after  examining  the  question,  for  discussion  of 
which  Agassiz  was  able  to  supply  him  with  all  the  data  ex- 
cept those  which  were  essential,  resolved  to  find  out  the 
essential  ones  himself. 

Which  in  the  next  year  (1842)  he  quietly  did  ;  and  in  1843 
solved  the  problem  of  glacier  motion  for  ever, — announcing, 
to  everybody's  astonishment,  and  to  the  extreme  disgust  and 
mortification  of  all  glacier  students, — including  my  poor  self, 

him  first  to  try  how  much  jumping  is  necessary  in  order  to  get  into  it 
"breast-deep";  and  secondly,  how  far  he  can  "  wade  "  in  that  dra- 
matic position. 


Fons  CLA  VIQERA. 


91 


(not  111-3  least  envious,  I  fancy,  though  with  aa  little  right  to 
be  envious  as  any  one), — that  glaciers  were  not  solid  bodies 
at  all,  but  seini-liquid  ones,  and  ran  down  in  their  beds  like 
so  much  treacle. 

Cela  saute  aux  yeux,"  we  all  said,  as  soon  as  we  were 
told  ;  and  I  well  remember  the  intense  mortification  of  first 
looking  down  on  the  dirt  bands  of  the  Mer-de-Glace,  from 
the  foot  of  the  Little  Charmoz,  after  I  had  read  Principal 
Forbes'  book.  That  we  never  should  have  seen  them  be- 
fore ! — so  palpable,  so  inevitable  now,  with  every  inch  of  the 
ice's  motion  kept  record  of,  in  them,  for  centuries,  and  every 
curve  pencilled  in  dark,  so  that  no  river  eddies,  no  festooned 
fall  of  sweeping  cascade,  could  be  more  conclusive  in  proof 
of  the  flowing  current.  And  of  course  it  flowed  ;  how  else 
could  it  have  moved  but  by  a  series  of  catastrophes?* 
Everything  explained,  now,  by  one  shrewd  and  clear-sighted 
man's  work  for  a  couple  of  summer  months  ;  and  what  asses 
we  had  all  been  ! 

But  fancy  the  feelings  of  poor  Agassiz  in  his  Hotel  des 
Neuchatelois  !  To  have  had  the  thing  under  his  nose  for 
ten  years,  and  missed  it  !  There  is  nothing  in  the  annals  of 
scientific  mischance — (perhaps  the  truer  word  would  be  sci- 
entific dulness) — to  match  it ;  certainly  it  would  be  difficult 
for  provocation  to  be  more  bitter, — at  least,  for  a  man  who 
thinks,  as  most  of  our  foolish  modern  scientific  men  do  think, 
that  there  is  no  good  in  knowing  anything  for  its  own  sake, 
but  only  in  being  the  first  to  find  it  out. 

Nor  am  I  prepared  altogether  to  justify  Forbes  in  l)is 
method  of  proceeding,  except  on  the  terms  of  battle  whicii 
men  of  science  have  laid  down  for  themselves.  Here  is  a 
man  has  been  ten  years  at  liis  diggings  ;  has  trenched  here, 
and  bored  there,  and  been  over  all  the  ground  again  and 
again,  except  just  where  the  nugget  is.  He  asks  one  to 
dinner — and  one  has  an  eye  for  the  run  of  a  stream  ;  one 
does  a  little  bit  of  pickaxing  in  the  afternoon  on  one's  own 
account, — and  walks  off  with  his  nugget.    It  is  hard. 

Still,  in  strictness,  it  is  perfectly  fair.    The  new  comer, 
*  See  the  last  terminal  note. 


92 


FOBS  GLAVIGEBA. 


spade  on  shoulder,  does  not  understand,  when  he  accepts  the 
invitation  to  dinner,  that  he  must  not  dig, — or  must  give  all 
he  gets  to  his  host.  The  luck  is  his,  and  the  old  pitsnian 
may  very  excusably  growl  and  swear  at  liim  a  little  ;  but  has 
no  real  right  to  quarrel  with  him,— still  less  to  say  that  his 
nugget  is  copper,  and  try  to  make  everybody  else  think  so 
too. 

Alas,  it  was  too  clear  tliat  this  Forbes'  nugget  w^as  not 
copper.  The  importance  of  the  discovery  was  shown  in 
nothing  so  much  as  in  the  spite  of  Agassiz  and  his  friends. 
The  really  valuable  work  of  Agassiz  on  the  glaciers  was 
itself  disgraced,  and  made  a  monument  to  the  genius  of 
Forbes,  by  the  irrelevant  spite  with  which  every  page  was 
stained  in  which  his  name  could  be  introduced.  Mr.  Desor 
found  consolation  in  describing  the  cowardice  of  the  Ecos- 
sais  on  the  top  of  the  Jungfrau  ;  and  all  the  ingenuity  and 
plausibility  of  Professor  Tyndall  have  been  employed,  since 
the  death  of  Forbes,  to  diminish  the  lustre  of  his  discovery, 
and  divide  the  credit  of  it. 

To  diminish  the  lustre,  observe,  is  the  fatallest  wrong  ;  by 
diminishinof  its  distinctness.  At  the  end  of  this  last  book  of 
his,  in  the  four  hundred  and  tenth  of  the  sapient  sentences 
which  he  numbers  with  paternal  care,  he  still  denies,  as  far 
as  he  dares,  the  essential  point  of  Forbes'  discovery  ;  denies 
it  interrogatively,  leaving  the  reader  to  consider  the  whole 
subject  as  yet  open  to  discussion, — only  to  be  conclusively  de- 
termined  by — Professor  Tyndall  and  his  friends.  "  Ice  splits," 
he  says,  "if  you  strike  a  pointed  pricker  into  it;  fissures, 
narrow  and  profound,  may  be  traced  for  hundreds  of  yards 
through  the  ice.  Did  the  ice  possess  even  a  very  small  mod- 
icum of  that  power  of  stretching  which  is  characteristic  of 
a  viscous  substance,  ^such  crevasses  could  not  be  formed.'" 
Professor  Tyndall  presumably  never  having  seen  a  crack  in 
clay,  nor  in  shoe-leather,  nor  in  a  dish  of  jelly  set  down  with 
a  jerk  ;  nor,  in  the  very  wax  he  himself  squeezed  flat  to  show 
the  nature  of  cleavage, — understood  that  the  cleavage  meant 
the  multiplication  of  fissure  ! 

And  the  book  pretends  to  be  so  explanatory,  too,  to  his 


F0R8  GLAVIGERA. 


93 


young  friends  ! — explanatory  of  the  use  of  the  theodolite,  of 
the  nature  of  presence  of  mind,  of  the  dependence  of  enjoy- 
ment of  scenery  upon  honest  labour,  of  the  necessity  that  in 
science,  "  thought,  as  far  as  possible,  should  be  wedded  to 
fact,"  and  of  the  propriety  of  their  becoming  older  and 
better  informed  before  they  unqualifiedly  accept  his  opinion 
of  the  labours  of  Rendu  ! 

But  the  one  thing  which,  after  following  him  througli  the 
edification  of  his  four  liundred  and  ten  sentences,  they  had  a 
right  to  have  explained  to  them — the  one  thing  that  will 
puzzle  them  if  ever  they  see  a  glaciei-,  ''how  the  centre  flows 
past  the  sides,  and  the  top  flows  over  the  bottom,"  the  Pro- 
fessor does  not  explain  ;  but  only  assures  them  of  the  atten- 
tion which  the  experiments  of  Mr.  Mathews,  Mr.  Froude,  and 
above  all  Signor  Bianconi,  on  that  subject,  will  doubtless 
receive  at  a  future  time." 

The  readers  of  Fors  may  imagine  they  liave  nothing  to  do 
with  personal  questions  of  this  kind.  But  they  have  no  con- 
ception of  the  degree  in  which  general  science  is  corrupted 
and  retarded  by  these  jealousies  of  the  schools  ;  nor  how 
important  it  is  to  the  cause  of  all  true  education,  that  the 
criminal  indulgence  of  them  should  be  chastised.  Criminal 
is  a  strong  word,  but  an  entirely  just  one.  I  am  not  likely 
to  overrate  the  abilities  of  Professor  Tyndall ;  but  he  had  at 
least  intelligence  enough  to  know  that  his  dispute  of  the 
statements  of  Forbes  by  quibbling  on  the  word  "viscous" 
was  as  uncandid  as  it  was  unscholarly  ;  and  it  retarded  the 
advance  of  glacier  science  for  at  least  ten  years.  It  was 
unscholarly^  because  no  other  single  word  existed  in  the 
English  language  which  Forbes  could  have  used  instead  ; 
and  uncandid,  because  Professor  Tyndall  knew  perfectly  well 
that  Forbes  was  aware  of  the  difference  between  ice  and 
glue,  without  any  need  for  experiments  on  them  at  the 
Royal  Institution.  Forbes  said  that  the  mass  of  glacier  ice 
was  viscous,  though  an  inch  of  ice  was  not,  just  as  it  may  be 
said,  with  absolute  truth,  that  a  cartload  of  fresh-caught 
herring  is  liquid,  thougli  a  single  herring  is  not.  And  the 
absurdity  as  well  as  the  iniquity  of  the  Professor's  wilful 


94 


FOBS  GLAVIGBBA. 


avoidance  of  this  gist  of  the  whole  debate  is  consumriiated  in 
this  last  book,  in  which,  though  its  title  is  The  Forms  of  Water, 
he  actually  never  traces  the  transformation  of  snow  into 
glacier  ice  at  all — (blundering  by  the  way,  in  consequence, 
as  to  the  use  of  one  of  the  commonest  words  in  Savoyard 
French,  neve).  For  there  are  three  great  forms  of  water  " 
by  which  the  Alps  are  sheeted, — one  is  snow  ;  another  is 
glacier  ice  ;  the  third  is  neve,  which  is  the  transitional  sub- 
stance between  one  and  the  other.  And  there  is  not  a  syl- 
lable, from  the  beginning  of  the  book  to  the  end,  on  the 
subject  of  this  change,  the  nature  of  which  is  quite  the  first 
point  to  be  determined  in  the  analysis  of  glacier  motion. 

I  have  carried  my  letter  to  an  unusual  length,  and  must 
end  for  the  time  ;  and  next  month  have  to  deal  with  some 
other  matters  ;  but  as  the  Third  Fors  has  dragged  me  into 
this  business,  I  will  round  it  off  as  best  I  may  ;  and  in  the 
next  letter  which  I  can  devote  to  the  subject,  I  hope  to  give 
some  available  notes  on  the  present  state  of  glacier  knowl- 
edge, and  of  the  points  which  men  who  really  love  the  Alps 
may  now  usefully  work  upon. 


FORS  CLAVIOEBA. 


95 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


I  CUT  out  of  the  Morning  Post  of  September  15th,  1873,  the  following 
piece  of  fashionable  intelligence,  as  a  sufficiently  interesting  example 
of  the  ''Sorrowful  Paradise"  which  marriage,  and  the  domestic  ar- 
rangements connected  with  it,  occasionally  construct  in  the  districts  of 
England  where  Mr.  Applegarth's  great  principle,  ''  No  sentiment  oughb 
to  be  brought  into  the  subject,*'  would  be  most  consistently  approved 
in  all  the  affairs  of  life.  The  inconvenience  to  his  master  of  the  inop- 
portune expression  of  sentiment  on  the  part  of  the  dog,  is  a  striking 
corroboration  of  Mr.  Applegarth's  views: — "  Charles  Dawson,  an  iron- 
worker, who  had  left  his  wife  and  cohabited  with  a  young  woman 
named  Margaret  Addison,  attacked  her  in  the  house  with  a  coal  rake  on 
the  head  and  body.  He  then,  when  his  victim  screamed,  pressed  her 
neck  down  on  the  floor  with  one  of  his  heavy  boots,  while  with  the 
other  he  kicked  her.  He  jumped  upon  her,  and  finally  seized  a  large 
earthem  pan  and  dashed  it  upon  her  head,  killing  her  on  the  spot  The 
whole  of  the  attack  was  witnessed  by  a  man  who  was  deterred  from 
interfering  by  a  loaded  revolver  which  Dawson  held.  Dawson  decamped, 
and  strong  bodies  of  police  guarded  the  different  roads  from  the  town, 
and  searched  several  of  his  haunts.  At  three  o'clock  yesterday  morning 
a  dog  recognised  to  be  Dawson's  was  followed,  and  Sergeant  Cuthbert 
broke  open  the  door  where  the  animal  was  scratching  to  obtain  admis- 
sion, and  captured  Dawson,  who  was  sitting  on  a  chair.  Although 
he  was  armed  with  a  loaded  revolver,  he  offered  no  resistance." 

I  ought  to  have  noted  in  last  Fors^  respecting  the  difficulty  of 
spelling,  some  forms  of  bad  spelling  which  result  from  the  mere  quan- 
tity of  modern  literature,  and  the  familiarity  of  phrases  which  are  now 
caught  by  the  eye  and  ear,  without  being  attentively  looked  at  for 
an  instant,  so  that  spelling  and  pronunciation  go  to  ruin  together. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  print  the  following  portions  of  a  very  graceful 
letter  I  received  early  this  year,  which  indicates  the  diffusion  of  really 
sound  education.    I  wish  its  writer  would  tell  me  her  employment. 

London,  S.E. 

"  March  9th,  1873. 

*^  And  you  will  not  agaiu  call  yourself  our  friend,  because  you  are 
disheartened  by  our  regardlessness  of  your  friendship,  and  still  more,  it 


96 


F0R8  GLAVIGEIIA. 


may  be,  by  the  discouraging  voice  of  some  on  whom  you  might  perhaps 
more  reasonably  have  counted. 

You  say  we  have  never  written  you  a  word  of  encouragement.  But 
don't  you  think  the  faulfc-fmders  would  be  sure  to  speak  first,  and  loud- 
est? /even,  in  my  loneliness,  am  able  to  lend  my  copies  to  four,  wha 
all  look  forward  to  their  turn  with  pleasure.  (They  get  their  pleasure 
for  nothing^  and  I  was  not  quite  sure  you  would  approve  !  until  I  found 
you  would  be  willing  to  lend  your  Talmud  ! ) 
'*0n  one  point  /  grumble  and  find  fault. 

*'Most  of  those  works  which  you  say  you  want  us  to  read,  I  have 
read;  but  if  I  had  had  to  pay  the  price  at  which  you  propose  to  publish 
them,  they  would  have  cost  me  £>\,  and  I  could  not  have  afforded  it; 
because,  much  as  I  delighted  in  them,  I  longed  for  certain  other  books 
as  well.  Many  an  intelligent  working  man  with  a  family  is  poorer  than 
I  am. 

"I  quite  thoroughly  and  heartily  sympathise  with  your  contempt  for 
advertising  (as  it  is  abused  at  present,  an3^way).  But  I  think  all  good 
books  should  be  cheap.    1  would  make  bad  ones  as  dear  as  you  like. 

Was  it  not  Socrates  alone  of  the  great  Greeks  who  would  put  no 
price  on  his  wisdom  ? — and  Christ  '  taught  daily  in  their  streets.*  I  do 
assure  you  there  are  plenty  of  us  teachable  enough,  if  only  any  one  capa- 
ble of  teaching  could  get  near  enough,  who  will  never,  in  this  world, 
be  able  to  afford  'a  doctor's  fee.' 

"  I  wonder — if  it  be  wrong  to  take  interest — of  what  use  my  very 
small  savings  could  be  to  me  in  old  age  ?  Would  it  be  worth  while  for 
working  women  to  save  at  all  ? 

(Signed)  A  Working  Woman." 

No,  certainly  not  wrong.  The  wrong  is  in  the  poor  wages  of  good 
work,  which  make  it  impossible  to  buy  books  at  a  proper  price,  or 
to  save  what  would  be  enough  for  old  age.  Books  should  not  be 
cheaper,  but  work  should  be  dearer. 

A  young  lady  writing  to  me  the  other  day  to  ask  what  I  really 
wanted  girls  to  do,  I  answered  as  follows,  requesting  her  to  copy 
the  answer,  that  it  might  serve  once  for  all.  I  print  it  accordingly,  as 
perhaps  a  more  simple  statement  than  the  one  given  in  Sesame  and 
Lilies. 

Women's  work  is, — • 

I.  To  please  people. 

II.  To  feed  them  in  dainty  ways. 

HI.  To  clothe  them. 

IV.  To  keep  them  orderly. 

V.  To  teach  them. 

I.  To  please. — A  woman  must  be  a  pleasant  creature.  Be  sure  that 
people  like  the  room  better  with  you  in  it  than  out  of  it ;  and  take  all 
pains  to  get  the  power  of  sympathy,  and  the  habit  of  it. 

II.  Can  you  cook  plain  meats  and  dishes  economically  and  savourily  ? 


F0R8  CLAVIGEIiA. 


97 


If  not,  make  it  your  first  business  to  learn,  as  you  find  opportunity. 
WJien  you  can,  advise,  and  personally  help,  any  poor  woman  within 
your  reach  who  will  be  glad  of  help  in  that  matter  ;  always  avoiding  im- 
pertinence or  discourtesy  of  interference.  Acquaint  yourself  with 
the  poor,  not  as  their  patroness,  but  their  friend :  if  then  you  can 
modestly  recommend  a  little  more  water  in  the  pot,  or  half  an  hour's 
more  boiling,  or  a  dainty  bone  they  did  not  know  of,  you  will  have  been 
useful  indeed. 

III.  To  clothe. — Set  aside  a  quite  fixed  portion  of  your  time  for 
making  strong  and  pretty  articles  of  dress  of  the  best  procurable 
materials.  You  may  use  a  sewing  machine  ;  but  what  work  is  to  be  done 
(in  order  that  it  may  be  entirely  sound)  with  finger  and  thimble,  is  to 
be  your  especial  business. 

First-rate  material,  however  costly,  sound  work,  and  mch  prettiness  as 
ingenious  choice  of  colour  and  adaptation  of  simple  form  will  admit,  are 
to  be  your  aims.  Head-dress  may  be  fantastic,  if  it  be  stout,  clean,  and 
consistently  worn,  as  a  Norman  paysanne's  cap.  And  you  will  be  more 
useful  in  getting  up,  ironing,  etc.,  a  pretty  cap  for  a  poor  girl  who  has 
not  taste  or  time  to  do  it  for  herself,  than  in  making  flannel  petticoats 
or  knitting  stockings.  But  do  both,  and  give — (don*t  be  afraid  of  giv- 
ing ; — Dorcas  wasn't  raised  from  the  dead  that  modern  clergymen 
might  call  her  a  fool) — the  things  you  make  to  those  who  verily  need 
them.  What  sort  of  persons  these  are,  you  have  to  find  out.  It  is  a 
most  important  part  of  your  work. 

IV.  To  keep  them  orderly, — primarily  clean,  tidy,  regular  in  habits. — 
Begin  by  keeping  things  in  order ;  soon  you  will  be  able  to  keep 
people,  also. 

Early  rising — on  all  grounds,  is  for  yourself  indispensable.  You  must 
be  at  work  by  latest  at  six  in  summer  and  seven  in  winter.  (Of  course 
that  puts  an  end  to  evening  parties,  and  so  it  is  a  blessed  condition  in 
two  directions  at  once.)  Every  day  do  a  little  bit  of  housemaid's  work 
in  your  own  house,  thoicughly,  so  as  to  be  a  pattern  of  perfection  in 
that  kind.  Your  actual  housemaid  will  then  follow  your  lead,  if  there's 
an  atom  of  woman's  spirit  in  her — (if  not,  ask  your  mother  to  get  an- 
other). Take  a  step  or  two  of  stair,  and  a  corner  of  the  dining-room, 
and  keep  them  polished  like  bits  of  a  Dut.ch  picture. 

If  you  have  a  garden,  spend  all  spare  minutes  in  it  in  actual  garden- 
ing. If  not,  get  leave  to  take  care  of  part  of  some  friend's,  a  poor  per- 
son's, but  always  out  of  doors.  Have  nothing  to  do  with  greenhouses, 
still  less  with  hothouses. 

When  there  are  no  flowers  to  be  looked  after,  there  are  dead  leaves 
to  be  gathered,  snow  to  be  swept,  or  matting  to  be  nailed,  and  the 
like. 

V.  Teach — yourself  first— to  read  with  attention,  and  to  remember 
with  affection,  what  deserves  both,  and  nothing  else.    Never  read  bor- 

VoL.  II.— 7 


98 


F0R8  CLAVIGBRA. 


rowed  books.  To  be  without  books  of  your  own  is  the  abyss  of  penury. 
Don't  endure  it.  And  when  youVe  to  buy  them,  you'll  think  whether 
they're  worth  reading ;  which  you  had  better,  on  all  accounts. 


(Glacier  catastrophe,  page  91.) 

With  the  peculiar  scientific  sagacity  on  which  Professor  Tyndall 
piques  himself,  he  has  entirely  omitted  to  inquire  what  would  be  the 
result  on  a  really  brittle  body, — say  a  sheet  of  glass,  four  miles  long  by 
two  hundred  feet  thick,  (A  to  B,  in  this  figure,  greatly  exaggerates  the 
proportion  in  depth,)  of  being  pushed  down  over  a  bed  of  rocks  of  any 

-^  Df 


8 


I? 


given  probable  outline — say  c  to  D.  Does  he  suppose  it  would  adhere 
to  them  like  a  tapering  leech,  the  line  given  between  c  and  D  ?  The 
third  sketch  shows  the  actual  condition  of  a  portion  of  a  glacier  flow- 
icg  from  E  to  F  over  such  a  group  of  rocks  as  the  lower  bed  of  the 
Glacier  des  Bois  once  presented.  Professor  Tyndall  has  not  even 
thought  of  explaining  what  course  the  lines  of  lower  motion,  or  subsi- 
dence, (in  ice  of  .the  various  depths  roughly  suggested  by  the  dots) 
would  follow  on  ant/  hypothesis  ;  for,  admitting  even  Professor  Ram- 
say's theory,  that  the  glacier  cut  its  own  bed— (though  it  would  be  just 
as  rational  to  think  that  its  own  dish  was  made  for  itself  by  a  custard 
pudding) — still  the  rocks  must  have  had  some  irregularity  in  shape  to 
begin  with,  tiiid  ara  not  cut,  even  now,  as  suiooth  as  a  silver  ^poou. 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


99 


LETTER  XXXV. 

Brantwood, 

\Uh  September,  1873. 

Looking  up  from  my  paper,  as  I  consider  what  I  am  to 
say  in  this  letter,  and  in  what  order  to  say  it,  I  see  out  of  my 
window,  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake,  the  ivied  chimneys 
(thick  and  strong-built,  like  castle  towers,  and  not  at  all  dis- 
posed to  drop  themselves  over  people  below,)  of  the  farm- 
house where,  I  told  you  the  other  day,  I  saw  its  mistress 
preparing  the  feast  of  berry-bread  for  her  sheep-shearers. 
In  that  farmhouse,  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago, 
warmed  himself  at  the  hearth,  ten  feet  across,  of  its  hall, 
the  English  squire  who  wrote  the  version  of  the  Psalms  from 
which  I  chose  for  you  the  fourteenth  and  fifteentli,  last  No- 
vember.  Of  the  said  squire  T  wish  you,  this  November,  to 
know  somewhat  more  ;  here,  to  begin,  is  his  general  char- 
acter, given  by  a  biographer  who  may  be  trusted  : — 

"  He  was  a  true  model  of  wortli  ;  a  man  fit  for  conquest, 
plantation,  reformation,  or  what  action  soever  is  greatest 
and  hardest  among  men  ;  withal  such  a  lover  of  mankind 
and  goodness,  that  whosover  had  any  real  parts  in  him 
found  comfort,  participation,  and  protection  to  the  ut- 
termost of  his  power.  The  universities  abroad  and  at 
home  accounted  him  a  general  Maecenas  of  learning,  dedi- 
cated their  books  to  him,  and  communicated  every  invention 
or  improvement  of  knowledge  with  him.  Soldiers  honoured 
him,  and  were  so  honoured  by  him,  as  no  man  thought  he 
marched  under  the  true  banner  of  Mars,  that  had  not  ob- 
tained his  approbation.  Men  of  affairs  in  most  parts  of 
Christendom  entertained  correspondency  witli  him.  But 
what  speak  I  of  these  ?  His  heart  and  capacity  were  so 
large,  that  there  was  not  a  cunning  painter,  a  skilful  en- 
gineer, an  excellent  musician,  orany  other  artificer  of  extraor 
dinary  fame,  that  made  not  himself  known  to  this  famous 


100 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


spirit,  and  found  him  his  true  friend  without  hire,  and  the 
common  rendezvous  of  worth,  in  his  time." 

This  being  (and  as  I  can  assure  you,  by  true  report,)  his 
character,  and  manner  of  life,  you  are  to  observe  these  things, 
farther,  about  his  birth,  fate,  and  death. 

When  he  was  born,  his  mother  was  in  mourninof  for  her 
father,  brother,  and  sister-in-law,  who  all  had  died  on  the 
scaffold.  Yet,  very  strangely,  you  will  find  that  he  takes 
no  measures,  in  his  political  life,  for  the  abolition  of  capital 
punishment. 

Perhaps  I  had  better  at  once  explain  to  you  the  meaning 
of  his  inactivity  in  that  cause,  although  for  my  own  part  I 
like  best  to  put  questions  only,  and  leave  you  to  work  them 
out  for  yourselves  as  you  are  able.  But  you  could  not 
easily  answer  this  one  without  help.  This  psalm-singing 
squire  has  nothing  to  urge  against  capital  punishment,  be- 
cause his  grandfather,  uncle,  and  aunt-in-law  all  died  inno- 
cent. It  is  only  rogues  who  have  a  violent  objection  to  being 
hanged,  and  only  abettors  of  rogues  who  would  desire  anything 
else  for  them.  Honest  men  don't  in  the  least  mind  being 
hanged  occasionally  by  mistake,  so  only  that  the  general  prin- 
ciple of  the  gallows  be  justly  maintained  ;  and  they  have  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  that  the  world  they  leave  is  positively 
minded  to  cleanse  itself  of  the  human  vermin  with  which 
they  have  been  classed  by  mistake. 

The  contrary  movement — so  vigorously  progressive  in 
modern  days — has  its  real  root  in  a  gradually  increasing  con- 
viction on  the  part  of  the  English  nation  that  they  are  all 
vermin.  Worms  '  is  the  orthodox  Evangelical  expression.) 
Which  indeed  is  becoming  a  fact,  very  fast  indeed  ; — but  was 
by  no  means  so  in  the  time  of  this  psalm-singing  squire.  In 
his  days,  there  was  still  a  quite  sharp  separation  between 
honest  men  and  rogues  ;  and  the  honest  men  were  perfectly 
clear  about  the  duty  of  trying  to  find  out  which  was  which. 
The  confusion  of  the  two  characters  is  a  result  of  the  peculiar 
forms  of  vice  and  ignorance,  reacting  on  each  other,  which 
belong  to  the  modern  Evangelical  sect,  as  distinguished  from 


FOBS  GLAVIOERA. 


101 


other  bodies  of  Christian  men  ;  and  date  therefore,  neces- 
sarily, from  the  Reformation. 

Tliey  consist  especially  in  three  things.  First,  in  declaring 
a  bad  translation  of  a  group  of  books  of  various  qualities, 
accidentally  associated,  to  be  the  '  Word  of  God.'  Secondly, 
reading,  of  this  singular  'Word  of  God,'  only  the  bits  they 
like  ;  and  never  taking  any  pains  to  understand  even  those.* 
'J'hirdly,  resolutely  refusing  to  practise  even  the  very  small 
bits  they  do  understand,  if  such  practice  happen  to  go  against 
their  own  worldly — especially  money — interests.  Of  which 
three  errors,  the  climax  is  in  their  always  delightedly  read- 
ing— without  in  the  slightest  degree  understanding — the 
fourteenth  Psalm  ;  and  never  reading,  nor  apparently  think- 
ing it  was  ever  intended  they  should  read,  the  next  one  to 
it — the  fifteenth.  For  which  reason  I  gave  you  those  two 
together,  from  the  squire's  version,  last  November, — and,  this 
November  and  December,  will  try  to  make  you  understand 
both.  For  among  those  books  accidentally  brought  together, 
and  recklessly  called  the  '  Word  of  God,'  the  book  of  Psalms 
is  a  very  precious  one.  It  is  certainly  not  the  '  Word  of  God ' ; 
but  it  is  the  collected  words  of  very  wise  and  good  men,  who 
knew  a  great  many  important  things  which  you  don't  know, 
and  had  better  make  haste  to  know, — and  were  ignorant  of 
some  quite  unimportant  things,  which  Professor  Huxley 
knows,  and  thinks  himself  wiser  on  that  account  than  anv 
quantity  of  Psalmists,  or  Canticle-singers  either.  The  dis- 
tinction between  the  two,  indeed,  is  artificial,  and  worse  than 
that,  non-natural.  For  it  is  just  as  proper  and  natural,  some- 
times, to  write  a  psalm,  or  solemn  song,  to  your  mistress,  and 
a  canticle,  or  joyful  song,  to  God,  as  to  write  grave  songs 

*  I  have  long  since  expressed  these  facts  in  my  Ethics  of  the  Dust^  but 
too  metaphorically.  The  way  in  which  common  people  read  their 
Bibles  is  just  like  the  way  that  the  old  monks  thought  hedgehogs  ate 
grapes.  They  rolled  themselves  (ic  was  said)  over  and  over,  where  the 
grapes  lay  on  the  ground :  wliat  fruit  stuck  to  their  spines,  they  carried 
off  and  ate.  So  your  hedgehoggy  readers  roll  themselves  over  and  over 
their  Bibles,  and  declare  that  whatever  sticks  to  their  own  spines  is 
Scripture,  and  that  nothing  else  is." 


102 


FOES  CLAVIGERA, 


only  to  God,  and  canticles  to  your  mistress.  And  there  is^ 
observe,  no  proper  distinction  in  the  words  at  all.  When 
Jean  de  Meung  continues  the  love-poem  of  William  de  Loris, 
he  says  sorrowfully  : — 

Cys  trespassa  Guilleaume 

De  Loris,  et  ne  fit  plus  pseaume." 

*'  Here  died  William 
Of  Loris,  and  made  psalm  no  more.*' 

And  the  best  word  for  "  Canticles  "  in  the  Bible  is  "  Asma," 
or  Song,  which  is  just  as  grave  a  word  as  Psalmos,  or  Psalm. 

And  as  it  happens,  this  psalm-singing,  or,  at  least,  exqui- 
sitely psalm-translating,  squire,  mine  ancient  neighbour,  is 
just  as  good  a  canticle-singer.  I  know  no  such  lovely  love 
poems  as  his,  since  Dante's. 

Here  is  a  specimen  for  you,  which  I  choose  because  of  its 
connection  with  the  modern  subject  of  railroads  ;  only  note, 
first. 

The  word  Squire,  I  told  you,  meant  primarily  a  rider." 
And  it  does  not  at  all  mean,  and  never  can  mean,  a  person 
carried  in  an  iron  box  by  a  kettle  on  wheels.  Accordingly, 
this  squire,  riding  to  visit  his  mistress  along  an  old  English 
road,  addresses  the  following  sonnet  to  the  ground  of  it,— 
gravel  or  turf,  I  know  not  which  : — 

"  Highway,  since  you  my  chief  Parnassus  be  ; 
And  that  my  Muse,  to  some  ears  not  unsweet, 
Tempers  her  words  to  trampling  horses'  feet, 
More  oft  than  to  a  chamber  melody  ; 
Now,  blessed  you,  bear  onward  blessed  me, 
To  her,  where  I  my  heart,  safe  left,  shall  meet ; 
My  Muse  and  I  must  you  of  duty  greet 
With  thanks  and  wishes  ;  wishing  thankfully — 
*  Be  you  still  fair,  honour'd  by  public  heed ; 
By  no  encroachment  wrong' d,  nor  time  forgot ; 
Kor  blamed  for  blood,  nor  shamed  for  sinful  deed ; 
And  that  you  know,  I  envy  you  no  lot 
Of  highest  wish,  I  wish  you  so  much  bliss, — 
Hundreds  of  years  you  Stella's  feet  may  kiss.'  " 

Hundreds  of  years  !  You  think  that  a  mistake  ?  No,  it  is 
the  very  rapture  of  love.    A  lover  like  this  does  not  believe 


FORS  CLAVIQERA. 


his  mistress  can  grow  old,  or  die.  How  do  you  think  the 
other  verses  read,  apropos  of  railway  signals  and  railway 
scrip  ? 

Be  you  still  fair,  honour  d  by  public  heed,  * 

Nor  blamed  for  blood,  nor  shamed  for  sinful  deed." 

But  to  keep  our  eyes  and  ears  with  our  squire.  Presently 
he  comes  in  sight  of  his  mistress's  house,  and  then  sings  this 
sonnet  : — 

**  I  see  the  house  ;  my  heart,  thyself  contain  ! 
Beware  full  sails  drown  not  thy  tottering  barge ; 
Lest  joy,  by  nature  apt  spirits  to  enlarg^e. 
Thee,  to  thy  wreck,  beyond  thy  limits  strain. 
Nor  do  like  lords,  whose  weak,  confused  brain, 
Not  pointing  to  fit  folks  each  undercharge, 
"While  ev^ry  office  themselves  will  discharge, 
With  doing  all,  leave  nothing  done  but  pain. 
But  give  apt  servants  their  due  place  ;  let  eyes 
See  beauty's  total  sum,  summ  d  in  her  face; 
Let  ears  hear  speech,  which  wit  to  wonder  ties; 
Let  breath  suck  up  those  sweets;  let  arms  embrace 
The  globe  of  weal;  lips,  Love's  indentures  make; 
Thou,  but  of  all  the  kingly  tribute  take  !  " 

And  here  is  one  more,  written  after  a  quarrel,  which  is 
the  prettiest  of  all  as  a  song  ;  and  interesting  for  you  to 
compare  with  the  Baron  of  Bradwardine's  song  at  Lucky 
M'Leary's  : — 

All  my  sense  thy  sweetness  gained  ; 
Thy  lair  hair  my  heart  enchained  ; 
My  poor  reason  thy  words  moved. 
So  that  thee,  like  heav'n,  I  loved. 

Fa,  la,  la,  leridan,  dan,  dan,  dan,  deridan ; 
Dan,  dan,  dan,  deridan,  dei  ;• 
"While  to  my  mind  the  outside  stood, 
For  messenger  of  inward  good. 

Now  thy  sweetness  sour  is  deemed  ; 
Thy  hair  not  worth  a  hair  esteemed, 
Reason  hath  thy  words  removed. 
Finding  that  but  words  they  proved. 

*  See  terminal  Notes,  1, 


104 


FOES  CLAVIGEEA. 


Fa,  la,  la,  leridan,  dan,  dan,  dan,  deridan; 
Dan,  dan,  dan,  deridan,  dei; 
For  no  fair  sign  can  credit  win, 
If  that  the  substance  fail  within. 

No  more  in  thy  sweetness  glory, 
For  thy  knitting  hair  be  sorry  ; 
Use  thy  words  but  to  bewail  thee, 
That  no  more  thy  beams  avail  thee ; 

Dan,  dan, 

Dan,  dan. 
Lay  not  thy  colours  more  to  view 
Without  the  picture  be  found  true. 

Woe  to  me,  alas  !  she  weepeth  ! 
Fool !  in  me  what  folly  creepeth  ? 
Was  I  to  blaspheme  enraged 
Where  my  soul  I  have  engaged  ? 
And  wretched  I  must  yield  to  this  ? 
The  fault  I  blame,  her  chasteness  is. 

Sweetness  !  sweetly  pardon  folly ; 
Tie  me,  hair,  your  captive  wholly  ; 
Words  !  O  words  of  heav'nly  knowledge  ! 
Know,  my  words  their  faults  acknowledge  ; 
And  all  my  life  I  will  confess. 
The  less  I  love,  I  live  the  less. " 

Now  if  you  don't  like  these  love-songs,  you  either  havj 
never  been  in  love,  or  you  don't  know  good  writing  from 
bad,  (and  likely  enough  both  the  negatives,  I'm  sorry  to  say, 
in  modern  England).  But  perhaps  if  you  are  a  very  severe 
Evangelical  person,  you  may  like  them  still  less,  when  you 
know  somethinor-  more  about  them.  Excellent  love-sonors 
seem  always  to  be  written  under  strange  conditions.  The 
writer  of  that  "  Song  of  Songs  "  was  himself,  as  you  per- 
haps remember,  the  child  of  her  for  whose  sake  the  Psalmist 
murdered  his  Hittite  friend  ;  and  besides,  loved  many  strange 
women  himself,  after  that  first  bride.  And  these,  sixty  or 
more,  exquisite  love-ditties,  from  which  I  choose,  almost  at 
random,  the  above  three,  are  all  written  by  my  psalm-singing 
squire  to  somebody  else's  wife,  he  having  besides  a  very  nice 
"wife  of  his  own. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


105 


For  this  squire  is  the,  so  called,  '  Divine'  Astrophel, 
'  Astrophilos,'  or  star  lover, — the  un-to-be-imitated  Astrophel, 
the  '  ravishing  sweetness  of  whose  poesy,'  Sir  Piercie  Shaf. 
ton,  with  his  widowed  voice, — widowed  iu  that  it  is  no 
longer  matched  by  my  beloved  viol-de-gambo," — bestows  oa 
the  unwilling  ears  of  the  Maid  of  Avenel.*  And  the  Stella, 
or  star,  whom  he  loved  was  the  Lady  Penelope  Devereux, 
who  was  his  first  love,  and  to  whom  he  was  betrothed,  and 
remained  faithful  in  heart  all  his  life,  though  she  was  married 
to  Robert,  I^ord  Rich,  and  he  to  the  daughter  of  his  old 
friend.  Sir  Francis  Walsingham. 

How  very  wrong,  you  think  ? 

Well,  perhaps  so  ; — we  will  talk  of  the  wrongs  and  the 
rights  of  it  presently.  One  of  quite  the  most  curious  facts 
bearing  upon  them  is  that  the  very  strict  queen  (the  mother 
of  Coeur-de-Lion)  who  poisoned  the  Rose  of  Woodstock  and 
the  world  for  her  improper  conduct,  had  herself  presided  at 
the  great  court  of  judgment  held  by  tlie  higliest  married 
ladies  of  Christian  Europe,  whicli  re-examined,  and  finally 
re-affirmed,  the  decree  of  the  Court  of  Love,  held  under  the 
presidency  of  Ermengarde,  Countess  of  Narbonne  ; — de- 
cree, namely,  that  "  True  love  cannot  exist  between  married 
persons."  f  Meantime  lot  me  finish  what  I  have  mainly  to 
tell  you  of  the  divine  Astrophel.  You  hear  by  the  general 
character  first  given  of  him  that  he  was  as  good  a  soldier  as 
a  lover,  and  being  about  to  take  part  in  a  skirmish  in  the 
Netherlands, — in  which,  according  to  English  history,  five 
hundred,  or  a  few  more,  English,  entirely  routed  three  thou- 
sand Dutchmen, — as  he  was  going  into  action,  meeting  the 
marshal  of  the  camp  lightly  armed,  he  must  needs  throw  off 
his  own  cuishes,  or  thigh  armour,  not  to  have  an  unfair  ad- 
vantage of  him  ;  and  after  having  so  led  three  charges,  and 
had  one  horse  killed  under  him  and  mounted  another,  "  he 
was  struck  by  a  musket  shot  a  little  above  his  left  knee, 

*  If  you  don't  know  your  Scott  properly,  it  is  of  no  use  to  ^ave  you 
references. 

t  DiciniuR,  et  stabilito  tenoro  firmamus,  amorem  non  posse,  inter 
duae  jugales,  suas  extendere  vires. " 


106 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


which  brake  and  rifted  the  bone,  and  entered  the  thigh  up« 
ward  ;  whereupon  he  unwillingly  left  the  field,"  (not  with- 
out an  act  of  gentleness,  afterwards  much  remembered,  to  a 
poor  soldier^  wounded  also  ;)  and,  after  lingering  sixteen 
days  in  severe  and  unceasing  pain,  "  which  he  endured  with 
all  the  fortitude  and  resignation  of  a  Christian,  symptoms 
of  mortification,  the  certain  forerunner  of  death,  at  length 
appeared  ;  which  he  himself  being  the  first  to  perceive,  was 
able  nevertheless  to  amuse  his  sick-bed  by  composing  an  ode 
on  the  nature  of  his  wound,  which  he  caused  to  be  sung  to 
solemn  music,  as  an  entertainment  that  might  soothe  and 
divert  his  mind  from  his  torments  ;  and  on  the  16th  October 
breathed  his  last  breath  in  the  arms  of  his  faithful  secretary 
and  bosom  companion,  Mr.  William  Temple,  after  giving 
this  charge  to  his  own  brother  :  "  Love  my  memory  ;  cherish 
my  friends.  Their  faith  to  me  may  assure  you  they  are  hon- 
est. But  above  all  govern  your  will  and  affections  by  the 
will  and  word  of  your  Creator,*  in  me  beholding  the  end  of 
this  world,  with  all  its  vanities." 

Thus  died,  for  England,  and  a  point  of  personal  honour, 
in  the  thirty-second  year  of  his  age.  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  whose 
name  perhaps  you  have  heard  before,  as  well  as  that  of  his 
aunt-in-law,  Lady  Jane  Grey,  for  whose  capital  punishment, 
as  w^ell  as  that  of  the  Duke  of  Northumberland,  (his  grand- 
father,) his  mother,  as  above  stated,  was  in  mourning  when 
he  was  born. 

And  Spenser  broke  off  his  Faery  Qiceen^  for  grief,  when 
he  died;  and  all  England  went  into  mourning  for  him  ; 
which  meant,  at  that  time,  that  England  was  really  sorry, 
and  not  that  an  order  had  been  received  from  Court. 

16^A  October,  (St.  Michael's.) — I  haven't  got  my  goose- 
pie  made,  after  all  ;  for  my  cook  has  been  ill,  and,  unluckily, 
I've  had  other  things  as  much  requiring  the  patronage  of 
St.  Michael,  to  think  of.  You  suppose,  perhaps,  (the  Eng- 
lisn  generally  seem  to  have  done  so  since  the  blessed  Ref* 

*  He  meant  the  Bible  ;  having  learned  Evangelical  views  at  the  ma» 
sacre  of  St.  Bartholomew. 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


107 


ormation,)  that  it  is  impious  and  Popish  to  think  of  St. 
Michael  with  reference  to  any  more  serious  affair  than  the 
roasting  of  goose,  or  baking  thereof  ;  and  yet  I  liave  had 
some  amazed  queries  from  my  correspondents,  touching  the 
importance  I  seem  to  attach  to  my  pie  ;  and  from  others, 
questioning  the  economy  of  its  construction.  I  don't  sup- 
pose a  more  savoury,  preservable,  or  nourishing  dish  could 
be  made,  with  Michael's  help,  to  drive  the  devil  of  hunger 
out  of  poor  men's  stomachs,  on  the  occasions  when  Chris- 
tians make  a  feast,  and  call  to  it  the  poor,  the  maimed,  the 
halt,  and  the  blind.  But,  putting  the  point  of  economy 
aside  for  the  moment,  I  must  now  take  leave  to  reply  to 
my  said  correspondents,  that  the  importance  and  reality  of 
goose-pie,  in  the  Englisli  imagination,  as  compared  with  the 
unimportance  and  unreality  of  the  archangel  Michael,  his 
name,  and  his  hierachy,  are  quite  as  serious  subjects  of 
regret  to  me  as  to  them  ;  and  that  I  believe  them  to  be 
mainly  traceable  to  the  loss  of  the  ideas,  both  of  any  'arche,' 
beginning,  or  princedom  of  things,  and  of  any  holy  or  hie- 
ratic end  of  things  ;  so  that,  except  in  eggs  of  vermin,  em- 
bryos of  apes,  and  other  idols  of  genesis  entiironed  in  Mr. 
Darwin's  and  Mr.  Huxley's  shrines,  or  in  such  extinction  as 
may  be  proper  for  lice,  or  double-ends  as  may  be  discover- 
able in  amphisbaenas,  there  is  henceforward,  for  man,  neither 
alpha  nor  omega, — neither  beginning  nor  end,  neither  nativ- 
ity nor  judgment  ;  no  Christmas  Day,  except  for  pudding  ; 
no  Michaelmas,  except  for  goose  ;  no  Dies  Irse,  or  day  of 
final  capital  punishment,  for  anything  ;  and  that,  there- 
fore, in  the  classical  words  of  Ocellus  Lucanus,  quoted  by 
Mr.  Ephraim  Jenkinson,  "  Anarchon  kai  atelutaion  to 
pan." 

There  remains,  however,  among  us,  very  strangely,  some 
instinct  of  general  difference  between  the  abstractedly 
angelic,  hieratic,  or  at  least  lord-  and  lady-like  character  ; — 
and  the  diabolic,  non-hieratic,  or  slave-  and  (reverse-of-lady-) 
like  character.  Instinct,  which  induces  the  London  Journal^ 
and  other  such  popular  works  of  fiction,  always  to  make 
their  heroine,  whether  saint  or  poisoner,  a  '  Lad\'  '  some- 


108 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


thing  ;  and  which  probably  affects  your  minds  not  a  little 
in  connection  with  the  question  of  capital  punishment  ;  so 
that  when  I  told  you  just  now  who  Sir  Philip's  aunt  was, 
perhaps  you  felt  as  if  I  had  cheated  you  by  the  words  of  my 
first  reference  to  her,  and  would  say  to  yourselves,  "Well, 
but  Lady  Jane  Grey  wasn't  hanged  !  " 

No  ;  she  was  not  hanged  ;  nor  crucified,  which  was  the 
most  vulgar  of  capital  punishments  in  Christ's  time  ;  nor 
kicked  to  death,  which  you  at  present  consider  the  proper 
form  of  capital  punishment  for  your  wives  ;  nor  abused  to 
death,  which  the  mob  will  consider  the  proper  form  of 
capital  punishment  for  your  daughters,*  when  Mr.  John 
Stuart  Mill's  Essay  on  Liberty  shall  have  become  the  Gospel 
of  England,  and  his  statue  be  duly  adored. 

She  was  only  decapitated,  in  the  picturesque  manner  rep- 
resented to  you  by  Mr.  Paul  de  la  Roche  in  that  charming 
work  of  modern  French  art  which  properly  companions  the 
series  of  Mr.  Gerome's  deaths  of  duellists  and  gladiators,  and 
Mr.  Gustave  Dore's  pictures  of  lovers,  halved,  or  quartered, 
with  their  hearts  jumping  into  their  mistresses'  laps.  Of 
all  which  pictures,  the  medical  officer  of  the  Bengalee-Life- 
insurance  Society  would  justly  declare  that  ''even  in  an  an- 
atomical point  of  view,  they  were — per-fection." 

She  was  only  decapitated,  by  a  man  in  a  black  mask,  on  a 
butcher's  block  ;  and  her  head  rolled  into  sawdust, — if  that's 
any  satisfaction  to  you.  But  why  on  earth  do  you  care  more 
about  her  than  anybody  else,  in  these  days  of  liberty  and 
equality  ? 


I  shall  have  something  soon  to  tell  you  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney's  Arcadia,  no  less  than  Sir  Thomas  More's  Utopia. 
The  following  letter,  though  only  a  girl's,  contains  so  much 
respecting  the  Arcadia  of  Modern  England  which  I  cannot 
elsewhere  find  expressed  in  so  true  and  direct  a  way,  that 

*  For  the  present,  the  daug'hters  seem  to  take  the  initiative.  See 
Btory  from  Halifax  in  the  last  terminal  Note. 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


109 


I  print  it  without  asking  her  permission,  promising  however, 
hereby,  not  to  do  so  naughty  a  thing  again, — to  her,  at 
least  ;  new  correspondents  must  risk  it. 

"  I  wish  people  would  be  good,  and  do  as  you  wish,  and 
help  you.  Reading  Fors  last  night  made  me  determined 
to  try  very  hard  to  be  good.  I  cannot  do  all  the  things 
you  said  in  the  last  letter  you  wanted  us  to  do,  but  1  will 
try. 

"  Oh  dear  !  I  wish  you  would  emigrate,  though  I  know 
you  won't.  I  wish  we  could  all  go  somewhere  fresh,  and 
begin  anew  :  it  would  be  so  much  easier.  In  fact  it  seems  im- 
possible to  alter  things  here.  You  cannot  think  how  it  is,  in 
a  place  like  this.  The  idea  of  there  being  any  higher  law  to 
rule  all  one's  actions  than  self-interest,  is  treated  as  utter 
folly  ;  really,  people  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  in  business 
each  one  must  do  the  best  he  can  for  himself,  at  any  risk  or 
loss  to  others.  You  do  know  all  this,  perhaps,  by  hearsay, 
but  it  is  so  sad  to  see  in  practice.  They  all  grow  alike — by 
constant  contact  I  suppose  ;  and  one  has  to  hear  one  after 
the  other  gradually  learning  and  repeating  the  lesson  they 
learn  in  town — to  trust  no  one,  believe  in  no  one,  admire  no 
one  ;  to  act  as  if  all  the  world  was  made  of  rogues  and  thieves, 
as  the  only  way  to  be  safe,  and  not  to  be  a  rogue  or  thief 
oneself  if  it's  possible  to  make  money  without.  And  what 
can  one  do  ?  They  laugh  at  me.  Being  a  woman,  of  course 
I  know  nothing  ;  being,  moreover,  fond  of  reading,  I  imagine 
I  do  know  something,  and  so  get  filled  with  foolish  notions, 
which  it  is  their  duty  to  disabuse  me  of  as  soon  as  possible. 
I  should  so  like  to  drag  them  all  away  from  this  wretched 
town,  to  some  empty,  now,  beautiful,  large  country,  and  set 
them  all  to  dig,  and  plant,  and  build  ;  and  we  could,  I  am 
sure,  all  be  pure  and  honest  once  more.  No,  there  is  no 
chance  here.    I  am  so  sick  of  it  all. 

I  want  to  tell  you  one  little  fact  that  I  heard  the  other 
day  that  made  me  furious.    It  will  make  a  long  letter,  but 

please  read  it.   You  have  heard  of  , — the  vilest  spot  in 

all  the  earth,  I  am  sure,  and  yet  they  are  very  proud  of  it. 
It  is  all  chemical  works,  and  the  country  for  miles  round 
looks  as  if  under  a  curse.  There  are  still  some  farms 
struggling  for  existence,  but  the  damage  done  to  them  is 
very  great,  and  to  defend  themselves,  when  called  upon  to 
make  reparation,  the  chemical  manufacturers  have  formed 
an  association,  so  that  if  one  should  be  brought  to  pay^ 


110 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


the  others  should  support  him.  Of  course,  generally,  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  say  which  of  the  hundreds  of  chimneys 
may  have  caused  any  particular  piece  of  mischief  ;  and 
further  frightened  by  this  coalition^  and  by  the  expense  of 
laic^"^  the  farmers  have  to  submit.  But  one  day,  just  before 
harvest-time  this  year,  a  farmer  was  in  his  fields,  and  saw 
a  o^reat  stream,  or  whatever  vou  would  call  it,  of  smoke  come 
over  his  land  from  one  of  these  chimneys,  and,  as  it  passed, 
destroy  a  large  held  of  corn.  It  literally  burns  up  vegetation, 
as  if  it  were  a  hre.  The  loss  to  this  man,  who  is  not  well  off, 
is  about  £400.  He  went  to  the  owners  of  the  works  and 
asked  for  compensation.  They  did  not  deny  that  it  might 
have  been  their  gas,  but  told  him  he  could  not  prove  it,  and 
they  would  pay  nothing.  I  dare  say  they  were  no  worse 
than  other  people,  and  that  they  would  be  quite  commended 
by  business  men.  But  that  is  our  honesty,  and  this  is 
a  country  where  there  is  supposed  to  be  justice.  These 
chemical  people  are  very  rich,  and  could  consume  all  this 
gas  and  smoke  at  a  little  more  cost  oi  working.  I  do  believe 
it  is  hopeless  to  attempt  to  alter  these  things,  they  are  so 
strong.  Then  the  other  evening  I  took  up  a  Telegraph — a 
newspaper  is  hardly  fit  to  touch  nowadays — but  I  happened 
to  look  at  this  one,  and  read  an  account  of  some  cellar 
homes  in  St.  Giles.'  It  sent  me  to  bed  miserable,  and  I  am 
sure  that  no  one  has  a  right  to  be  anything  but  miserable 
while  such  misery  is  in  the  world.  What  cruel  wretches  we 
must  all  be,  to  suffer  Namely  such  things  to  be,  and  sit  by, 
enjoying  ourselves  !  I  must  do  something  ;  yet  I  am  tied 
hand  and  foot,  and  can  do  nothing  but  cry  out.  And  mean- 
while— oh  !  it  makes  me  mad — our  clergymen,  who  are  sup- 
posed to  do  right,  and  teach  others  right,  are  squabbling 
over  their  follies  ;  here  they  are  threatening  each  other  with 
prosecutions,  for  exceeding  the  rubric,  or  not  keeping  the 
rubric,  and  mercy  and  truth  are  forgotten.  I  wish  I  might 
preach  once,  to  them  and  to  the  rich  ; — no  one  ought  to  be 
rich  ;  and  if  I  were  a  clergyman  I  would  not  go  to  one  of 
their  dinner-parties,  unless  I  knew  that  they  w^ere  moving 
heaven  and  earth  to  do  away  with  this  poverty,  which,  what- 
ever its  cause,  even  though  it  be,  as  they  say,  the  people's 
own  fault,  is  a  disgrace  to  every  one  of  us.  And  so  it  seems 
to  me  hopeless,  and  I  wish  you  would  emigrate. 

"  It  is  no  use  to  be  more  polite,  if  we  are  less  honest.  No 


*  Italics  mine. 


FORS  CLAVIGEBA. 


Ill 


use  to  treat  women  with  more  respect  outwardly,  and  with 

more  shameless,  brutal,  systematic   degradation  secretly. 

Worse  than  no  use  to  build  hospitals,  and  kill  people  to  put 

into  them  ;  and  churches,  and  insult  God  by  pretending  to 

worship  Him.    Oh  dear  !  what  is  it  all  coming  to  ?  Are 

we   going  like  Rome,  like    France,    like   Greece,    or  is 

there  time  to  stop  ?    Can  St.  George  fight  such  a  Dragon  ? 

You  know  I  am  a  coward,  and  it  does  frighten  me.  Of 

course  I  don't  mean  to  run  away,  but  is  God  on  our  side  ? 

Whv  does  He  not  arise  and  scatter  His   enemies  ?  If 
•/   

you  could  see  what  I  see  here  !  Tliis  used  to  be  quite  a 
peaceful  little  country  village  ;  now  the  chemical  manu- 
facturers have  built  works,  a  crowd  of  tliem,  along  the 
river,  about  two  miles  from  here.  The  place  where  this  hide- 
ous colony  has  planted  itself,  is,  I  am  sure,  the  ugliest,  most 
loathsome  spot  on  the  earth."  (x\rcadia,  my  dear,  Arcadia.) 
"  It  has  been  built  just  as  any  one  wanted  either  works  or 
a  row  of  cottages  for  the  men, — all  huddled  up,  backs  to 
fronts,  any  way  ;  scrambling,  crooked,  dirty,  squeezed  up  ; 
the  horrid  little  streets  separated  by  pieces  of  waste  clay,  or 
half-built-up  land.  The  works  themselves,  with  their  chim- 
neys and  buildings,  and  discoloured  ditches,  and  heaps  of  ref- 
use chemical  stuff  lying  about,  make  up  the  most  horrible 
picture  of  '  progress '  you  can  imagine.  Because  they  are 
all  so  proud  of  it.  The  land,  now  ever}^  blade  of  grass  and 
every  tree  is  dead,  is  most  valuable — I  mean,  they  gel 
enormous  sums  of  money  for  it, — and  every  year  they  build 

new  works,  and  say,  **Wiiata  wonderful  place  is  !  '  It 

is  creeping  nearer  and  nearer  here.  There  is  a  forest  of  chim- 
neys visible,  to  make  up,  I  suppose,  for  tiie  trees  that  are  dying. 
We  can  hardly  ever  now  see  the  farther  bank  of  our  river, 
that  used  to  be  so  pretty,  for  the  thick  smoke  that  hangs 
over  it.  And  worse  than  all,  the  very  air  is  poisoned  with 
their  gases.  Often  the  vilest  smells  fill  the  house,  but  they 
say  they  are  not  unhealthy.  I  wish  they  were — perliaps 
then  they  would  try  to  prevent  them.  It  nearly  maddens 
me  to  see  the  trees,  the  poor  trees,  standing  bare  and  naked, 
or  slowly  dying,  tlie  top  branches  dead,  the  few  leaves  with- 
ered and  limp.  Tlie  other  evening  I  went  to  a  farm  that 
used  to  be  (how  sad  that  '  used  to  be  '  sounds)  so  pretty,  sur- 
rounded by  woods.  Now  half  the  trees  are  dead,  and  they 
are  cutting  down  the  rest  as  fast  as  possible,  so  that  they 
can  at  least  make  use  of  the  wood.  The  gas  makes  them 
useless.    Yesterday  I  went  to  the  house  of  the  manager  of 


112 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


some  plate-glass  works.  He  took  me  over  them,  and  it  wag 
very  interesting,  and  some  of  it  beautiful.  You  should  see 
the  liquid  fire  streaming  on  to  the  iron  sheets,  and  then  the 
sparkling  lakes  of  gold,  so  intensely  bright,  like  bits  out  of 
a  setting  sun  sometimes.  When  I  was  going  away,  the  man- 
ager pointed  proudly  to  tiie  mass  oi  buildings  we  had  been 
through,  and  said,  '  This  was  all  corn-fields  a  few  years  ago  !  ' 
It  sounded  so  cruel,  and  I  could  not  help  saying,  '  Don't 
you  think  it  was  better  growing  corn  than  making  glass  ? ' 
He  laughed,  and  seemed  so  amused  ;  but  I  came  away  won- 
dering, if  this  goes  on,  what  will  become  of  England.  The 
tide  is  so  strong — they  icill  try  to  make  money,  at  any  price. 
And  it  is  no  use  trying  to  remedy  one  evil,  or  another,  un- 
less the  root  is  rooted  out,  is  it  ? — the  love  of  money." 

It  is  of  use  to  remedy  any  evil  you  can  reach  :  and  all  this 
will  very  soon  now  end  in  forms  of  mercantile  catastrophe, 
and  political  revolution,  which  will  end  the  "  amusement "  of 
managers,  and  leave  the  ground  (too  fatally)  free,  without 
"  emigration." 

Oxford,  2Uh  October. 

The  third  Fors  has  just  put  into  my  hands,  as  I  arrange 
my  books  here,  a  paper  read  before  a  Philosophical  Society 
in  the  year  1870,  (in  mercy  to  the  author,  I  forbear  to  give 
his  name  ;  and  in  respect  to  the  Philosophical  Society,  I  for- 
bear to  give  its  name,)  which  alleges  as  a  discovery,  by 
interesting  experiment,'  that  a  horizontal  plank  of  ice  laid 
between  two  points  of  support,  bends  between  them  ;  and 
seriously  discusses  the  share  which  the  '  motive  power  of 
lieat '  has  in  that  amazing  result.  I  am  glad,  indeed,  to  see 
that  the  author  "cannot,  without  some  qualifications  agree" 
in  the  lucid  opinion  of  Canon  Moseley,  that  since,  in  the 
Canon's  experiments,  ice  was  crushed  under  a  pressure  of 
308  lb.  on  the  square  inch,  a  glacier  over  710  feet  thick  would 
crush  itself  to  pieces  at  the  bottom.  (The  Canon  may  still 
further  assist  modern  science  by  determining  what  weight  is 
necessary  to  crush  an  inch  cube  of  water  ;  and  favouring  us 
with  his  resulting  opinion  upon  the  probable  depth  of  the 
isea.)    But  I  refer  to  this  essay  only  to  quote  the  following 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA.  113 

passages  in  it,  to  prove,  for  future  reference,  the  degree  of 
ignorance  to  whicii  the  ingenuity  of  Professor  Tyndall  had 
reduced  the  general  scientific  public,  in  the  year  1870  : — 

"  The  generally  accepted  theory  proned  by  the  Rev,  Canon 
Moseley  to  he  incorrect. — Since  the  time  that  Professor 
Tyndall  had  shown  that  all  the  phenomena  formerly  attrib- 
uted by  Professor  Forbes  to  plasticity  could  be  explained 
upon  the  principle  of  regelation,  discovered  by  Faraday,  the 
viscous  theory  of  glacier-motion  has  been  pretty  generally 
given  up.  The  ice  of  a  glacier  is  now  almost  universally  be- 
heved  to  be,  not  a  soft  plastic  substance,  but  a  substance 
hard,  brittle,  and  unyielding.  The  power  that  the  glacier 
lias  of  accommodating  itself  to  tlie  inequalities  of  its  bed  with- 
out losing  its  apparent  continuity  is  referred  to  the  property 
of  regelation  possessed  by  ice.    All  this  is  now  plain." 

The  present  state  of  the  qxtestion. — The  condition  which 
the  perplexing  question  of  the  cause  of  the  descent  of  glaciers 
has  now  reached  seems  to  be  something:  like  the  following. 
The  ice  of  a  glacier  is  not  in  a  soft  and  plastic  state,  but  is 
solid,  hard,  brittle,  and  unyielding." 

I  hope  to  give  a  supplementary  number  of  Fors^  this  win- 
ter, on  glacier  questions  ;  and  will  only,  therefore,  beg  my 
readers  at  present  to  observe  that  the  opponents  of  Forbes 
are  simply  in  the  position  of  persons  who  deny  the  flexibility 
of  chain-mail  because  *  steel  is  not  flexible  ; '  and,  resolving 
that  steel  is  not  flexible,  account  for  the  bending  of  an  old 
carving-knife  by  the  theory  of  *  contraction  and  expansion.' 

Observe,  also,  that  ^regelation'  is  only  scientific  language 
for  'freezing  again  and  it  is  supposed  to  be  more  explan- 
atory, as  being  Latin. 

Similarly,  if  you  ask  any  of  these  scientific  gentlemen  the 
reason  of  the  forms  of  hoar-frost  on  your  window-pane,  they 
will  tell  you  they  may  be  all  explained  by  the  "  theory  of 
congelation." 

Finally  ;  here  is  the  first  part  of  the  question,  in  brief 
terms  for  you  to  think  over. 

A  cubic  foot  of  snow  falls  on  the  top  of  the  Alps.  It  takes, 
more  or  less,  forty  years  (if  it  doesn't  melt)  to  get  to  the 
Vol.  IL-la 


114 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA. 


bottom  of  them.  During  that  period  it  has  been  warmed  by 
forty  summers,  frozen  by  forty  winters  ;  sunned  and  shaded, 
— sopped  and  dried, — dropped  and  picked  up  again, — wasted 
and  supplied, — cracked  and  mended, — squeezed  together  and 
pulled  asunder,  by  every  possible  variety  of  temperature  and 
force  that  wind,  weather,  and  colossal  forces  of  fall  and 
weight,  can  bring  to  bear  upon  it. 

How  much  of  it  will  get  to  the  bottom  ?  With  what  ad- 
ditions or  substitutions  of  matter,  and  in  what  consistence  ? 


FORS  CLA  VIOERA, 


115 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


I  find  an  excellent  illustration  of  the  state  of  modern  roads,  '  not 
blamed  for  biood,'  in  the  following  '^Month's  List  of  Killed  and 
Wounded,"  from  the  PaU  Mali  Gazette  : — 

We  have  before  us  a  task  at  once  monotonous,  painful,  and  revolt- 
ing. It  is  to  record,  for  the  benefit  of  the  public,  the  monthly  list  of 
slaughter  by  rail,  for  the  last  four  weeks  unprecedented  in  degree  and 
variety.  In  August  there  were  three  'accidents,'  so  called,  for  every 
five  days.  In  the  thirty  days  of  September  there  have  been  in  all 
thirty-six.  W^e  need  not  explain  the  dreary  monotony  of  this  work. 
Every  newspaper  reader  understands  that  for  himselt  It  is  also  pain- 
ful, because  we  are  all  more  or  less  concerned,  either  as  travellers, 
shareholders,  or  workers  on  railways ;  and  it  is  grievous  to  behold  enor- 
mous sums  of  money  thrown  away  at  random  in  compensation  for  loss 
of  life  and  limb,  in  making  good  the  damage  done  to  plant  and  stock, 
in  costly  law  litigation,  and  all  for  the  sake  of  what  is  called  economy. 
It  is,  moreover,  a  just  source  of  indignation  to  the  tax-payer  to  reflect 
that  he  is  compelled  to  contribute  to  maintain  a  costl3'  staff  of  Govern 
ment  inspectors  (let  alone  the  salaries  of  the  Board  of  Trade),  and  that 
for  any  practical  result  of  the  investigations  and  reports  of  these  gen- 
tlemen, their  scientific  knowledge  and  'urgent  recommendations,' they 
might  as  well  be  men  living  in  the  moon.  It  is  revolting  because  it 
discloses  a  miserable  greed,  and  an  entire  callousness  of  conscience  on 
the  part  of  railway  directors,  railway  companies,  and  the  railway  in- 
terest alike,  and  in  the  Government  and  Legislature  a  most  unworthy 
and  unwise  cowardice.  It  is  true  that  the  situation  may  be  accounted 
for  by  the  circumstance  that  there  are  between  one  and  two  hundred 
railway  directors  in  the  House  of  Commons  who  uniformly  band  to- 
gether, but  that  explanation  does  not  improve  the  fact. 

Sept.  2. — North -Eastern  Railway,  near  Hartlepool.  Passenger  train 
got  off  the  line  ;  three  men  killed,  several  injured.  Cause,  a  defective 
wheel  packed  with  sheet  iron.  The  driver  had  been  recently  fined  for 
driving  too  slowly. 

Sept.  5. — Great  Western.  A  goods  train  ran  into  a  number  of  beasts, 
and  then  came  into  collision  with  another  goods  train. 

Sept.  (). — Line  from  Helensburgh  to  Glasgow.  A  third  class  carriage 
got  on  fire.  No  communication  between  passengers  and  guard.  The 
former  got  through  the  windows  as  best  they  could,  and  were  found 
lying  about  the  line,  six  of  them  badly  injured. 

Sept.  8. — A  train  appeared  quite  unexpectedly  on  the  line  between 
Tamworth  and  Rugby.    One  woman  run  over  and  killed. 

Sept.  9. — Cannon  Street.  Two  carriages  jumped  off  the  line  ;  traffic 
much  delayed. 


116 


FOBS  CLAVIOEEA. 


Sept.  9.— Near  Guildford.  A  bullock  leaped  over  a  low  gate  on  to 
the  line;  seven  carriages  were  turned  over  the  embankment  and  shiv- 
ered to  splinters ;  three  passengers  were  killed  on  the  spot,  suffocated 
or  jammed  to  death ;  about  fifteen  were  injured. 

Sept.  10. — London  and  North- Western,  at  Watford.  Passenger  train 
left  the  rails  where  the  points  are  placed,  and  one  carriage  was  over- 
turned ;  several  persons  injured,  and  many  severely  shaken. 

Sept.  10. — Great  Northern,  at  Ardsley.  Some  empty  carriages  were 
put  unsecured  on  an  incline,  and  ran  into  the  Scotch  express :  three 
carriages  smashed,  several  passengers  injured,  and  driver,  stoker,  and 
guard  badly  shaken. 

Sept.  11. — Great  Eastern,  near  Sawbridge worth.  A  goods  train,  to 
which  was  attached  a  waggon  inscribed  as  defective  and  marked  for 
repair,  was  proceeding  on  the  up  line ;  the  waggon  broke  down,  and 
caught  a  heavy  passenger  train  on  the  down  line :  one  side  of  this  train 
was  battered  to  pieces  ;  many  passengers  severely  shaken  and  cut  with 
broken  glass. 

Sept.  12. — East  Lancashire,  near  Bury.  A  collision  between  two 
goods  trains.  Both  lines  blocked  and  waggons  smashed.  One  driver 
was  very  badly  hurt. 

Sept.  13. — London,  Chatham,  and  Dover,  near  Birchington  station. 
Passenger  train  drove  over  a  number  of  oxen  ;  engine  was  thrown  off 
the  line ;  driver  terriblj^  bruised  ;  passengers  severely  shaken.  Cause, 
the  animals  got  loose  while  being  driven  over  a  level  crossing,  and  no 
danger  signals  were  hoisted. 

Sept.  1.'). — Caledonian  line,  near  Glasgow.  Passenger  train  ran  into 
a  mineral  train  which  had  been  left  planted  on  the  line ;  one  woman 
not  expected  to  survive,  thirteen  passengers  severely  injured.  Cause, 
gross  negligence. 

Same  day,  and  same  line. — Caledonian  goods  train  was  run  into 
broadside  by  a  North  British  train ;  great  damage  done  ;  the  guard 
was  seriously  injure  1.    Cause,  defective  signalling. 

Sept.  16. — Near  Birmingham.  A  paseenger  train,  while  passing  over 
some  points,  got  partly  off  the  line ;  no  one  severely  hurt,  but  all  shak- 
en and  frightened.    Cause,  defective  working  of  points. 

Sept.  17. — Between  Preston  and  Liverpool,  near  Houghton.  The 
express  train  from  Blackburn  ran  into  a  luggage  train  which  was  in 
course  of  being  shunted,  it  V)eing  perfectly  well  known  that  the  ex- 
press was  overdue.  About  twenty  passengers  were  hurt,  or  severely 
shaken  and  alarmed,  but  no  one  was  actually  killed.  Cause,  gross  neg- 
ligence, want  of  punctuality,  and  too  much  trafSc. 

Same  day. — Groat  Eastern.  Points  not  being  closed,  a  cattle  train 
left  the  metal  and  ploughed  up  the  line,  causing  much  damage  and 
delay  in  traffic.    Cause,  negligence. 

Same  day. — Oxf  .-rd  and  Bletehley  Railwa5^  Axle- wheel  of  waggon 
broke,  and  with  seven  trucks  left  the  line.  A  general  smash  ensued; 
broken  carriages  were  strewt^d  all  over  the  line,  and  a  telegraph  post 
was  knocked  down  :  blockage  for  four  hours.    Cause,  defective  axle. 

Same  day. — A  goods  train  from  Bolton  to  Manchester  started  so  laden 
as  to  project  over  the  other  line  for  the  down  traffic.  Encountering 
the  express  from  Manchester  near  Stone  Clough,  every  passenger  car- 
riage was  in  succession  struck  and  injured.  Cause,  gross  negligence 
of  porters,  station-master,  and  guard  of  goods  train. 


FOltS  CLAVIGERA. 


117 


*'  Here,  it  will  be  observed,  we  have  already  got  eighteen  catastrophes 
within  seventeen  days.  On  September  18  and  19  there  was  a  lull,  fol- 
lowed by  an  appalling  outbreak. 

Sept.  20. — At  the  Bristol  terminus,  where  the  points  of  the  Midland 
and  Great  Western  meet,  a  mail  train  of  the  former  ran  full  into  a  pas- 
senger train  belonging  to  the  latter.  As  they  were  not  at  full  speed,  no 
one  was  killed,  but  much  damage  was  done.  Cause,  want  of  punctu- 
ality and  gross  negligence.  Under  a  system  where  the  trains  of  two 
large  companies  have  a  junction  in  commou  and  habicually  cross  each 
other  many  times  a  day,  the  block  system  seems  impossible  in  practice. 

Same  day. — Manchester,  Sheffield,  and  Lincoln  line.  A  passenger 
train  was  unhooked  from  the  engine  at  Pennistone,  and  ran  down  the 
incline  at  a  fearful  rate.  A  signalman,  seeing  something  wrong,  and 
naturally  confused,  turned  it  on  to  the  Sheffield  line.  At  Wortley  it 
encountered  a  goods  train  laden  with  pig-iron.  Smash  in  every  direc- 
tion, carriages  and  trucks  mounting  one  on  the  top  of  the  other.  For- 
tunately there  were  only  three  passengers;  but  all  were  seriously  in- 
jured.   Cause,  gross  negligence. 

Sept.  22. — Midland  Railway',  near  Kettering.  A  train  ran  off  the 
line ;  metals  torn  up  ;  traffic  delayed  for  two  hours. 

Same  day. — Passenfjer  train  from  Chester  was  descending  the  tunnel 
under  Birkenhead ;  the  engine  ran  off  the  line  and  dashed  against  the 
tunnel  wall.  Passengers  nmch  shaken,  but  not  seriously  maimed. 
Traffic  stopped  for  several  hours. 

Sept.  23.— A  lull. 

Sept.  24. — North  British  Railway,  at  Reston  Junction.  The  early  ex- 
press train  which  leaves  Berwick  for  Edinburgh  at  4.30  a.m.  was  going 
at  full  speed,  all  signals  being  at  safety,  but  struck  a  waggon  which  was 
left  standing  a  little  on  the  main  line  over  a  siding;  engine  damaged, 
and  the  panels  and  foot-boards  of  ten  carriages  knocked  to  bits ;  no 
loss  of  life.    Cause,  gross  negligence. 

Sept.  25. — A  ]\Ii(lland  excursion  train  from  Leicester  got  off  the  line 
near  New  Street  station  ;  the  van  was  thrown  across  both  lines  of  rails  ; 
great  damage  and  delay.    Cause,  over-used  metal. 

Same  day. — London  and  North- Western,  between  Greenfield  and 
Mossley.  A  bundle  of  cotton  which  had  fallen  from  a  train  pulled  one 
waggon  off  the  line;  twenty  other  waggons  followed  it,  and  the  line 
was  ploughed  up  for  two  hundred  yards ;  great  damage,  delay,  and 
many  waggons  smashed  :  no  loss  of  life.    Cause,  negligence. 

Same  day. — Great  Eastern,  St.  Ives.  Through  carelessness  a  points- 
man ran  a  Midland  ))assenger  train  into  a  siding  on  to  some  trucks; 
passengers  badly  shaken,  and  a  good  many  had  their  teeth  knocked 
out.  The  account  stated  naively,  No  passengers  were  seriously  hurt, 
but  they  were  nevertlieless  very  muc-h  alarmed,  and  fled  the  carriages 
in  the  greatest  state  of  excitement."    Cause,  gross  negligence. 

Same  day. — South  Yorkshire,  near  Conisbro.  A  mineral  train  (sig- 
nals being  all  right)  dashed  full  into  a  heavy  coal  train.  Much  damage, 
but  no  lose  of  life.    Cause,  gross  negligence  and  over-traffic. 

Sept.  20. — This  was  a  very  fatal  day.  At  Sykes  Junction,  near  Ret- 
ford, the  Manchester,  Sheffield,  and  Lincoln  joins  the  Great  Northern. 
A  coal  train  of  the  latter  while  passing  the  junction  was  run  into  at 
full  speed  by  a  cattle  train  of  the  former.    The  engine  and  fifteen  car- 


118 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


riages  were  thrown  down  the  bank  and  smashed,  and  valuable  cattle 
killed.  Meanwhile  a  goods  train  drew  up,  the  signal  being  for  once  at 
danger,  and  was  immediately  run  into  by  a  mineral  train  from  behind, 
which  had  not  been  warned.  Drivers,  guards,  firemen  injured.  A  fog 
was  on  at  the  time,  but  no  fog  signals  appear  to  have  been  used. 
Cause,  negligence  and  over-traffic. 

Same  day. — North-Eastern  passenger  train  from  Stockton  to  Harro- 
gate ran  into  a  heavy  goods  train  near  Arthington.  The  crash  was 
fearful.  About  twenty  passengers  were  injured  ;  half  that  number 
very  seriously.  The  signals  contradicted  each  other.  Cause,  gross 
negligence. 

Same  day. — North-Eastern,  Newcastle  and  Carlisle  division.  There 
was  a  collision  between  a  mineral  and  a  cattle  train  on  a  bridge  of  the 
river  Eden  more  than  100  feet  high.  Part  of  the  bridge  was  hurled 
down  below  ;  several  waggons  followed  it,  while  others  remained  sus- 
pended. Cattle  were  killed ;  three  men  badly  injured.  Cause,  gross 
negligence. 

Same  day. — Near  Carnarvon.  A  passenger  train  ran  over  a  porter's 
lorry  which  had  been  left  on  the  line  ;  no  one  was  injured,  but  damage 
ensued  ;  passengers  had  fortunately  alighted.    Cause,  negligence. 

Same  day. — Great  Eastern.  A  train  of  empty  carriages  was  turned 
on  to  a  siding  at  Fakenham,  and  came  into  collision  with  laden  trucks, 
which  in  their  turn  were  driven  into  a  platform  wall ;  much  damage 
done,  but  no  personal  injury.    Cause,  gross  negligence. 

Sept.  27. — The  Holyhead  mail  due  at  Crewe  at  5.30  was  half  an  hour 
late  ;  left  standing  on  a  curve,  ifc  was  run  into  by  a  goods  train  ;  a 
number  of  carriages  were  smashed,  and  though  no  one  was  killed, 
nearly  fifty  persons  were  injured.  The  signals  were  against  the  goods 
train,  but  the  morning  being  hazy  the  driver  did  not  see  them.  Cause, 
negligence,  unpunctuality,  and  want  of  fog  signals. 

Sept.  28.  — South  Devon  Line,  near  Plymouth.  A  luggage  train  was 
set  on  fire,  and  a  van  laden  with  valuable  furniture  completely  con- 
sumed. 

Sept.  30. — The  London  and  Glasgow  express  came  up  at  full  speed 
near  Motherwell  Junction,  and  dashed  into  a  van  which  was  being 
shunted  on  the  main  line  ;  the  engine  was  thrown  down  an  embank- 
ment of  thirty  feet,  and  but  for  the  accident  of  the  coupling-iron 
breaking  the  whole  train  would  have  followed  it.  The  fireman  was 
crushed  to  death,  the  driver  badly  injured,  and  many  passengers  se- 
verely shaken.  Cause,  criminal  recklessness  in  shunting  vans  when  an 
express  is  due. 

Sept.  30. — Great  Western.  Collision  at  UflSngton  between  a  fish  and 
luggage  train  ;  no  loss  of  life,  but  engine  shattered,  trafiic  delayed,  and 
damage  done.    Cause,  negligence. 

"Besides  the  above,  two  express  trains  had  a  very  narrow  escape 
from  serious  collision  on  September  13  and  September  26,  the  one 
being  near  Beverley  station,  and  the  other  on  the  Great  Western,  be- 
tween Oxford  and  Didcot.  Both  were  within  an  ace  of  running  into 
luggage  vans  which  had  got  off  the  lines.  It  will  be  observed  that  in 
this  dismal  list  there  is  hardly  one  which  can  properly  be  called  an  ac- 
cident, i.e.,  non-essential  to  the  existing  condition  of  things,  not  to  be 
foreseen  or  prevented,  occurring  by  chance,  which  means  being  caused 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


110 


by  our  ignorance  of  laws  which  we  have  no  means  of  ascertaining.  The 
reverse  is  the  true  state  of  the  case :  the  real  accidents  would  have 
been  if  the  catastrophes  in  question  had  not  occurred." 

A  correspondent,  who  very  properly  asks,  "  Should  we  not  straight- 
way send  more  missionaries  to  the  KafiQrs  ?  "  sends  me  the  following 
extracts  from  the  papers  of  this  month.  T  have  no  time  to  comment 
on  them.  The  ocly  conclusion  which  Mr.  Dickens  would  have  drawn 
from  them,  would  have  been  that  nobody  should  have  been  hanged  at 
Kirkdale  ;  the  conclusion  the  public  will  draw  from  them  will  doubt- 
less be,  as  suggested  by  my  correspondent,  the  propriety  of  sending 
more  missionaries  to  the  Kaffirs,  with  plenty  of  steam-engines. 

JUVENILE  DEPRAVITY. 

Yesterday,  a  lad  named  Joseph  Frieman,  eleven  years  of  age,  was 
charged  before  the  Liverpool  magistrates  with  cutting  and  wounding 
his  brother,  a  child  six  years  old.  It  appeared  that  on  Saturday,  dur- 
ing the  absence  of  their  mother,  the  prisoner  threw  the  little  fellow 
down  and  wounded  him  with  a  knife  in  a  frightful  manner,  and  on  the 
return  of  the  mother  she  found  the  lad  lying  in  great  agony  and  bleed- 
ing profusely.  In  reply  to  her  questions  the  prisoner  said  that  his 
brotlier  ''had  broken  a  plate,  and  the  knife  Biipi>ed."  The  woman 
stated  that  the  prisoner  was  an  incorrigible  boy  at  home,  and  stole 
everything  he  could  lay  his  hands  on.  A  few  weeks  ago,  about  the 
time  of  the  recent  execution  at  Kirkdale,  he  suspended  his  little  sister 
with  a  rope  from  the  ceiling  in  one  of  the  bedrooms,  nearly  causing 
death.  The  prisoner  was  remanded  for  a  week,  as  the  injured  hoy  lies 
in  a  very  dangerous  state. 

SnOCKING  rAKUICIDE  IN  H\MFAX. 

A  man,  named  Andrew  Cos^llo,  8G,  died  in  Halifax  yesterday,  from 
injuries  committed  on  him  by  his  daughter,  a  mill  hand.  She  struck 
him  on  Monday  with  a  rolling-pin,  and  on  the  following  day  tore  his 
tongue  out  at  the  root  at  one  side.  He  died  in  the  woikhouse,  of 
lockjaw. 


120 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


LETTER  XXXVI. 

Thkee  years  have  passed  since  I  began  these  letters.  Of 
the  first,  and  another,  I  forget  which,  a  few  more  than  a 
thousand  have  been  sold  :  and  as  the  result  of  mv  benrsrino^ 
for  money,  I  have  got  upwards  of  two  hundred  pounds. 
The  number  of  the  simple  persons  who  have  thus  trusted  me 
is  stated  at  the  end  of  this  letter.  Had  I  been  a  swindler, 
the  British  public  would  delightedly  have  given  me  two  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds  instead  of  two  hundred,  of  which  I 
might  have  returned  them,  by  tliis  time,  say,  the  quarter,  in 
dividends  ;  spent  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pleasantly, 
myself,  at  the  rate  of  fifty  thousand  a  year  ;  and  announced, 
in  this  month's  report,  with  regret,  the  failure  of  my  project, 
owing  to  the  unprecedented  state  of  commercial  affairs  in- 
duced by  strikes,  unions,  and  other  illegitimate  combinations 
among  the  workmen. 

And  the  most  curious  part  of  the  business  is  that  I  fancy 
I  should  have  been  a  much  more  happy  and  agreeable  mem- 
ber of  society,  spending  my  fifty  thousand  a  year  thus,  in  the 
way  of  business,  than  I  have  been  in  giving  away  my  own 
seven  thousand,  and  painfully  adding  to  it  this  collection  of 
two  hundred,  for  a  piece  of  work  which  is  to  give  me  a  great 
deal  of  trouble,  and  be  profitable  only  to  other  people. 

Happy,  or  sulky,  however,  I  have  got  this  thing  to  do  ; 
and  am  only  amused,  instead  of  discouraged,  by  the  beautiful 
reluctance  of  the  present  English  public  to  trust  an  honest 
person,  without  being  flattered  ;  or  promote  a  useful  work 
without  being  bribed. 

It  may  be  true  that  I  have  not  brought  my  plan  rightly 
before  the  public  yet.  "  A  bad  thing  will  pay,  if  you  put  it 
properly  before  the  public,"  wrote  a  first-rate  man  of  business 
the  other  day,  to  one  of  my  friends.  But  what  the  final  re- 
sults of  putting  bad  things  properly  before  the  public,  wiU 


FORS  CLAVIOERA, 


121 


be  to  the  exhibitor  of  them,  and  the  public  also,  no  man  of 
business  that  I  am  acquainted  with  is  yet  aware. 

I  mean,  therefore,  to  persist  in  my  own  method  ;  and  to 
allow  the  public  to  take  their  time.  One  of  their  most 
curiously  mistaken  notions  is  that  they  can  hurry  the  pace 
of  Tinie  itself,  or  avert  its  power.  As  to  these  letters  of 
mine,  for  instance,  which  all  my  friends  beg  me  not  to  write, 
because  no  w^orkman  will  understand  them  now  ; — what 
would  have  been  the  use  of  writing  letters  only  for  the  men 
who  have  been  produced  by  the  instructions  of  Mr.  John 
Stuart  Mill  ?  I  write  to  the  labourers  of  England  ;  but  not 
of  England  in  1870-73.  A  day  will  come  when  we  shall  have 
men  resolute  to  do  good  work,  and  capable  of  reading  and 
thinking  while  they  rest  ;  who  will  not  expect  to  build  like 
Athenians  without  knowing  anything  about  the  first  king  of 
Athens,  nor  like  Christians  without  knowing  anything  about 
Christ  :  and  then  they  will  find  my  letters  useful,  and  read 
them.  And  to  the  few  readers  whom  these  letters  now  find, 
they  will  become  more  useful  as  they  go  on,  for  they  are  a 
mosiac-work  into  which  I  can  put  a  piece  here  and  there  as 
I  find  glass  of  the  colour  I  w^ant  ;  what  is  as  yet  done  being 
set,  indeed  in  patches,  but  not  without  design. 

One  chasm  1  must  try  to  fill  to-day,  by  telling  you  why  it 
is  so  grave  a  heresy  (or  wilful  source  of  division)  to  call  any 
book,  or  collection  of  books,  the  *  Word  of  God.' 

By  that  Word,  or  Voice,  or  Breath,  or  Spirit,  the  heavens 
and  earth,  and  all  the  host  of  them,  were  made  ;  and  in  it 
they  exist.  It  is  your  life  ;  and  speaks  to  you  always,  so 
long  as  you  live  nobly  ; — dies  out  of  you  as  you  refuse  to 
obey  it  ;  leaves  you  to  hear,  and  be  slain  by,  the  word  of  an 
evil  spirit,  instead  of  it. 

It  may  come  to  you  in  books, — come  to  you  in  clouds, — 
come  to  you  in  the  voices  of  men, — come  to  you  in  the  still- 
ness of  deserts.  You  must  be  stronof  in  evil,  if  you  have 
quenched  it  wholly  ; — very  desolate  in  this  Christian  land,  if 
you  have  never  heard  it  at  all.  Too  certainly,  in  this  Chris- 
tian land  you  do  hear,  and  loudly,  the  contrary  of  it, — the 
doctrine  or  word  of  devils,  speaking  lies  in  hypocrisy  ;  for- 


122 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


bidding  to  marry,  recommending  women  to  find  some  more 
lucrative  occupation  than  that  of  nursing  the  baby  ;  and 
commanding  to  abstain  from  meats,  (and  drinks,)  which 
God  has  appointed  to  be  received  with  thanksgiving.  For 
everything  which  God  has  made  is  good,  and  nothing  to 
he  refused,  if  it  be  sanctified  by  the  Word  of  God."  And 
by  what  else  ? 

If  you  have  been  accustomed  to  hear  the  clergyman's 
letter  from  which  I  have  just  been  quoting,  as  if  it  were 
itself  the  word  of  God, — you  have  been  accustomed  also  to 
hear  our  bad  translation  of  it  go  on,  saying,  "  If  it  be  sancti- 
fied by  the  Word  of  God,  and  prayer."  But  there  is  nothing 
whatever  about  prayer  in  the  clergyman's  letter, — nor  does 
he  say,  If  it  be  sanctified.  He  says,  ^'  For  it  is  sanctified  by 
the  Word  of  God,  and  the  chance  that  brings  it."*  Which 
means,  that  when  meat  comes  in  your  way  when  you  are 
hungrj^  or  drink  when  you  are  thirsty,  and  you  know  in 
your  own  conscience  that  it  is  good  for  you  to  have  it,  the 
meat  and  drink  are  holy  to  you. 

But  if  the  Word  of  God  in  your  heart  is  against  it,  and 
you  know  that  you  would  be  better  without  the  extra  glass 
of  beer  you  propose  to  take,  and  that  your  wife  would  be  the 
better  for  the  price  of  it,  then  it  is  unholy  to  you  :  and  you 
can  only  have  the  sense  of  entire  comfort  and  satisfaction, 
either  in  having  it,  or  going  without  it,  if  you  are  simply 
obeying  the  Word  of  God  about  it  in  your  mind,  and  accept- 
ing contentedly  the  chances  for  or  against  it  ;  as  probably 
you  have  heard  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  accepting  the  chance  of 
another  soldier's  needing  his  cup  of  water  more  than  he,  on 
his  last  battle-field,  and  instantly  obeying  the  Word  of  God 
coming  to  him  on  that  occasion.  Not  that  it  is  intended 
that  the  supply  of  these  good  creatures  of  God  should  be  left 
wholly  to  chance  ;  but  that  if  we  observe  the  proper  laws  of 
God  concerning  them,  and,  for  instance,  instead  of  forbidding 
marriage,  duly  and  deeply  reverence  it,  then,  in  proper  time 

*  The  complete  idea  I  believe  to  be  "  the  Divine  Fors  "  or  Providence, 
accurately  bo  called,  of  God.  For  it  is  sanctified  by  the  Word  of  God, 
and  the  granting." 


FORH  CLA  VIGEUA. 


123 


and  place,  there  will  be  true  Fors,  or  chancing  on,  or  finding 
of,  the  youth  and  maid  by  each  other,  such  in  character  as 
the  Providence  of  Heaven  appoints  for  each  :  and,  similarly, 
if  we  duly  recognize  the  laws  of  God  about  meats  and  drinks, 
there  will  for  every  labourer  and  traveller  be  such  chancintr 
upon  meat  and  drink  and  other  entertainment  as  shall  be 
sacredly  pleasant  to  him.  And  there  cannot  indeed  be  at 
present  imagined  a  more  sacred  function  for  young  Christian 
men  than  that  of  hosts  or  hospitallers,  supplying,  to  due 
needs,  and  with  proper  maintenance  of  their  own  lives, 
wholesome  food  and  drink  to  all  men  :  so  that  as,  at  least, 
always  at  one  end  of  a  village  there  may  be  a  holy  church 
and  vicar,  so  at  the  other  end  of  the  village  there  may  be 
a  holy  tavern  and  tapster,  ministering  the  good  creatures  of 
God,  so  that  they  may  be  sanctified  by  the  Word  of  God 
and  His  Providence. 

And  as  the  providence  of  marriage,  and  the  giving  to  eacii 
man  the  help  meet  for  his  life,  is  now  among  us  destro3^ed 
by  the  wantonness  of  harlotry,  so  the  providence  of  the 
Father  who  would  fill  men's  hearts  with  food  and  gladness 
is  destroyed  among  us  by  prostitution  of  joyless  drink  ;  and 
the  never  to  be  enough  damned  guilt  of  men,  and  govern- 
ments, gathering  pence  at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  stand- 
ing there,  pot  in  hand,  crying,  *  Turn  in  hither  ;  come,  eat  of 
my  evil  bread,  and  drink  of  my  beer,  which  I  have  venom- 
ously mingled.' 

Against  which  temptations — though  never  against  the 
tempters — one  sometimes  hears  one's  foolish  clergy  timor- 
ously inveighing  ;  and  telling  young  idlers  that  it  is  wrong 
to  be  lustful,  and  old  labourers  that  it  is  wrong  to  be  thirsty  : 
but  1  never  heard  a  clergyman  yet,  (and  during  thirty 
years  of  the  prime  of  my  life  I  heard  one  sermon  at  least 
every  Sunday,  so  that  it  is  after  experience  of  no  fewer  than 
one  thousand  five  hundred  sermons,  most  of  them  by  schol- 
ars, and  many  of  them  by  earnest  men,)  that  I  now  solemnly 
state  I  never  heard  one  preacher  deal  faithfully  with  the 
quarrel  between  God  and  Mammon,  or  explain  the  need  of 
choice  between  the  service  of  those  two  masters.    And  all 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


vices  are  indeed  summed,  and  all  their  forces  consummated, 
in  that  simple  acceptance  of  the  authority  of  gold  instead  of 
the  authority  of  God  ;  and  preference  of  gain,  or  the  increase 
of  gold,  to  godliness,  or  the  peace  of  God. 

I  take  then,  as  I  promised,  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth 
Psalms  for  examination  with  respect  to  this  point. 

The  second  verse  ol  the  fourteenth  declares  that  of  the 
children  of  men,  there  are  none  that  seek  God. 

The  fifth  verse  of  the  same  Psalm  declares  that  God  is  in 
the  generation  of  the  righteous.  In  them,  observe  ;  not 
needing  to  be  sought  b}"  them. 

From  which  statements,  evangelical  persons  conclude  that 
there  are  no  righteous  persons  at  all. 

Again,  the  fourth  verse  of  the  Psalm  declares  that  all  the 
workers  of  iniquity  eat  up  God's  people  as  they  eat  bread. 

Which  appears  to  me  a  very  serious  state  of  things,  and  to 
be  put  an  end  to,  if  possible  ;  but  evangelical  persons  con- 
clude thereupon  that  the  workers  of  iniquity  and  the  Lord's 
people  are  one  and  the  same.  Nor  have  I  ever  heard  in  the 
course  of  my  life  any  single  evangelical  clergj^man  so  much 
as  put  the  practical  inquiry,  Who  is  eating,  and  who  is  being 
eaten  ? 

Again,  the  first  verse  of  the  Psalm  declares  that  the  fool 
hath  said  in  his  heart  there  is  no  God  ;  but  the  sixth  verse 
declares  of  the  poor  that  he  not  only  knows  there  is  a  God, 
but  finds  Him  to  be  a  refuge. 

Whereupon  evangelical  persons  conclude  that  the  fool  and 
the  poor  mean  the  same  people  ;  and  make  all  the  haste 
they  can  to  be  rich. 

Putting  them,  and  their  interpretations,  out  of  our  way, 
the  Psalm  becomes  entirely  explicit.  There  liave  been  in  all 
ages  children  of  God  and  of  man  :  the  one  born  of  the  Spirit 
and  obeying  it  ;  the  other  born  of  the  flesh,  and  obeying 
it.  I  don't  know  how  that  entirely  unintelligible  sentence, 
"There  were  they  in  great  fear,"  got  into  our  English 
Psalm  ;  in  both  the  Greek  and  Latin  versions  it  is,  "  God 
hath  broken  the  bones  of  those  that  please  men." 

And  it  is  here  said  of  the  entire  body  of  the  children  of 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


125 


men,  at  a  particular  time,  that  they  had  at  that  time  all  gone 
astray  be^^oiid  hope  ;  that  none  were  left  who  so  much  as 
sought  God,  much  less  who  were  likely  to  find  Him  ;  and 
that  these  wretches  and  vagabonds  were  eating  up  God's 
own  people  as  they  ate  bread. 

Which  has  indeed  been  generally  so  in  all  ages  ;  but  bc' 
yond  all  recorded  history  is  so  in  ours.  Just  and  godly  peo- 
ple can't  live  ;  and  every  clever  rogue  and  industrious  fool 
is  making  his  fortune  out  of  them,  and  producing  abomina- 
ble works  of  all  sorts  besides, — material  gasometers,  fur- 
naces, chemical  works,  and  the  like, — with  spiritual  lies  and 
lasciviousnesses  unheard  of  till  now  in  Christendom.  Which 
plain  and  disagreeable  meaning  of  this  portion  of  Scripture 
you  will  find  pious  people  universally  reject  with  abhorrence, 
— the  direct  word  and  open  face  of  their  Master  being,  in  the 
present  day,  always  by  them,  far  more  than  His  other  ene- 
mies, "  spitefully  entreated,  and  spitted  on." 

Next  for  the  15th  Psalm. 

It  begins  by  asking  God  who  shall  abide  in  His  taber- 
nacle, or  movable  tavern  ;  and  who  shall  dwell  in  His  holy 
hill.  Note  the  difference  of  those  two  abidings.  A  tavern, 
or  taberna,  is  originally  a  hut  made  by  a  traveller,  of  sticks 
cut  on  the  spot  ;  then,  if  he  so  arrange  it  as  to  be  portable, 
it  is  a  tabernacle  ;  so  that,  generally,  a  portable  hut  or 
house,  supported  by  rods  or  sticks  when  it  is  set  up,  is  a 
tabernacle  ; — on  a  large  scale,  having  boards  as  well  as  cur- 
tains, and  capable  of  much  stateliness,  but  nearly  synony- 
mous with  a  tent,  in  Latin. 

Therefore,  the  first  question  is,  Who  among  travelling  men 
will  have  God  to  set  up  his  tavern  for  liim  when  he  wants  rest  ? 

And  the  second  question  is.  Who,  of  travelling  men,  shall 
finally  dwell,  desiring  to  wander  no  more,  in  God's  own 
house,  established  above  the  hills,  where  all  nations  flow 
to  it  ? 

You,  perhaps,  don't  believe  that  either  of  these  abodes 
may,  or  do,  exist  in  reality  :  nor  that  God  would  ever  cut 
down  branches  for  you  ;  or,  better  still,  bid  them  spring  up 
for  <i  bower  •  or  that  He  would  like  to  see  you  in  His  own 


126 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA. 


house,  if  you  would  go  there.  You  prefer  the  buildings 
lately  put  up  in  rows  for  you  "  one  brick  thick  in  the 
walls, "  *  in  convenient  neighbourhood  to  your  pleasant 
business?  Be  it  so  : — then  the  fifteenth  Psalm  has  nothinj? 
to  say  to  you.  For  those  who  care  to  lodge  with  God,  these 
followino-  are  the  conditions  of  character. 

o 

They  are  to  walk  or  deal  uprightly  with  men.  They  are 
to  work  or  do  justice  ;  or,  in  sum,  do  the  best  they  can 
with  their  hands.  They  are  to  speak  tlie  truth  to  their  own 
hearts,  and  see  they  do  not  persuade  themselves  they  are 
honest  when  they  ought  to  know  themselves  to  be  knaves  ; 
nor  persuade  themselves  they  are  charitable  and  kind,  v/hon 
they  ought  to  know  themselves  to  be  thieves  and  murderers. 
They  are  not  to  bite  people  with  their  tongues  behind  their 
backs,  if  they  dare  not  rebuke  them  face  to  face.  They  are 
not  to  take  up,  or  catch  at,  subjects  of  blame  ;  but  they  are 
utterly  and  absolutely  to  despise  vile  persons  who  fear  no 
God,  and  think  the  world  was  begot  by  mud,  and  is  fed  by 
money  ;  and  they  are  not  to  defend  a  guilty  man's  cause 
against  an  innocent  one.  Above  all,  this  last  verse  is  written 
for  lawyers,  or  professed  interpreters  of  justice,  who  are 
of  all  men  most  villainous,  if,  knowingly,  they  take  reward 
against  an  innocent  or  rightfully  contending  person.  And 
on  these  conditions  the  promise  of  God's  presence  and 
strength  is  finally  given.  He  that  doeth  thus  shall  not  be 
moved,  or  shaken  :  for  him,  tabernacle  and  rock  are  alike 
safe  :  no  wind  shall  overthrow  them,  nor  earthquake  rend. 

That  is  the  meaning  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteentli 
Psalms  ;  and  if  you  so  believe  them,  and  obey  them,  you 
will  find  your  account  in  it.  And  they  are  the  Word  of 
God  to  you,  so  far  as  you  have  hearts  capable  of  under- 
standing them,  or  any  other  such  message  brought  by  His 
servants.  But  if  your  heart  is  dishonest  and  rebellious,  you 
may  read  them  for  ever  with  lip-service,  and  all  the  while  be 
^  men-pleasers,'  whose  bones  are  to  be  broken  at  the  pit's 
mouth,  and  so  left  incapable  of  breath,  brought  by  any  wind.^ 
of  Heaven.  And  that  is  all  I  have  to  say  to  you  this  year. 
*  See  p.  128  in  the  Notes, 


• 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


127 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


As  I  send  these  last  sheets  to  press,  I  get  from  the  Cheap-Fuei  Supply 
Association,  Limited,  a  letter  advising  me  that  the  Right  Hon.  Lord 
Claud  Hamilton,  M.P. ,  and  the  late  Director  of  Stores  at  the  War 
OflBce,  and  Michael  Angelo,  Esq.,  of  St.  James's  Square,  and  the  late 
Controller  of  Military  Finance  in  Calcutta,  with  other  estimable  per- 
sons, are  about  to  undertake  the  manufacture  of  peat  into  cheap  fuel, 
for  the  public  benefit ;  and  promise  a  net  profit  on  the  operation,  of  six 
shillings  and  sixpence  a  ton  ;  of  which  I  am  invited  to  secure  my  share. 
The  manufacture  of  peat  into  portable  fuel  may,  or  may  not,  be  desir- 
able ;  that  depends  on  what  the  British  public  means  to  do  after  they 
have  burnt  away  all  their  bituminous  and  boggy  ground  in  driving 
about  at  forty  miles  an  hour,  and  making  iron  railings,  and  other  such 
valuable  property,  for  the  possession  of  their  posterity.  But  granting 
the  manufacture  desirable,  and  omitting  all  reference  to  ite  effect  on 
the  picturesque,  why  Lord  Claud  Hamilton  and  Michael  Angelo,  Esq. , 
should  offer  me^  a  quiet  Oxford  student,  any  share  of  their  six-and-i-ix- 
pences,  I  can't  think.  I  could  not  cut  a  peat  if  they  would  give  me 
six-and-sixpence  the  dozen — I  know  nothing  about  its  manufacture. 
What  on  earth  do  they  propose  to  pay  me  for  ? 

The  following  letter  from  an  old  friend,  whose  manner  of  life  like 
my  own,  has  been  broken  up,  (when  it  was  too  late  to  mend  it  again.  ) 
by  modern  improvements,  will  be  useful  to  me  for  reference  in  what  1 
have  to  say  in  my  January  letter :  — 

About  myself — ere  long  I  shall  be  driven  out  of  my  house,  the 
happiest  refuge  I  ever  nested  in.  It  is  again  like  most  old  rooms,  very 
loft}',  is  of  wood  and  plaster,  evidently  of  the  Seventh  Harry's  time, 
and  most  interesting  in  many  ways.  It  belonged  to  the  Radcliffe 
family, — some  branch,  as  I  nnderstfind,  from  the  scanty  information  I 

can  scrape,  of  the  Dervirentwater  family.    Lord  owns  it  now,  or 

did  till  lately;  for  I  am  informed  he  had  sold  it  and  the  lands  about  it 
to  an  oil-cloth  company,  who  will  >«tart  building  their  factory  behind  it 
shortly,  and  probably  resell  the  land  they  do  not  use.  with  the  hall,  to 
be  demolished  as  an  incumbrance  that  does  not  pay.  Already  the 
*  Egyptian  plague  of  bricks '  has  alighted  on  its  eastern  side,  devour- 
ing every  green  blade.    Where  the  sheep  ted  last  year,  five  streets  of 


128 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


cheap  cottages — one  brick  thick  iu  the  walls — (for  the  factory  opera- 
tives belonging  to  two  great  cotton  mills  near)  are  in  course  of  forma- 
tion— great  cartloads  of  stinking  oyster  shells  having  been  laid  for 
their  foundations ;  and  the  whole  vicinity  on  the  eastern  side^  in  a 
state  of  mire  and  debris  of  broken  bricks  and  slates,  is  so  painful  to  my 
eyes  that  I  scarce  ever  go  out  in  daylight. 

Fifteen  years  ago  a  noble  avenue  of  sycamores  led  to  the  hall,  and 
a  large  wood  covered  the  surface  of  an  exteusive  plateau  of  red  sand- 
stone, and  a  moat  surrounded  the  walls  of  the  hall.  Not  a  tree  stands 
now,  the  moat  is  filled  up,  and  the  very  rock  itself  is  riddled  into  sand, 
and  is  being  now  carted  away. " 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA, 


129 


LETTER  XXXVIT. 


'  Selon  la  loy,  et  ly  prophetes, 
Qui  a  charite  parfaicte 
II  ayme  Dieu  sur  toute  rien, 
De  cueur,  de  force,  et  d'ame 
nette  ; 

Celui  devons-nous  tous  de  debte 
Comme  soy-raesmes,   son  pro- 
chain  ; 

Qu'on  dit  qui  in  ayme,  ayme  men 
chien. 

De  tel  pierre^  et  de  tel  merrien 
Est  es  cieulx  nostre  maiHon  faiote 
Car  nulz  ne  peut  dire,  *  c*est 
mien,* 

Fors  ce  qu'il  a  mis  en  ce  bien  ; 
Tout  le  remenant  est  retraicte." 


1st  January^  1874 

According  to  the  Law  and  the 

Prophets, 
He  who  has  perfect  charity, 
Loves  God  above  everything, 
With  heart,  with  llesh,  and  with 

spirit  pure. 
Him  also,  our  neighbour,  we  are 

all  in  debt 
To  love  as  ourselves. 
For  one  says,  Who  loves  me,  lovea 

my  dog. 

Of  such  stone,  and  of  such  cross- 
beam, 

Is  in  the  heavens  our  house  made  ; 
For  no  one  can  sa}',  *  It  is  mine,' 
Beyond  what  he  has  put  into  that 
good. 

All  the  rest  is  taken  away. 


One  day  last  November,  at  Oxford,  as  I  was  going  in  at  the 
private  door  of  the  University  galleries,  to  give  a  lecture  on 
the  Fine  Arts  in  Florence,  I  was  hindered  for  a  moment  by  a 
nice  little  girl,  wiiipping  a  top  on  the  pavement.  She  was  a 
verj/  nice  little  girl  ;  and  rejoiced  wholly  in  her  wliip,  and 
top  ;  but  could  not  inflict  the  reviving  chastisement  with  all 
the  activity  that  was  in  her,  because  she  had  on  a  large  and*^ 
dilapidated  pair  of  woman's  shoes,  which  projected  the  full 
length  of  her  own  little  foot  behind  it  and  before  ;  and  being 
securely  fastened  to  lier  ankles  in  the  manner  of  moccasins, 
admitted,  indeed,  of  dextrous  glissades,  and  other  modes  of 
progress  quite  sufficient  for  ordinary  purposes  ;  but  not  con- 
veniently of  all  the  evolutions  proper  to  the  pursuit  of  a 
whipping-top. 

There  were  some  worthy  people  at  my  lecture,  and  I  think 
Vol.  II.— 9 


130 


F0R8  CLAVIGEIIA, 


the  lecture  was  one  of  iny  best.  It  gave  some  really  trust- 
worthy information  about  art  in  Florence  six  hundred  years 
ago.  But  all  the  time  I  was  speaking,  I  knew  that  nothing 
spoken  about  art,  either  by  myself  or  other  people,  could  be 
of  the  least  use  to  anybody  there.  For  their  primary  busi- 
ness, and  mine,  was  with  art  in  Oxford,  now  ;  not  with  art  in 
Florence,  then  ;  and  art  in  Oxford  now  was  absolutely  de- 
pendent on  our  power  of  solving  the  question — which  I  knew 
that  my  audience  would  not  even  allow  to  be  proposed  for 
solution — "Why  have  our  little  girls  large  shoes?" 

Indeed,  my  great  difliculty,  of  late,  whether  in  lecturing 
or  writing,  is  in  the  intensely  practical  and  matter-of-fact 
character  of  my  own  mind  as  opposed  to  the  loquacious  and 
speculative  disposition,  not  only  of  the  British  public,  but  of 
all  my  quondam  friends.  I  am  left  utterly  stranded,  and 
alone,  in  life,  and  thought.  Life  and  knowledge,  I  ought  to 
say  ; — for  I  have  done  what  thinking  was  needful  for  me  long- 
ago,  and  know  enough  to  act  upon,  for  the  few  days,  or 
years,  I  may  have  yet  to  live.  I  firid  some  of  my  friends 
greatly  agitated  in  mind,  for  instance,  about  Responsibility, 
Free-will,  and  the  like.  I  settled  all  those  matters  for  myself, 
before  I  was  ten  years  old,  by  jumping  up  and  down  an 
awkward  turn  of  four  steps  in  my  nursery-stairs,  and  con- 
sidering whether  it  was  likely  that  God  knew  whether  I  should 
jump  only  three,  or  the  whole  four  at  a  time.  Having  settled 
it  in  my  mind  that  He  knew  quite  well,  though  I  didn't,  which 
I  should  do  ;  and  also  whether  I  sliould  fall  or  not  in  the 
course  of  the  performance, — though  I  was  altogether  re- 
sponsible for  taking  care  not  to, — I  never  troubled  my  head 
more  on  the  matter,  from  that  day  to  this.  But  my  friends 
keep  buzzing  and  puzzling  about  it,  as  if  they  had  to  order 
the  course  of  the  world  themselves  ;  and  won't  attend  to  me 
for  an  instant,  if  I  ask  why  little  girls  have  large  shoes. 

I  don't  suppose  any  man,  with  a  tongue  in  his  head, 
and  zeal  to  use  it,  was  ever  left  so  entirely  unattended  to, 
as  he  grew  old,  by  his  early  friends  ;  and  it  is  doubly  and 
trebly  strange  to  me,  because  I  have  lost  none  of  my  power 
of  sympathy  with  them.    Some  are  chemists  ;  and  I  am  al- 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


131 


ways  glad  to  hear  of  the  last  new  tiling  in  elements  ;  some  are 
palaeontologists,  and  I  am  no  less  happy  to  know  of  any  lately 
unburied  beast  peculiar  in  his  bones  ;  the  lawyers  and  cler- 
gymen can  always  interest  me  with  any  story  out  of  their 
courts  or  parishes  ; — but  not  one  of  them  ever  asks  what  I  am 
about  myself.  If  they  chance  to  meet  me  in  the  streets 
of  Oxford,  they  ask  whether  I  am  staying  there.  When 
I  say,  yes,  they  ask  how  I  like  it ;  and  when  I  tell  them 
1  don't  like  it  at  all,  and  don't  think  little  girls  should  have 
large  shoes,  they  tell  me  I  ought  to  read  the  Cours  de 
Philosophie  Positive.  As  if  a  man  who  had  lived  to  be  fifty- 
four,  content  with  what  philosophy  was  needful  to  assure  him 
that  salt  was  savoury,  and  pepper  hot,  could  ever  be  made 
positive  in  his  old  age,  in  the  impertinent  manner  of  these 
youngsters.  But  positive  in  a  pertinent  and  practical  man- 
ner, I  have  been,  and  shall  be  ;  with  such  stern  and  steady 
wedge  of  fact  and  act  as  time  may  let  me  drive  into  the 
gnarled  blockheadism  of  the  British  molj. 

I  am  free  to  confess  I  did  not  quite  know  the  sort  of 
creature  I  had  to  deal  with,  when  I  began,  fifteen  years  ago, 
nor  the  quantity  of  ingenious  resistance  to  practical  reform 
which  could  be  offered  by  theoretical  reformers.  Look,  for 
instance,  at  this  report  of  a  speech  of  Mr.  Bright's  in  the 
Times,  on  the  subject  of  the  adulteration  of  food.* 

"The  noble  lord  has  taken  great  pains  upon  this  question, 
and  has  brought  before  the  House  a  great  amount  of  detail 
in  connection  with  it.  As  I  listened  to  his  observations  I 
hoped  and  believed  that  there  was,  thougli  unintentional,  no 
little  exaggeration  in  tliem.  Although  there  may  be  partic- 
ular cases  in  which  great  harm  to  health  and  great  fraud  may 
possibly  be  shown,  yet  I  think  that  general  statements  of 
this  kind,  implicating  to  a  large  extent  the  traders  of  this 
country,  are  dangerous,  and  are  almost  certain  to  be  unjust. 
Now,  my  hon.  friend  (Mr.  Pochin)  who  has  just  addressed 
the  House  in  a  speech  showing  his  entire  mastery  of  the 
question,  has  confirmed  my  opinion,  for  he  has  shown — and 
I  dare  say  he  knows  as  much  of  the  matter  as  any  present — 
iihat  there  is  a  great  deal  of  exaggeration  in  the  opinions 

*  Of  6th  March,  not  long  ago,  but  I  have  lost  note  of  the  ytar» 


132 


F0R8  GLAVIGERA. 


which  have  prevailed  in  many  parts  of  the  country,  and 
which  have  even  been  found  to  prevail  upon  the  matter  in 
this  House.  .  .  .  Now,  I  am  prepared  to  show  that  the 
exag-oreration  of  the  noble  lord — I  do  not  say  intentionally, 
of  course  ;  I  am  sure  he  is  incapable  of  that — is  just  as  great 
in  the  matter  of  weights  and  measures  as  in  that  of  adultera- 
tion. Probably  he  is  not  aware  that  in  the  list  of  persons 
employing  weights  that  are  inaccurate — I  do  not  say  fraudu- 
lent— no  distinction  is  drawn  between  those  who  are  inten- 
tionally fraudulent  and  those  who  are  accidentally  inaccu- 
rate, and  that  the  penalty  is  precisely  the  same,  and  the 
offence  is  just  as  eagerly  detected,  whether  there  be  a  fraud 
or  merely  an  accident.  Now,  the  noble  lord  will  probably 
be  surprised  when  T  tell  him  that  many  persons  are  fined 
annually,  not  because  their  weights  are  too  small,  but  be- 
cause they  are  too  large.  In  fact,  when  the  weights  are 
inaccurate,  but  are  in  favour  of  the  customer,  still  the  owner 
and  user  of  the  weight  is  liable  to  the  penalty,  and  is  fined. 

My  own  impression  with  regard  to  this  adulteration 
is  that  it  arises  from  the  very  great,  and  perhaps  inevitable, 
competition  in  business  ;  and  that  to  a  great  extent  it  is 
promoted  by  the  ignorance  of  customers.  As  the  ignorance 
of  customers  generally  is  diminishing,  we  may  hope  that 
before  long  the  adulteration  of  food  may  also  diminish.  The 
noble  lord  appears  to  ask  that  something  much  more  exten- 
sive and  stringent  should  be  done  by  Parliament.  The  fact 
is,  it  is  vain  to  attempt  by  the  power  of  Parliament  to  pene- 
trate into  and  to  track  out  evils  such  as  those  on  which  the 
noble  lord  has  dwelt  at  such  length.  It  is  quite  impossible 
that  you  should  have  the  oversight  of  the  shops  of  the  coun- 
try by  inspectors,  and  that  you  should  have  persons  going 
into  shops  to  buy  sugar,  pickles,  and  Cayenne  pepper,  to 
get  them  analyzed,  and  then  raise  complaints  against  shop- 
keepers, and  bring  them  before  the  magistrates.  If  men  in 
their  private  businesses  were  to  be  tracked  by  Government 
officers  and  inspectors  every  hour  of  the  day,  life  would  not 
be  worth  having,  and  I  recommend  them  to  remove  to  an- 
other country,  where  they  would  not  be  subject  to  such 
annoyance." 

Now,  I  neither  know,  nor  does  it  matter  to  the  public, 
what  Mr.  Bright  actually  said  ;  but  the  report  in  the  Times 
is  the  permanent  and  universally  influential  form  of  his  say- 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


133 


ings  ;  and  observe  what  the  substance  is,  of  these  three  or 
four  hundred  Parliamentary  words,  so  reported. 

First.  That  an  evil  which  has  been  exaggerated  ought  not 
to  be  prevented. 

Secondly.  That  at  present  we  punish  honest  men  as  much 
as  rogues  ;  and  must  always  continue  to  do  so  if  we  punish 
anybody. 

Thirdly.  That  life  would  not  be  worth  having  if  one's 
weights  and  measures  were  liable  to  inspection. 

I  can  assure  Mr.  Bright  that  people  who  know  what  life 
means,  can  sustain  the  calamity  of  the  inspection  of  their 
weights  and  measures  with  fortitude.  I  myself  keep  a  tea- 
and-sugar  shop.  I  have  had  my  scales  and  weights  inspected 
more  than  once  or  twice,  and  am  not  in  the  least  disposed  to 
bid  my  native  land  good  night  on  that  account.  That  I 
could  bid  it  nothing  but  good  night — never  good  morning, 
the  smoke  of  it  quenching  the  sun,  and  its  parliamentary 
talk,  of  such  quality  as  the  above,  liaving  become  darkness 
voluble,  and  some  of  it  worse  even  than  that,  a  mere  watch- 
man's rattle,  sprung  by  alarmed  constituencies  of  rascals 
when  an  honest  man  comes  in  sight, — these  are  things  in- 
deed which  should  make  any  man's  life  little  worth  having, 
unless  he  separate  himself  from  the  scandalous  crowd  ;  but 
it  must  not  be  in  exile  from  his  country, 

I  have  not  hitherto  stated,  except  in  general  terms,  the 
design  to  which  these  letters  point,  though  it  has  been  again 
and  again  defined,  and  it  seems  to  me  explicitly  enough — 
the  highest  possible  education,  namely,  of  English  men  and 
women  living  by  agriculture  in  their  native  land.  Indeed, 
during  these  three  past  years  I  have  not  hoped  to  do  more 
than  make  my  readers  feel  what  mischiefs  they  have  to  con- 
quer. It  is  time  now  to  say  more  clearly  what  I  want  them 
to  do. 

The  substantial  wealth  of  man  consists  in  the  earth  he 
cultivates,  with  its  pleasant  or  serviceable  animals  and  plants, 
and  in  the  rightly  produced  work  of  his  own  hands.  I  mean 
to  buy,  for  the  St.  George's  Company,  the  first  pieces  of 
ground  offered  to  me  at  fair  price,  (when  the  subscriptions 


134 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


enable  me  to  give  miy  price), — to  put  them  as  rapidly  as 
possible  into  order,  and  to  settle  upon  them  as  many  fami- 
lies as  they  can  support,  of  young  and  healthy  persons,  on 
the  condition  that  they  do  the  best  they  can  for  their  liveli- 
hood with  their  own  hands,  and  submit  themselves  and  their 
children  to  the  rules  written  for  them. 

I  do  not  care  where  the  land  is,  nor  of  what  quality.  I 
would  rather  it  should  be  poor,  for  I  want  space  more  than 
food.  I  will  make  the  best  of  it  that  I  can,  at  once,  by  wage- 
labour,  under  the  best  agricultural  advice.  It  is  easy  now 
to  obtain  good  counsel,  and  many  of  our  landlords  would 
willingl}''  undertake  such  operations  occasionally,  but  for  the 
fixed  notion  that  every  improvement  of  land  should  at  once 
pay,  whereas  the  St.  George's  Company  is  to  be  consistently 
monastic  in  its  principles  of  labour,  and  to  work  for  the  re- 
demption of  any  desert  land,  without  other  idea  of  gain  than 
the  certainty  of  future  good  to  others.  I  should  best  like  a 
bit  of  marsh  land  of  small  value,  which  I  would  trench  into 
alternate  ridge  and  canal,  changing  it  all  into  solid  land,  and 
deep  water,  to  be  farmed  in  fish.  If,  instead,  I  get  a  rocky 
piece,  I  shall  first  arrange  reservoirs  for  rain,  then  put  what 
earth  is  sprinkled  on  it  into  workable  masses  ;  and  ascertain- 
ing, in  either  case,  how  many  mouths  the  gained  spaces  of 
ground  will  easily  feed,  put  upon  them  families  chosen  for 
me  by  old  landlords,  who  know  their  people,  and  can  send 
me  cheerful  and  honest  ones,  accustomed  to  obey  orders,  and 
live  in  the  fear  of  God.  Whether  the  fear  be  Catholic,  or 
Church-of-England,  or  Presbyterian^  I  do  not  in  the  least 
care,  so  that  the  family  be  capable  of  any  kind  of  sincere 
devotion  :  and  conscious  of  the  sacredness  of  order.  If  any 
young  couples  of  the  higher  classes  choose  to  accept  such 
rough  life,  I  would  rather  have  them  for  tenants  than  any 
others. 

Tenants,  I  say,  and  at  long  lease,  if  they  behave  well  : 
with  power  eventually  to  purchase  the  piece  of  land  they 
live  on  for  themselves,  if  they  can  save  the  price  of  it  ;  the 
rent  they  pay,  meanwhile,  being  the  tithe  of  the  annual 
produce,  to  St.  George's  fund.    The  modes  of  the  cultiva- 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


135 


tion  of  the  land  are  to  be  under  the  control  of  the  overseer 
of  the  whole  estate,  appointed  by  the  Trustees  of  the  fund  ; 
but  the  tenants  shall  build  their  own  houses  to  their  own 
minds,  under  certain  conditions  as  to  materials  and  strength  ; 
and  have  for  themselves  the  entire  produce  of  the  land,  ex- 
cept the  tithe  aforesaid. 

The  children  will  be  required  to  attend  training  schools 
for  bodily  exercise,  and  music,  with  such  other  education  as 
I  have  already  described.  Elvery  liousehold  will  have  its  li- 
brary, given  it  from  the  fund,  and  consisting  of  a  fixed  num- 
ber of  volumes, — some  constant,  the  others  chosen  by  each 
family  out  of  a  list  of  permitted  books,  from  which  they 
afterwards  may  increase  their  library  if  they  choose.  The 
formation  6f  this  library  for  choice,  by  a  republication  of 
classical  authors  in  standard  forms,  has  long  been  a  main 
object  with  me.  No  newspapers,  nor  any  books  but  those 
named  in  the  annually  renewed  lists,  are  to  be  allowed  in 
any  household.  In  time  I  hope  to  get  a  journal  published, 
containing  notice  of  any  really  important  matters  taking 
place  in  this  or  other  countries,  in  the  closely  sifted  truth  of 
them. 

The  first  essential  point  in  the  education  given  to  the 
children  will  be  the  habit  of  instant,  finely  accurate,  and  to- 
tally unreasoning,  obedience  to  their  fathers,  mothers,  and 
tutors  ;  the  same  precise  and  unquestioning  submission  be- 
ing required  from  heads  of  families  to  the  officers  set  over 
them.  Tlie  second  essential  will  be  the  understanding  of 
the  nature  of  honour,  makin<j  the  obedience  solemn  and  con- 
stant  ;  so  that  the  slightest  wilful  violation  of  the  laws  of 
the  society  may  be  regarded  as  a  grave  breach  of  trust,  and 
no  less  disgraceful  than  a  soldier's  recoiling  from  his  place 
in  a  battle. 

In  our  present  state  of  utter  moral  disorganization,  it 
might  indeed  seem  as  if  it  would  be  impossible  either  to  se- 
cure obedience,  or  explain  the  sensation  of  honour  ;  but  the 
Instincts  of  both  are  native  in  man,  and  the  roots  of  them 
cannot  wither,  even  under  the  dust-heap  of  modern  liberal 
opinions.    My  settlers,  you  observe,  are  to  be  young  people, 


136 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


bred  on  old  estates  ;  my  commandants  will  be  veteraa 
soldiers  ;  and  it  will  be  soon  perceived  that  pride  based  on 
servitude  to  the  will  of  another  is  far  loftier  and  happiet 
than  pride  based  on  servitude  to  humour  of  one's  own. 

Each  family  will  at  first  be  put  on  its  trial  for  a  year, 
without  any  lease  of  the  land  :  if  they  behave  well,  the^ 
shall  have  a  lease  for  three  years  ;  if  through  that  time 
they  satisfy  their  officers,  a  life-long  lease,  with  power  to 
purchase. 

I  have  already  stated  that  no  machines  moved  by  artificial 
power  are  to  be  used  on  the  estates  of  the  society  ;  wind, 
water,  and  animal  force  are  to  be  the  only  motive  powers 
employed,  and  there  is  to  be  as  little  trade  or  importation 
as  possible  ;  the  utmost  simplicity  of  life,  and  restriction  of 
possession,  being  combined  with  the  highest  attainable  re- 
finement of  temper  and  thought.  Everything  that  the  mem- 
bers of  any  household  can  sufficiently  make  for  themselves, 
they  are  so  to  make,  however  clumsily  ;  but  the  carpenter 
and  smith,  trained  to  perfectest  work  in  wood  and  iron,  are 
to  be  employed  on  the  parts  of  houses  and  implements  in 
which  finish  is  essential  to  strength.  The  ploughshare  and 
spade  must  be  made  by  the  smith,  and  the  roof  and  floors 
by  a  carpenter  ;  but  the  boys  of  the  house  must  be  able  to 
make  either  a  horseshoe,  or  a  table. 

Simplicity  of  life  without  coarseness,  and  delight  in  life 
without  lasciviousness,  are,  under  such  conditions,  not  only 
possible  to  human  creatures,  but  natural  to  them.  I  do  not 
pretend  to  tell  you  straightforwardly  all  laws  of  nature  re- 
specting the  conduct  of  men  ;  but  some  of  those  laws  I 
know,  and  will  endeavour  to  get  obeyed  ;  others,  as  they  are 
needful,  will  be  in  the  sequel  of  such  obedience  ascertained. 
What  final  relations  may  take  place  between  masters  and 
servants,  labourers  and  employers,  old  people  and  young,  use- 
ful people  and  useless,  in  such  a  society,  only  experience  can 
conclude  ;  nor  is  there  any  reason  to  anticipate  the  conclu- 
sion. Some  few  things  the  most  obstinate  will  admit,  and 
the  least  credulous  believe  :  that  washed  faces  are  healthier 
than  dirty  ones,  whole  clothes  decenter  than  ragged  ones. 


FORS  CLAVIGEEA, 


137 


kind  behaviour  more  serviceable  than  malicious,  and  pure  air 
pleasanter  than  foul.  Upon  that  much  of  philosophic  posi- 
tive "  I  mean  to  act  ;  and,  little  by  little,  to  define  in  these 
letters  the  processes  of  action.  That  it  should  be  left  to  me 
to  begin  such  a  work,  w^ith  only  one  man  in  England — 
Thomas  Carlyle — to  whom  I  can  look  for  steady  guidance,  is 
alike  wonderful  and  sorrowful  to  me  ;  but  as  the  thing  is  so, 
I  can  only  do  what  seems  to  me  necessary,  none  else  coming 
forward  to  do  it.  For  my  own  part,  I  entirely  hate  the  whole 
business  :  I  dislike  having  either  power  or  responsibility  ; 
am  ashamed  to  ask  for  money,  and  plagued  in  spending  it. 
I  don't  want  to  talk,  nor  to  write,  nor  to  advise  or  direct 
anybody.  I  am  far  more  provoked  at  being  thought  foolish 
by  foolish  people,  than  pleased  at  being  thought  sensible  by 
sensible  people  ;  and  the  average  proportion  of  the  numbers 
of  each  is  not  to  my  advantage.  If  I  could  find  any  one  able 
to  carry  on  the  plan  instead  of  me,  I  never  should  trouble 
myself  about  it  more  ;  and  even  now,  it  is  only  with  ex- 
treme effort  and  chastisement  of  my  indolence  that  I  go 
on  :  but,  unless  I  am  struck  with  palsy,  I  do  not  seriously 
doubt  my  perseverance,  until  I  find  somebody  able  to 
take  up  the  matter  in  the  same  mind,  and  with  a  better 
heart. 

The  laws  required  to  be  obeyed  by  the  fainili('S  living  on 
the  land  will  be, — with  some  relaxation  and  modification,  so 
as  to  fit  them  for  English  people, — those  of  Florence  in  the 
fourteenth  century.  In  what  additional  rules  may  be  adopted, 
I  shall  follow,  for  the  most  part,  Bacon,  or  Sir  Thomas  More, 
under  sanction  always  of  the  higher  authority  which  of  late 
the  English  nation  has  whollv  set  its  stren<xth  to  defv — that 
of  the  Founder  of  its  Religion  ;  nor  without  due  acceptance 
of  what  teaching  was  given  to  the  children  of  God  by  their 
Father,  before  the  day  of  Christ,  of  which,  for  present  end- 
ing, read  and  attend  to  these  following  quiet  words.* 

*  The  close  of  the  ninth  book  of  Plato's  UepubUc.  I  use  for  the  most 
part  Mr.  Jowett's  translation,  here  and  there  modifying  it  in  my  own 
arbitrarily  dogged  or  diffuse  way  of  Englishing  passages  of  complex 
significance. 


138 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


"  ^  In  what  point  of  view,  then,  and  on  what  ground  shall 
a  man  be  profited  by  injustice  or  intemperance  or  other  base- 
ness, even  though  he  acquire  money  or  power  ?' 

'  There  is  no  ground  on  which  this  can  be  maintained.' 

'  What  shall  he  profit  if  his  injustice  be  undetected  ?  for 
he  who  is  undetected  only  gets  worse,  whereas  he  who  is  de- 
tected and  punished  has  the  brutal  part  of  his  nature  silenced 
and  humanized  ;  the  greater  element  in  him  is  liberated,  and 
his  whole  soul  is  perfected  and  ennobled  by  the  acquirement 
of  justice  and  temperance  and  wisdom,  more  than  the  body 
ever  is  by  receiving  gifts  of  beauty,  strength,  and  health,  in 
proportion  as  the  soul  is  more  honourable  than  the  body.' 

'  Certainl-y,'  he  said. 

/Will  not,  then,  the  man  of  understanding,  gather  all  that 
is  in  him,  and  stretch  himself  like  a  bent  bow  to  this  aim  of 
life  ;  and,  in  the  first  place,  honour  studies  which  thus  chas- 
tise and  deliver  his  soul  in  perfection  ;  and  despise  others?' 

'  Clearly,'  he  said. 

'  In  the  next  place,  he  w^ill  keep  under  his  body,  and  so  far 
will  he  be  from  yielding  to  brutal  and  irrational  pleasure,* 
that  he  will  not  even  first  look  to  bodily  liealth  as  his  main 
object,  nor  desire  to  be  fair,  or  strong,  or  well,  unless  he  is 
likely  thereby  to  gain  temperance  ;  but  he  will  be  always 
desirous  of  preserving  the  harmony  of  the  body  for  the  sake 
of  the  concord  of  the  soul  ? ' 

^  Certainly,'  he  replied,  '  that  he  will,  if  he  is  indeed  taught 
by  the  Muses.' 

'  And  he  will  also  observe  the  principle  of  classing  and  con- 
cord in  the  acquisition  of  wealth  ;  and  will  not,  because  the 
mob  beatify  him,  increase  his  endless  load  of  wealth  to  his 
own  infinite  harm  ?  ' 

'  I  think  not,'  he  said. 

'  He  will  look  at  the  city  which  is  within  him,  and  take  care 
to  avoid  any  change  of  his  own  institutions,  such  as  might 
arise  either  from  abundance  or  from  want  ;  and  he  will  dulv 
regulate  his  acquisition  and  expense,  in  so  far  as  he  is  able  V 

'  Very  true.' 

'  And,  for  the  same  reason,  he  will  accept  such  honours  as 
he  deems  likely  to  make  him  a  better  man  ;  but  those  which 
are  likely  to  loosen  his  possessed  habit,  whether  private  or 
public  honours,  he  will  avoid  ?  ' 

*  Plato  does  not  mean  here,  merely  dissipation  of  a  destructive  kind, 
(as  the  next  sentence  shows,  )  but  also  healthy  animal  stupidities,  aa  our 
hunting,  shooting,  and  the  like. 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


139 


*  Then,  if  this  be  his  chief  care,  he  will  not  be  a  politician  ?' 
^  By  the  dog  of  Egypt,  he  will  !  in  the  city  which  is  his 

own,  though  in  his  native  country  perhaps  not,  unless  some 
providential  accident  should  occur.' 

'  I  understand  ;  you  speak  of  that  city  of  which  we  are  the 
founders,  and  which  exists  in  idea  only,  for  1  do  not  think 
there  is  such  an  one  anywhere  on  earth  ?  ' 

*  In  heaven,'  I  replied,  '  there  is  laid  up  a  pattern  of  such 
a  city  ;  and  he  who  desires ^may  behold  this,  and,  beholding, 
govern  himself  accordingly.  But  whether  there  really  is,  or 
ever  will  be,  such  an  one,  is  of  no  importance  to  him,  for  he 
will  act  accordingly  to  the  laws  of  that  city  and  of  no 
other  ? ' 

'  True,'  he  said." 


140 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE- 


It  is  due  to  my  readers  to  state  my  reasons  for  raising  the  price,  and 
withdrawing  the  frontispieces,  of  Fors, 

The  cessation  of  the  latter  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  price.  At 
least,  for  the  raised  price  I  could  easily  afford  the  plates,  and  they 
would  help  the  sale;  but  I  cannot  spare  my  good  assistant's  time  in 
their  preparation,  and  find  that,  m  the  existing  state  of  trade,  I  can- 
not trust  other  people,  without  perpetual  looking  after  them;  for  which 
I  have  no  time  myself.  Even  last  year  the  printing  of  my  Fors  frontis- 
pieces prevented  the  publication  of  my  Oxford  lectures  on  engraving ; 
and  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  my  Oxford  work  should  be  done 
rightly,  whatever  else  I  leave  undone.  Secondly,  for  the  rise  in  price. 
1  hold  it  my  duty  to  give  my  advice  for  nothing ;  but  not  to  write  it  in 
careful  English,  and  correct  press,  for  nothing.  I  like  the  feeling  of 
being  paid  for  my  true  work  as  much  as  any  other  labourer ;  and 
though  I  write  Fors^  not  for  money,  but  because  I  know  it  to  be 
wanted,  as  I  would  build  a  wall  against  the  advancing  sea  for  nothing, 
if  I  couldn't  be  paid  for  doing  it ;  yet  I  will  have  proper  pay  from  the 
harbour-master,  if  1  can  get  it.  As  soon  as  the  book  gives  me  and  the 
publisher  what  is  right,  the  surplus  shall  go  to  the  St.  George's  fund. 
The  price  will  not  signify  ultimately; — sevenpence,  or  tenpence,  or  a 
shilling,  will  be  all  the  same  to  the  public  if  the  book  is  found  useful ; — 
but  I  fix,  and  mean  to  keep  to,  tenpence,  because  1  intend  striking  for 
use  on  my  farms  the  pure  silver  coin  called  in  Florence  the  "soldo,''  of 
which  the  golden  florin  was  worth  twenty ;  (the  soldo  itself  being  mis- 
named from  the  Roman  "solidus")  and  this  soldo  will  represent  the 
Roman  denarius,  and  be  worth  ten  silver  pence ;  and  this  is  to  be  the 
price  of  Fors. 

Then  one  further  joe^^^/  reason  I  have  for  raising  the  price.  In  all 
my  dealings  with  the  public,  I  wish  them  to  understand  that  my  first 
price  is  my  lowest.  They  may  have  to  pay  more ;  but  never  a  farthing 
less.  And  I  am  a  little  provoked  at  not  having  been  helped  in  the 
least  by  the  Working  Men's  College,  after  I  taught  there  for  five  years, 
or  by  any  of  my  old  pupils  there,  whom  I  have  lost  sight  of: — (three 
remain  who  would  always  help  me  in  anything,)  and  I  think  they  will 
soon  begin  to  want  Fors^  now,— and  they  shall  not  have  it  for  sevenr 
pence. 


F0R8  CLAVIOERA. 


141 


The  following  three  stray  newspaper  cuttings  may  as  well  be  printed 
now  ;  they  have  lain  sometime  by  me.  The  first  two  relate  to  economy. 
The  last  is,  I  hope,  an  exaggerated  report  ;  and  I  give  it  as  an  example 
of  the  kind  of  news  which  my  own  journal  will  not  give  on  hearsay. 
But  I  know  that  things  did  take  place  in  India  which  were  not  capable 
of  exaggeration  in  horror,  and  such  are  the  results,  remember,  of  our 
past  missionai7  work,  as  a  whole,  in  India  and  China. 

I  point  to  them  to-day,  in  order  that  I  may  express  my  entire  con- 
currence in  all  that  I  have  seen  reported  of  Professor  Max  Miiller's  lec- 
ture in  Westminster  Abbey,  though  there  are  one  or  two  things  I 
should  like  to  say  in  addition,  if  I  can  find  time. 

"Those  who  find  fault  with  the  present  Government  on  account  of 
its  rigid  economy,  and  accuse  it  of  shabbinees,  have  little  idea  of  the 
straits  it  is  put  to  for  money  and  the  sacrifices  it  is  obliged  to  make  in 
order  to  make  both  ends  meet.  The  following  melancholy  facts  will 
serve  to  show  how  hardly  pushed  this  great  nation  is  to  find  sixpence 
even  for  a  good  purpose.  The  Hakluyt  Society  was,  as  some  of  our 
readers  may  know,  formed  in  the  year  1846  for  the  purpose  of  print- 
ing in  English  for  distribution  among  its  members  rare  and  valuable 
voyages,  travels,  and  geographical  records,  including  the  more  impor- 
tant early  narratives  of  British  enterprise.  For  many  years  the  Home 
Office,  the  Board  of  Trade,  and  the  Admiralty  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  subscribing  for  the  publications  of  this  society;  and,  considering  that 
an  annual  subscription  of  one  guinea  entitles  each  subscriber  to  receive 
without  further  charge  a  copy  of  every  work  produced  by  the  society 
within  the  year  subscribed  for,  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  the  outlay 
was  ruinous  to  the  exchequer.  But  we  live  in  an  exceptional  period ; 
and  accordingly  last  year  the  society  received  a  communication  from 
the  Board  of  Trade  to  the  effect  that  its  publications  were  no  longer 
required.  Then  the  Home  Office  wrote  to  say  that  its  subscription 
must  be  discontinued,  and  followed  up  the  communication  by  another, 
asking  whether  it  might  have  a  copy  of  the  society's  publication  sup- 
plied to  it  gratuitously.  Lastly,  the  Admiralty  felt  itself  constrained 
by  the  urgency  of  the  times  to  reduce  its  subscriptions  and  asked  to 
have  only  one  instead  of  two  copies  annually.  It  seems  rather  hard  on 
the  Hakluyt  Society  that  the  Home  Office  should  beg  to  have  its  pub- 
lications for  nothing,  and  for  the  sake  of  appearance  it  seems  advisable 
that  the  Admirnlty  should  continue  its  subscriptions  for  two  copies,  and 
lend  one  set  to  its  impoverished  brother  in  Whitehall  until  the  advent 
of  better  times."— 7^a^/  Mall  Gazette, 

"  We  make  a  present  of  a  suggestion  to  Professor  Beesly,  Mr.  Fred- 
eric Harrison,  and  the  artisans  who  are  calling  upon  the  country  to 
strike  a  blow  for  France.  They  must  ai)point  a  Select  Committee  to  see 
what  war  really  means.  Special  commissioners  will  find  out  for  them 
how  many  pounds,  on  an  average,  have  been  lost  by  the  families  whose 
brerdwinners  have  gone  to  Pans  with  the  Kinj};-,  or  to  Le  Mans  with 
Chanzy.  Those  hunters  of  facts  will  also  let  the  working  men  know 
how  many  fields  are  unsown  round  Mctz  imd  on  the  Loire.  Next,  the 
Select  Committee  will  get  an  exact  return  of  the  killed  and  wounded 


142 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


from  Count  Bismarck  and  M.  Gambetta.  Some  novelist  or  poet — a 
George  Eliot  or  a  Brownino^ — will  then  be  asked  to  lavish  all  the  knowl- 
edge of  human  emotion  in  the  painting  of  one  family  group  out  of  the 
half  million  which  the  returns  of  the  stricken  will  show.  That  picture 
will  be  distributed  broadcast  amoug  the  working  men  and  their  wives. 
Then  the  Select  Committee  will  call  to  its  aid  the  statisticians  and 
the  political  economists — the  Leone  Levis  and  the  John  Stuart  Mills. 
Those  authorities  will  calcuJate  what  sura  the  war  has  taken  from  the 
Vv^ages  fund  of  France  and  Germany  ;  what  number  of  working  men  it 
will  cast  out  of  employment,  or  force  to  accept  lower  wages,  or  compel 
to  emigrate."  (I  do  not  often  indulge  myself  in  the  study  of  the  works 
of  Mr.  Levi  or  Mr.  Mill ; — but  have  they  really  never  done  anything  of 
this  kind  hitherto  ?)  ' '  Thus  the  facts  will  be  brought  before  the  toil- 
ing people,  solidly,  simply,  truthfully.  Finally,  Professor  Beesly  and 
Mr.  Harrison  will  call  another  meeting,  will  state  the  results  of  the 
investigation,  will  say,  'This  is  the  meaning  of  war/  and  will  ask  the 
workmen  whether  they  are  prepared  to  paj^  the  inevitable  price  of  help- 
ing Republican  France.  The  answer,  we  imagine,  would  at  once  shock 
and  surprise  the  scholarly  gentlemen  to  whom  the  Democrats  are  in- 
debted for  their  logic  and  their  rhetoric.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Ruskin  and 
the  Council  of  the  Workmen's  National  Peace  Society  have  been  doing 
some  small  measure  of  the  task  which  we  have  mapped  out.  The 
Council  asks  the  bellicose  section  of  the  operative  classes  a  number  of 
questions  about  the  cost  and  the  eifect  of  battles.  Some,  it  is  true,  are 
not  very  cogent,  and  some  are  absurd  ;  but,  taken  together,  they  press 
the  inquiry  whether  war  pays  anybody,  and  in  particular  whether  it 
pays  the  working  man.  Mr.  Ruskin  sets  forth  the  truth  much  more 
vividly  in  the  letter  which  appeared  in  our  impression  of  Thursday. 
*Half  the  money  lost  by  the  inundation  of  the  Tiber,'  etc,  (the  Tele- 
graph quotes  the  letter  to  the  end). 

Before  stating  what  might  have  been  done  with  the  force  which 
has  been  spent  in  the  work  of  mutual  slaughter,  Mr.  Ruskin  might 
have  explained  w^hat  good  it  has  undone,  and  how.  Take,  first,  the 
destmction  of  capital.  Millions  of  pounds  have  been  spent  on  gun- 
powder, bombs,  round  shot,  cannon,  needle  guns,  chassepots,  and  mi- 
trailleuses. But  for  the  war  a  great  part  of  the  sum  would  have  been 
expended  in  the  growing  of  wheat,  the  spinning  of  cloth,  the  building 
of  railway  bridges,  and  the  construction  of  ships.  As  the  political 
economists  say,  the  amount  would  have  been  spent  productively,  or,  to 
use  the  plain  words  of  common  speech,  would  have  been  so  used  that,  di- 
rectly or  indirectly ,  it  would  have  added  to  the  wealth  of  the  country,  and 
increased  the  fund  to  be  distributed  among  the  working  people.  But 
the  wealth  has  been  blown  away  from  the  muzzle  of  the  cannon,  or 
scattered  among  the  woods  and  forts  of  Paris  in  the  shape  of  broken 
shells  and  dismounted  guns.  Nov/,  every  shot  which  is  fired  is  a  direct 
loss  to  the  labouring  classes  of  France  and  Germany.  King  WiUiam 
on  the  one  side,  and  General  Trochu  on  the  other ^  really  load  their  gnns 
with  gold.  They  put  the  wages  of  the  working  people  into  every  shell 
The  splinters  of  iron  that  strew  the  fields  represent  the  pay  which 
would  have  gone  to  the  farm  labourers  of  Alsace,  the  mechanics  of 
Paris  and  Berlin,  and  the  silk  weavers  of  Lyons.  If  the  political  econo- 
mist were  some  magician,  he  would  command  the  supernatural  agent  to 
transform  the  broken  gun-carriages,  the  fragments  of  bombs,  and  the 
round  shot  into  loaves  of  bread,  bottles  of  wine,  fields  of  com,  clothes. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


143 


houses,  cattle,  furniture,  books,  the  virtue  of  women,  the  health  of 
children,  the  years  of  the  aged.  The  whole  field  would  become  alive 
with  the  forms,  the  wealth,  the  beauty,  the  bustle  of  great  cities.  If 
working  men  ever  saw  such  a  transtoriuation,  they  would  rise  up  from 
end  to  end  of  Europe,  and  execrate  the  Idng  or  Emperor  who  should 
let  loose  the  dogs  of  war.  And  yet  such  a  scene  would  represent  only 
a  small  part  of  the  real  havoc.  For  every  man  whom  Germany  takes 
away  from  the  field  or  the  workshop  to  place  in  the  barrack  or  the 
camp,  she  must  sustain  as  certain  a  loss  as  it'  she  were  to  cast  money  into 
the  sea.  The  loss  may  be  necessary  as  an  insurance  against  still 
greater  injury  ;  but  nevertheless  the  waste  does  take  place,  and  on  the 
working  people  does  it  mainly  fall.  The  young  recruit  may  have  been 
earning  thirty  shillings  a  week  or  a  day,  and  that  sum  is  lost  to  him- 
self or  his  friends.  Hitherto  he  has  supported  himself;  now  he  must 
be  maintained  by  the  State — that  is,  by  his  fellow-subjects.  Hitherto 
he  has  added  to  the  national  wealth  by  ploughing  the  fields,  building 
houses,  constructing  railways.  A  skilful  statistician  could  state,  with 
some  approach  to  accuracy,  the  number  of  pounds  by  which  the  amount 
of  his  yearly  productive  contribution  could  be  estimated.  It  might  be 
thirty,  or  a  hundred,  or  a  thousand.  Well,  he  ceases  to  produce  the 
moment  that  he  becomes  a  soldier.  He  is  then  a  drone.  He  is  as  un- 
productive as  a  pauper.  The  millions  of  i)oiind8  spent  in  feeding  and 
drilling  the  army  as  clearly  represent  a  dead  loss  as  the  millions  spent 
on  workhouses.  Nor  are  these  the  only  ways  in  which  war  destroys 
wealth.  Hundreds  of  railway  bridges  have  been  broken  down  ;  the 
communications  between  different  parts  of  the  country  have  been 
cut  off  ;  hundreds  of  thousands  have  lost  their  means  of  livelihood ; 
and  great  tracts  of  country  are  wasted  like  a  desert.  Thus  the  total 
destruction  of  wealth  has  been  appalling.  A  considerable  time  ago 
Professor  Leone  Levi  calculated  that  Germany  alone  had  lost 
more  than  £300,000,000;  France  must  have  lost  much  more;  and, 
even  if  we  make  a  liberal  discount  from  so  tremendous  a  computation, 
we  may  safely  say  that  the  war  has  cost  both  nations  at  least  half  as 
much  as  the  National  Debt  of  England. 

"  A  large  part  of  that  amount,  it  is  true,  would  have  been  spent 
unproductively,  even  if  the  war  had  not  taken  place.  A  vast  sum 
would  have  been  lavished  on  the  luxuries  of  dress  and  the  table,  on  the 
l)eauties  of  art,  and  on  the  appliances  of  w;ir.  But  it  is  safe  to  calcu- 
late that  at  least  half  of  the  amount  would  have  been  so  expended  as 
to  bring  a  productive  return.  Two  or  three  hundred  millions  would  have 
been  at  the  service  of  peace ;  and  Mr.  Ruskin's  letter  points  the  ques- 
tion, What  could  have  been  done  with  that  enormous  total  ?  If  it  were 
at  the  disposal  of  an  English  statesman  as  farseeiiig  in  peace  as  Bis- 
marck is  in  war,  what  might  not  be  done  for  the  England  of  the  present 
and  the  future  ?  The  prospect  is  almost  millennial.  Harbours  of  ref- 
\x%Q  might  be  built  all  round  the  coast  ;  the  fever  dens  of  London, 
Manchester,  and  Liverpool  might  give  place  to  abodes  of  health  ;  the 
poor  children  of  the  United  Kingdom  might  be  taught  to  read  and 
write  ;  great  universities  might  be  endowed ;  the  waste  lands  might 
be  cultivated,  and  the  Bog  of  Allen  drained  ;  the  National  Debt  could 
be  swiftly  reduced ;  and  a  hundred  other  great  national  enterprises 
would  sooner  or  later  be  fulfilled.  But  all  this  store  of  human  good 
has  been  blown  away  from  the  muzzles  of  the  Krupps  and  the  C'hasse- 
pots.    It  has  literally  been  trsiis^formed  into  smoke.    We  do  not  d^rrj 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


that  such  a  waste  may  be  necessary  in  order  to  guard  against  still  further 
destr action.  Wars  have  often  been  imperative.  It  would  frequently 
be  the  height  of  national  wickedness  to  choose  an  ignoble  peace. 
Nevertheless  war  is  the  most  costly  and  most  wasteful  of  human  pur- 
suits. When  the  working  class  followers  of  Professor  Beesly  ask  them- 
pelves  what  is  the  price  of  battle,  what  it  represents,  and  by  whom  the 
chief  part  is  paid,  they  will  be  better  able  to  respond  to  the  appeal  for 
armed  iDtervention  than  they  were  on  Tuesday  night.*' — Daily  Tele- 
graphy January  1871. 

The  story  of  the  massacre  of  Tientsin,  on  the  21st  June  last,  is  told 
privately  in  a  private  letter  dated  Cheefoo,  June  30th,  published  in 
Thursday's  Standard^  but  the  signature  of  which  is  not  given.  The 
horrors  narrated  are  frightful,  and  remembering  how  frequently  stories 
«  f  similar  horrors  in  the  Mutiny  melted  away  on  close  investigation,— 
though  but  too  many  were  true, — we  may  hope  that  the  writer,  who  does 
not  seem  to  have  been  in  Tientsin  at  the  time,  has  heard  somewhat 
exaggerated  accounts.  Yet  making  all  allowances  for  this,  there  was 
evidently  horror  enough.  The  jSrst  attack  was  on  the  French  Consul, 
who  was  murdered,  the  Chinese  mandarins  refusing  aid.  Then  the 
Consulate  was  broken  open,  and  two  Catholic  priests  murdered, 
as  well  as  M.  and  Madame  Thomassin,  an  attache  to  the  Legation  at 
Pekin  and  his  bride.  Then  came  the  worst  part.  The  mob,  acting 
with  regular  Chinese  soldiers,  it  is  said,  whom  their  officers  did  not  at- 
tempt to  restrain,  attacked  the  hospital  of  the  French  Sisters  of  Charity, 
stripped  them,  exposed  them  to  the  mob,  plucked  out  their  eyes,  mu- 
tilated them  in  other  ways,  and  divided  portions  of  their  flesh  among 
the  infuriated  people,  and  then  set  fire  to  the  hospital,  in  which  100 
orphan  children,  who  were  the  objects  of  the  sisters'  care,  were  burnt 
to  death."— 2'-^  Spectator,  September  3,  1870. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


146 


LETTER  XXXVIII. 

Herne  Hill, 

December,  1873. 

The  laws  of  Florence  in  the  fourteenth  century,  for  us  in 
the  nineteenth  ! 

Even  so,  good  reader.  You  have,  perhaps,  long  imagined 
that  the  judges  of  Israel,  and  heroes  of  Greece,  the  consuls 
of  Rome,  and  the  dukes  of  Venice,  the  powers  of  Florence, 
and  the  kings  of  England,  were  all  merely  the  dim  foreshad- 
owings  and  obscure  prophecyings  of  the  advent  of  the  Jones 
and  Robinson  of  the  future  :  demi-gods  revealed  in  your 
own  day,  whose  demi-divine  votes,  if  luckily  coincident  upon 
any  subject,  become  totally  divine,  and  establish  the  ordi- 
nances thereof,  for  ever. 

You  will  find  it  entirely  otherwise,  gentlemen,  whether  of 
the  suburb,  or  centre.  Laws  small  and  great,  for  ever  un* 
changeable  ; — irresistible  by  all  the  force  of  Robinson,  and 
unimprovable  by  finest  jurisprudence  of  Jones,  have  long 
since  been  known,  and,  by  wise  nations,  obeyed.  Out  of 
the  statute  books  of  one  of  these  I  begin  with  an  apparently 
unimportant  order,  but  the  sway  of  it  cuts  deep. 

No  person  whatsoever  shall  buy  fish,  to  sell  it  again, 
either  in  the  market  of  Florence,  or  in  any  markets  in  the 
state  of  Florence." 

It  is  one  of  many  such  laws,  entirely  abolishing  the  pro- 
fession of  middleman,  or  costermonger  of  perishable  articles 
of  food,  in  the  city  of  the  Lily. 

"  Entirely  abolishing  ! — nonsense  !  "  thinks  your  modern 
commercial  worship.  Who  was  to  prevent  private  con- 
tract ?  " 

Nobody,  my  good  sir  ; — there  is,  as  you  very  justly  feel, 
no  power  in  law  whatever  to  prevent  private  contract.  No 
quantity  of  laws,  penalties,  or  constitutions,  can  be  of  th« 
Vol.  IL— 10 


146 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


slightest  use  to  a  public  inherently  licentious  and  deceitful. 
There  is  no  legislation  for  liars  and  traitors.  They  cannot 
be  prevented  from  the  pit  ;  the  earth  finally  swallows  them. 
They  find  their  level  against  all  embankment — soak  their  way 
down,  irrestrainably,  to  the  gutter  grating  ; — happiest  the 
nation  that  most  rapidly  so  gets  rid  of  their  stench.  There 
is  no  law,  I  repeat,  for  these,  but  gravitation.  Organic  laws 
can  only  be  serviceable  to,  and  in  general  will  only  be  written 
by,  a  public  of  honourable  citizens,  loyal  to  their  state,  and 
faithful  to  each  other. 

The  profession  of  middleman  was  then,  by  civic  con- 
sent, and  formal  law,  rendered  impossible  in  Florence  with 
respect  to  fish.  What  advantage  the  modern  blessed  possi- 
bility of  such  mediatorial  function  brings  to  our  hungry  mul- 
titudes ;  and  how  the  miraculous  draught  of  fishes,  which 
living  St.  Peter  discerns,  and  often  dextrously  catches — 

the  shoals  of  them  like  shining  continents,"  (said  Carlyle 
to  me,  only  yesterday,) — are  by  such  apostolic  succession 
miraculously  diminished,  instead  of  multiplied  ;  and,  instead 
of  baskets-full  of  fragments  taken  up  from  the  ground, 
baskets  full  of  whole  fish  laid  down  on  it,  lest  perchance  any 
hungry  person  should  cheaply  eat  of  the  same, — here  is  a 
pleasant  little  account  for  you,  by  my  good  and  simple  cler- 
gyman's wife.  It  would  have  been  better  still,  if  I  had  not 
been  forced  to  warn  her  that  I  wanted  it  for  Fors^  which  of 
course  took  the  sparkle  out  of  her  directly.  Here  is  one 
little  naughty  bit  of  private  preface,  which  really  must  go 
with  the  rest.  "  I  have  written  my  little  letter  about  the 
fish  trade,  and  L.  says  it  is  all  right.  I  am  afraid  you  won't 
think  there  is  anything  in  it  worth  putting  in  JFors,  as  I 
really  know  very  little  about  it,  and  absolutely  nothing  that 
every  one  else  does  not  know,  except  ladies,  who  generally 
never  trouble  about  anything,  but  scold  their  cooks,  and 
abuse  the  fishmongers — when  they  cannot  pay  the  weekly 
bills  easily."    (After  this  we  are  quite  proper.) 

The  poor  fishermen  who  toil  all  through  these  bitter 
nights,  and  the  retail  dealer  who  carries  heavy  baskets,  or 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA, 


147 


drags  a  truck  so  many  weary  miles  along  the  roads,  get  but 
a  poor  living  out  of  tlieir  labour  ;  but  what  are  called  '  fish 
salesmen,'  who  by  reason  of  their  command  of  capital 
keep  entire  command  of  the  London  markets,  are  making 
enormous  fortunes. 

When  you  ask  the  fishermen  why  they  do  not  manage 
better  for  themselves  at  the  present  demand  for  fish,  they 
explain  how  helpless  they  are  in  the  hands  of  what  they  call 
^  the  big  men.'  Some  fishermen  at  Aldborough,  who  have  a 
boat  of  their  own,  told  my  brother  that  one  season,  when 
the  sea  seemed  full  of  herrings,  they  saw  in  the  newspapers 
how  dear  they  were  in  London,  and  resolved  to  make  a  ven- 
ture on  their  own  account  ;  so  they  spent  all  their  available 
money  in  the  purchase  of  a  quantity  of  the  right  sort  of 
baskets,  and,  going  out  to  sea,  filled  them  all, — putting  the 
usual  five  hundred  lovely  fresh  fish  in  each, — sent  them 
straight  up  to  London  by  train,  to  the  charge  of  a  salesman 
they  knew  of,  begging  him  to  send  them  into  the  market 
and  do  the  best  he  could  for  them.  But  he  was  very  angry 
with  the  fishermen  ;  and  wrote  them  word  that  the  market 
was  quite  sufficiently  stocked  ;  that  if  more  fish  were  sent 
in,  the 2^rices  would  go  down  ;  that  he  should  not  allow  their 
fish  to  be  sold  at  all  ;  and,  if  they  made  a  fuss  about  it,  he 
would  not  send  their  baskets  back,  and  would  make  them 
pay  the  carriage.  As  it  was,  he  returned  them,  after  a  time  ; 
but  the  poor  men  never  received  one  farthing  for  their  thou- 
sands of  nice  fish,  and  only  got  a  scolding  for  having  dared 
to  try  and  do  without  the  agents,  who  buy  the  fisii  from  the 
boats  at  whatever  price  they  choose  to  settle  amongst  them- 
selves. 

"  When  we  were  at  Yarmouth  this  autumn,  the  enormous 
abundance  of  herrings  on  the  fish  quay  w^as  perfectly  won- 
derful ;  it  must  be,  (I  should  think,)  two  hundred  yards 
long,  and  is  capable  of  accommodating  the  unloading  of  a 
perfect  fleet  of  boats.  The  '  swills,'  as  they  call  the  baskets, 
each  containing  five  hundred  fish,  were  side  by  side,  touch- 
ing each  other,  all  over  this  immense  space,  and  men  were 
sliovelling  salt  about,  with  spades,  over  heaps  of  fish,  pre- 
vious to  packing  at  once  in  boxes.  1  said,  '  How  surprised 
our  poor  people  would  be  to  see  such  a  sight,  after  con- 
stantly being  obliged  to  pay  three-halfpence  for  every  her- 
ring they  buy.'  An  old  fisherman  answered  me,  saying, 
*  No  one  need  pay  that,  ma'am,  if  we  could  get  the  fish  to 
them  ;  we  could  have  plenty  more  boats,  and  plenty  more 


148 


F0R8  CLAVIGERii. 


fish,  if  we  could  have  them  taken  where  the  poor  people 
could  get  them.'  We  brought  home  a  hundred  dried  her- 
rings, for  which  we  paid  ten  shillings  ;  when  we  asked  if 
we  might  buy  some  lovely  mackerel  on  the  Fish  Quay,  they 
said,  (the  fishermen),  that  they  were  not  allowed  to  sell  them 
there,  except  all  at  once.  Since  then,  I  have  read  an  ac- 
count of  a  Royal  Commission  having  been  investigating  the 
subject  of  the  fishery  for  some  time  past,  and  the  result  of 
its  inquiries  seems  to  prove  that  it  is  inexhaustible,  and  that 
in  the  North  Sea  it  is  always  harvest-time.* 

"  When  I  told  our  fishmonger  all  about  it,  he  said  I  was 
quite  right  about  the  '  big  men '  in  London,  and  added, 
'  They  will  not  let  us  have  the  fish  under  their  own  prices  ; 
and  if  it  is  so  plentiful  that  they  cannot  sell  it  all  at  that, 
they  have  it  thrown  away,  or  carted  off  for  manure  ;  some- 
times sunk  in  the  river.  If  we  could  only  get  it  here,  my 
trade  would  be  twice  what  it  is,  for,  except  sprats,  the  poor 
can  seldom  buy  fish  now.' 

"  I  asked  him  if  the  new  Columbia  Market  was  of  no  use 
in  making  things  easier,  but  he  said,  'No  ;'  that  these  sales- 
men had  got  that  into  their  hands  also  ;  and  were  so  rich 
that  they  would  keep  any  number  of  markets  in  their  own 

*  Not  quite  so,  gentlemen  of  the  Royal  Commission.  Harvests,  no 
less  than  sales,  and  fishermen  no  less  than  salesmeo,  need  regulation  by 
just  human  law.  Here  is  a  piece  of  news,  for  instance,  from  Glasgow, 
concerning  Loch  Fyne  : — "  Owing  to  the  permission  to  fish  for  herring 
by  trawling,  which  not  only  scrapes  up  the  spawn  from  the  bottom,  but 
catches  great  quantities  of  the  fry  which  are  useless  for  market,  and 
only  fit  for  manure,  it  is  a  fact  that,  whereas  Loch  Fyne  used  to  be 
celebrated  for  containing  the  finest  herrings  to  be  caught  anywhere, 
and  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  boxes  used  to  be  exported 
from  Inverary,  there  are  not  now  enough  caught  there  to  enable  them 
to  export  a  single  hox^  and  the  quantity  caught  lower  down  the  loch, 
near  its  mouth  (and  every  year  the  herring  are  being  driven  farther 
and  farther  down)  is  not  a  tithe  of  what  it  used  to  be.  Such  a  thing 
as  a  Loch  Fyne  herring  (of  the  old  size  and  quality,)  cannot  be  bad 
now  in  Glasgow  for  any  money,  and  this  is  only  a  type  of  the  destruc- 
tion which  trawling,  and  a  too  short  close-time,  are  causing  to  all  the 
west-coast  fishing.  Whiting  Bay,  Arran,  has  been  rid  of  its  whiting  by 
trawling  on  the  spawning  coast  opposite.  The  cupidity  of  careless 
fishers,  unchecked  by  beneficial  law,  is  here  also  '  killing  the  goose  that 
lays  the  golden  eggs,'  and  herring  of  any  kind  are  very  scarce  and  very 
bad  in  Glasgow,  at  a  penny  and  sometimes  twopence  ea,ch.  Professor 
Huxley  gave  his  sanction  to  trawling,  in  a  Government  Commission,  I 
am  told,  some  years  ago,  and  it  has  been  allowed  ever  since.  I  will 
tell  you  something  similar  about  the  seal-fishing  off  Newfoundland, 
another  time. " 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


149 


hands.  A  few  hundred  pounds  sacrificed  any  day  to  keep 
up  the  prices  they  think  well  worth  their  while." 

What  do  you  think  of  that,  by  way  of  Free-trade  ? — my 
British-never-never-never-vvill-be-slaves, — hey  ?  Free-trade  ; 
and  the  Divine  Law  of  Supply  and  Demand  ;  and  the  Sa- 
cred Necessity  of  Competition,  and  what  not  ; — and  here's 
a  meek  little  English  housewife  who  can't  get  leave,  on  her 
bended  knees,  from  Sultan  Costermonger,  to  eat  a  fresh 
herring  at  Yarmouth  !  and  must  pay  three-halfpence  apiece, 
for  his  leave  to  eat  them  anywhere  ; — and  you,  you  simple- 
tons— Fishermen,  indeed  ! — Cod's  heads  and  shoulders,  say 
rather, — meekly  receiving  back  your  empty  baskets  ;  your 
miracle  of  loaves  and  fishes  executed  for  you  by  the  Coster- 
mongering  Father  of  the  Faithful,  in  that  thimblerig  man-- 
ner  ! 

"But  havn't  you  yourself  been  hard  against  competi- 
tion, till  now  ?  and  havn't  you  always  wanted  to  regulate 
prices  ?  " 

Yes,  my  good  SS.  Peter  and  Andrew  ! — very  certainly  I 
want  to  regulate  prices;  and  very  certainly  I  will,  as  to 
such  things  as  I  sell,  or  have  the  selling  of.  I  should  like 
to  hear  of  anybody's  getting  this  letter  for  less  than  ten- 
pence  ! — and  if  you  will  send  me  some  fish  to  sell  for  you, 
perhaps  I  may  even  resolve  that  they  shall  be  sold  at  two- 
pence each,  or  else  made  manure  of, — like  these  very  coster- 
mongers  ;  but  the  twopence  shall  go  into  your  pockets — not 
mine  ;  which  you  will  find  a  very  pleasant  and  complete  dif- 
ference in  principle  between  his  Grace  the  Costermonger 
and  me  ;  and,  secondly,  if  I  raise  the  price  of  a  herring  to 
twopence,  it  will  be  because  I  know  that  people  have  been 
m  some  way  misusing  them,  or  wasting  them  ;  and  need  to 
get  fewer  for  a  time  ;  or  will  eat  twopenny  herrings  at  fash- 
ionable tables,  (when  they  wouldn't  touch  halfpenny  ones,) 
and  so  give  the  servants  no  reason  to  turn  up  their  noses  at 
them.*    I  may  have  twenty  such  good  reasons  for  fixing 

*  In  my  aunt*s  younger  days,  at  Perth,  the  servants  used  regularly  to 
make  bargain  that  they  should  not  be  forced  to  dine  on  salmon  more 
than  so  many  times  a  week. 


150 


FOnS  CLAVIGEIiA. 


the  price  of  your  fish  ;  but  not  one  of  them  will  be  his  Grace 
the  Costermonger's.  All  that  I  want  you  to  see  is,  not  only 
the  possibility  of  regulating  prices,  but  the  fact  that  they 
are  now  regulated,  and  regulated  by  rascals,  while  all  the 
world  is  bleating  out  its  folly  about  Supply  and  Demand. 

"  Still,  even  in  your  way,  you  would  be  breaking  the  laws 
of  Florence,  anyhow,  and  buying  to  sell  again  ? "  Pardon 
me  :  I  should  no  more  buy  vour  fish  than  a  butcher's  boy 
buys  his  master's  mutton.  I  should  simply  carry  your  fish 
for  you  where  I  knew  it  was  wanted  ;  being  as  utterly  your 
servant  in  the  matter  as  if  I  were  one  of  your  own  lads  sent 
dripping  up  to  the  town  with  basket  on  back.  And  I  should 
be  paid,  as  your  servant,  so  much  wages;  (not  commission,  ob- 
serve,) making  bargains  far  away  for  you,  and  many  another 
Saunders  Mucklebackit,  just  as  your  wife  makes  them,  up 
the  hill  at  Monkbarns  ;  and  no  more  buying  the  fish,  to  sell 
again,  than  she. 

Well,  but  where  could  we  get  anybody  to  do  this  ?  " 

Have  you  no  sons  then  ? — or,  among  them,  none  whom  you 
can  take  from  the  mercy  of  the  sea,  and  teach  to  serve  you 
mercifully  on  the  land  ? 

It  is  not  that  way,  however,  that  the  thing  will  be  done. 
It  must  be  done  for  you  by  gentlemen.  They  may  stagger 
on  perhaps  a  year  or  two  more  in  their  vain  w^ays  ;  but  the 
day  must  come  when  your  poor  little  honest  puppy,  whom 
his  people  have  been  wanting  to  dress  up  in  a  surplice,  and 
call  The  to  be  Feared,"  that  he  might  have  pay  enough,  by 
tithe  or  tax,  to  marry  a  pretty  girl,  and  live  in  a  parsonage, — . 
some  poor  little  honest  wretch  of  a  puppy,  I  say,  will  eventu- 
ally get  it  into  his  glossy  head  that  he  would  be  incomparably 
more  reverend  to  mortals,  and  acceptable  to  St.  Peter  and  all 
Saints,  as  a  true  monger  of  sweet  fish,  than  a  false  fisher  for 
rotten  souls  ;  and  that  his  wife  would  be  incomparably  more 
*  lady-like  ' — not  to  say  Madonna-like — marching  beside  him 
in  purple  stockings  and  sabots — or  even  frankly  barefoot-r- 
with  her  creel  full  of  caller  herring  on  her  back,  than  in  ad- 
ministering any  quantity  of  Ecclesiastical  scholarship  to  her 
Sunday-schools. 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA, 


"  How  dreadful — how  atrocious  !  " — thinks  the  tender 
clerical  lover.  My  wife  walk  with  a  fish-basket  on  her 
back  !  " 

Yes,  you  young  scamp,  yours.  You  were  going  to  lie  to 
the  Holy  Ghost,  then,  were  you,  only  that  she  might  wear 
satin  slippers,  and  be  called  a  Mady '  ?  Suppose,  instead  of 
fisli,  I  were  to  ask  her  and  you  to  carry  coals.  Have  you  ever 
read  your  Bible  carefully  enough  to  wonder  wliere  Christ  got 
them  from,  to  make  His  fire,  (wlien  he  was  so  particular  about 
St.  Peter's  dinner,  and  St.  Jolin's)  ?  Or  if  I  asked  you  to  be 
liewers  of  wood,  and  drawers  of  water  ; — would  that  also  seem 
intolerable  to  you  ?  My  poor  clerical  friends,  God  was  never 
more  in  the  burning  bush  of  Sinai  than  He  would  be  in  every 
crackling  faggot  (cut  with  your  own  hands)  that  you  warmed 
a  poor  hearth  with  :  nor  did  that  woman  of  Samaria  ever  give 
Him  to  drink  more  surely  than  you  may,  from  every  stream 
and  well  in  this  your  land,  that  you  can  keep  pure. 

20^A  Dec. — To  hew  wood — to  draw  water  ; — you  thinR 
these  base  businesses,  do  you?  and  that  you  are  noble,  as 
well  as  sanctified,  in  binding  faggot-burdens  on  poor  men's 
backs,  which  you  will  not  touch  with  your  own  fingers  ; — 
and  in  preaching  the  efiicacy  of  baptism  inside  the  church,  by 
yonder  stream  (under  the  first  bridge  of  the  Seven  Bridge 
Road  here  at  Oxford,)  while  the  sweet  waters  of  it  are  choked 
with  dust  and  dung,  within  ten  fathoms  from  your  font  ; — 
and  in  giving  benediction  with  two  fingers  and  your  tliumb, 
of  a  superfine  quality,  to  the  Marquis  of  B.  ?  Honester  ben- 
ediction, and  more  efficacious,  can  be  had  cheaper,  gentlemen, 
in  the  existing  market.  Under  my  own  system  of  regulatir.g 
prices,  I  gave  an  Irishwoman  twopence  yesterday  for  two 
oranges,  of  which  fruit — under  pressure  of  competition — she 
was  ready  to  supply  me  with  three  for  a  penny.  "  The  Lord 
Almighty  take  you  to  eternal  glory  !  "  said  she. 

You  lawyers,  also, — distributors,  by  your  own  account,  of 
the  quite  supreme  blessing  of  Justice, — you  are  not  so  busily 
eloquent  in  her  cause  but  that  some  of  your  sweet  voices 
might  be  spared  to  Billingsgate,  though  the  river  air  might 
take  the  curl  out  of  your  wigs,  and  bO  diminish  that  resthetio 


152 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


«?aim  which,  as  aforesaid,  you  still  hold  on  existence.  But 
you  will  bring  yourselves  to  an  end  soon, — wigs  and  all, — 
unless  you  think  better  of  it. 

I  will  dismiss  at  once,  in  this  letter,  the  question  of  regu- 
lation of  prices,  and  return  to  it  no  more,  except  in  setting 
down  detailed  law. 

Any  rational  group  of  persons,  large  or  small,  living  in  war 
or  peace,  will  have  its  commissariat  ; — its  officers  for  provi- 
sion of  food.  Famine  in  a  fleet,  or  an  army,  may  sometimes 
be  inevitable  ;  but  in  the  event  of  national  famine,  the  offi- 
cers of  the  commissariat  should  be  starved  the  first.  God 
has  given  to  man  corn,  wine,  cheese,  and  honey,  all  preserv- 
able  for  a  number  of  years  :— filled  his  seas  with  inexhaustible 
salt,  and  incalculable  fish  ;  filled  the  woods  with  beasts,  the 
winds  with  birds,  and  the  fields  with  fruit.  Under  these 
circumstances,  the  stupid  human  brute  stands  talking  meta- 
physics, and  expects  to  be  fed  by  the  law  of  Supply  and 
Demand.  I  do  not  say  that  I  shall  always  succeed  in  regu- 
lating prices,  or  quantities,  absolutely  to  my  mind  ;  but  in 
the  event  of  any  scarcity  of  provision,  rich  tables  shall  be 
served  like  the  poorest,  and — we  will  see. 

The  price  of  every  other  article  will  be  founded  on  the  price 
of  food.  The  price  of  what  it  takes  a  day  to  produce,  will  be 
a  day's  maintenance  ;  of  what  it  takes  a  week  to  produce,  a 
week's  maintenance, — such  maintenance  being  calculated 
according  to  the  requirements  of  the  occupation,  and  always 
with  a  proportional  surplus  for  saving. 

"  How  am  I  to  know  exactly  what  a  day's  maintenance 
is  ?  *'  I  don't  want  to  know  exactly.  I  don't  know  exactly 
how  much  dinner  I  ought  to  eat  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  I  eat 
enough,  and  not  too  much.  And  I  shall  not  know  'exactly' 
how  much  a  painter  ought  to  have  for  a  picture.  It  may  be 
a  pound  or  two  under  the  mark — a  pound  or  two  over.  On 
the  average  it  will  be  right, — that  is  to  say,  his  decent  keep  * 

*  As  for  instance,  and  in  farther  illustration  of  the  use  of  herrings, 
here  is  some  account  of  the  maintenance  of  young  painters  and  lawyers 
In  Edinburgh,  sixty  years  since,  sent  me  by  the  third  Fors  ;  and  good 
Dr.  Brown,  in  an  admirable  sketch  of  the  life  of  an  admirable  Scottish 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


153 


during  the  number  of  days'  work  that  are  properly  accounted 
for  in  the  production. 

How  am  I  to  hinder  people  from  giving  more  if  they 
like?" 

People  whom  I  catch  doing  as  they  like  will  generally  have 
to  leave  the  estate. 

"But  how  is  it  to  be  decided  to  which  of  two  purchasers, 
each  willing  to  give  its  price,  and  more,  anything  is  to  be- 
long ?  " 

In  various  ways,  according  to  the  nature  of  the  thing  sold, 
and  circumstances  of  sale.  Sometimes  by  priority  ;  some- 
times by  privilege  ;  sometimes  by  lot  ;  and  sometimes  by  auc- 
tion, at  which  whatever  excess  of  price,  above  its  recorded 
value,  the  article  brings,  shall  go  to  the  national  treasury. 
So  that  nobody  will  ever  buy  anything  to  make  a  profit  on  it. 

11th  January,  1874. — Thinking  I  should  be  the  better  of 
a  look  at  the  sea,  I  have  come  down  to  an  old  watering- 
place,  where  one  used  to  be  able  to  get  into  a  decent  little 
inn,  and  possess  one's  self  of  a  parlour  with  a  bow  window 
looking  out  on  the  beach,  a  pretty  carpet,  and  a  print  or  two 
of  revenue  cutters,  and  the  Battle  of  the  Nile.  One  could 
have  a  chop  and  some  good  cheese  for  dinner  ;  fresh  cream 
and  cresses  for  breakfast,  and  a  plate  of  shrimps. 

I  find  myself  in  the  Umfraville  Ilotel,  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
long  by  a  furlong  deep  ;  in  a  ghastly  room,  fi ve-and-t wen ty 
feet  square,  and  eighteen  high, — that  is  to  say,  just  four 
times  as  big  as  I  want,  and  whicii  I  can  no  more  light  with 
my  candles  in  the  evening  than  I  could  the  Peak  cavern.  A 

artist,  says  : — Raeburn  (Sir  Henr>^)  was  left  an  orphan  at  six,  and  was 
educated  in  Heriot^s  Hospital.  At  fifteen  he  was  capprenticed  to  a  gold- 
smith ;  but  after  his  time  was  out,  set  himself  entirely  to  portrait  paint- 
ing. About  this  time  he  became  acquainted  with  the  famous  cynic, 
lawyer,  and  wit,  John  Clerk,  afterwards  Lord  Eldon,  then  a  young  ad- 
vocate. Both  were  poor.  Young  Clerk  asked  Raeburn  to  dine  at  his 
lodgings.  Coming  in,  he  found  the  landlady  laying  the  cloth,  and  set- 
ting down  two  dishes,  one  containing  three  herrings,  and  the  other  three 
potatoes.  Is  this  a'  ?  "  said  John.  Ay,  it's  a'.*'  A' !  didna  I  tell 
ye,  woman,  that  a  gentleman  is  to  dine  wi'  me,  and  that  ye  were  to  get 
six  herrin*  and  six  potatoes  ? 


154 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


gas  apparatus  in  the  middle  of  it  serves  me  to  knock  my 
head  against,  but  I  take  good  care  not  to  light  it,  or  I  should 
soon  be  stopped  from  my  evening's  woik  by  a  headache,  and 
be  unfit  for  my  morning's  business  besides.  The  carpet  is 
threadbare,  and  has  the  look  of  having  been  spat  upon  all 
over.  There  is  only  one  vs^indow,  of  four  huge  panes  of 
glass,  through  vv^hich  one  commands  a  view  of  a  plaster 
balcony,  some  ornamental  iron  railings,  an  esplanade, — and, 
— well,  I  suppose, — in  the  distance,  that  is  really  the  sea, 
where  it  used  to  be.  I  am  ashamed  to  ask  for  shrimps, — 
not  that  I  suppose  I  could  get  any  if  I  did.  There's  no 
cream,  "because,  except  in  the  season,  we  could  only  take 
so  small  a  quantity,  sir."  The  bread's  stale,  because  it's 
Sunday  ;  and  the  cheese,  last  night,  was  of  the  cheapest 
tallow  sort.  The  bill  will  be  at  least  three  times  my  old  bill ; 
— I  shall  get  no  thanks  from  anybody  for  paying  it  ; — and 
this  is  what  the  modern  British  public  thinks  is  "  living  in 
style."  But  the  most  comic  part  of  all  the  improved  arrange- 
ments is  that  I  can  only  have  codlings  for  dinner,  because  all 
the  cod  goes  to  London,  and  none  of  the  large  fishing-boats 
dare  sell  a  fish,  here. 

And  now  but  a  word  or  two  more,  final,  as  to  the  fixed 
price  of  this  book. 

A  sensible  and  worthy  tradesman  writes  to  me  in  very 
earnest  terms  of  expostulation,  blaming  me  for  putting  the 
said  book  out  of  the  reach  of  most  of  the  persons  it  is  meant 
for,  and  asking  me  how  I  can  expect,  for  instance,  the  work- 
ing men  round  him  (in  Lancashire), — who  have  been  in  the 
habit  of  strictly  ascertaining  that  they  have  value  for  their 
money, — to  buy,  for  tenpence,  what  they  know  might  be 
given  them  for  twopence-halfpenny. 

Answer  first  : 

My  book  is  meant  for  no  one  who  cannot  reach  it.  If  a 
man  with  all  the  ingenuity  of  Lancashire  in  his  brains,  and 
breed  of  Lancashire  in  his  body  ;  with  all  the  steam  and  coal 
power  in  Lancashire  to  back  his  ingenuity  and  muscle  ;  all 
the  press  of  literary  England  vomiting  the  most  valuable  in- 
formation at  bis  feet ;  with  all  the  tenderness  of  charitable 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


155 


England  aiding  him  in  his  efforts,  and  ministering  to  his 
needs  ;  with  all  the  liberality  of  republican  Europe  rejoicing 
in  his  dignities  as  a  man  and  a  brother  ;  and  with  all  the 
science  of  enlightened  Europe  directing  his  opinions  on  the 
subject  of  the  materials  of  the  Sun,  and  the  origin  of  his 
species  ;  if,  I  say,  a  man  so  circumstanced,  assisted,  and  in- 
formed, living  besides  in  the  richest  country  of  the  globe, 
and,  from  his  youth  upwards,  having  been  in  the  habit  of 
*  seeing  that  he  had  value  for  his  money,'  cannot,  as  the  up- 
shot and  net  result  of  all,  now  afford  to  pay  me  tenpence  a 
month — or  an  annual  lialf-sovereign,  for  my  literary  labour, — 
in  Heaven's  name,  let  him  buy  the  best  reading  he  can  for 
twopence-halfpenny.  For  that  sum,  I  clearly  perceive  he 
can  at  once  provide  himself  with  two  penny  illustrated  news- 
papers and  one  lialfpenny  one, — full  of  art,  sentiment,  and 
the  Tichborne  trial.  He  can  buy  a  quarter  of  the  dramatic 
itorks  of  Shakespeare,  or  a  whole  novel  of  Sir  AValter 
Scott's.  Good  value  for  his  money,  he  thinks  ! — reads  one 
of  them  through,  and  in  all  probability  loses  some  five  years 
of  the  eyesight  of  his  old  age  ;  which  he  does  not,  with  all 
his  Lancashire  ingenuity,  reckon  as  part  of  the  price  of  liis 
cheap  book.  But  liow  has  he  read  ?  There  is  an  act  of  3fid' 
sianmer  NighCs  Dream  printed  in  a  page.  Steadily  and 
dutifully,  as  a  student  should,  he  reads  his  page.  The  lines 
slip  past  his  eMips,  and  mind,  like  sand  in  an  hour-glass  ;  he 
has  some  dim  idea  at  the  end  of  tlie  act  that  he  lias  been 
reading  about  Fairies,  and  Flowers,  and  Asses.  Does  he 
know  what  a  Fairy  is?  Certainly  not.  Does  he  know  what 
a  Flower  is?  He  has  perhaps  never  seen  one  wild,  or  happy, 
in  his  life.  Does  he  even  know — quite  distinctly,  inside  and 
out — what  an  Ass  is? 

But,  answer  second.  Whether  my  -  Lancashire  friends 
need  any  aid  to  their  discernment  of  what  is  good  or  bad  in 
literature,  I  do  not  know  ; — but  I  mean  to  give  them  the 
best  help  I  can  ;  and,  therefore,  not  to  allow  them  to  have 
for  twopence  what  I  know  to  be  worth  tenpence.  For  here 
is  another  law  of  Florence,  still  concerning  fish,  which  19 
transferable  at  once  to  literature. 


156 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


"  Eel  of  the  lake  shall  be  sold  for  three  soldi  a  pound  ;  and 
eel  of  the  common  sort  for  a  soldo  and  a  half." 

And  eel  of  a  bad  sort  was  not  allowed  to  be  sold  at  all. 

"  Eel  of  the  lake,"  I  presume,  was  that  of  the  Lake  of 
Bolsena  ;  Pope  Martin  IV.  died  of  eating  too  many,  in  spite 
of  their  high  price.  You  observe  I  do  not  reckon  my  Fors 
Eel  to  be  of  Bolsena  ;  I  put  it  at  the  modest  price  of  a 
soldo  a  pound,  or  English  tenpence.  One  cannot  be  precise 
in  such  estimates  ; — one  can  only  obtain  rude  approxima- 
tions. Suppose,  for  instance,  you  read  the  Times  newspaper 
for  a  week,  from  end  to  end  ;  your  aggregate  of  resultant 
useful  information  will  certainly  not  be  more  than  you  may 
get  out  of  a  single  number  of  Fors,  But  your  Times  for 
the  week  will  cost  you  eighteenpence. 

You  borrow  the  Times  ?  Borrow  this  then  ;  till  the  days 
come  when  English  people  cease  to  think  they  can  live  by 
lending,  or  learn  by  borrowing. 

I  finish  with  copy  of  a  bit  of  private  letter  to  the  editor  of 
an  honestly  managed  country  newspaper,  who  asked  me  to 
send  him  Fors. 

"  I  find  it — on  examining  the  subject  for  these  last  three 
years  very  closely — necessary  to  defy  the  entire  principle  of 
advertisement  ;  and  to  make  no  concession  of  any  kind 
whatsoever  to  the  public  press — even  in  the  minutest  partic- 
ular. And  this  year  I  cease  sending  Fors  to  any  paper 
whatsoever.  It  must  be  bought  by  every  one  who  has  it, 
editor  or  private  person. 

"  If  there  are  ten  people  in  willing  to  subscribe  a 

penny  each  for  it,  you  can  see  it  in  turn  ;  by  no  other  means 
can  I  let  it  be  seen.  From  friend  to  friend,  or  foe  to  foe,  it 
must  make  its  own  way,  or  stand  still,  abiding  its  time." 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


151 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


The  following  bit  of  a  private  letter  to  a  good  girl  belonging  to  the 
upper  classes  may  be  generally  useful ;  so  I  asked  her  to  copy  it  for 
Fors. 

Januai'y^  1874. 

"Now  mind  you  dress  always  charmingly;  it  is  the  first  duty  of  a 
girl  to  be  charming,  and  she  cannot  be  charming  if  she  is  not  charm- 
ingly dressed. 

And  it  is  quite  the  first  of  firsts  in  the  duties  of  girls  in  high  posi- 
tion, nowadays,  to  set  an  example  of  beautiful  dress  without  extrava- 
gance,— that  is  to  say,  without  waste,  or  unnecessaiy  splendour. 

On  great  occasions  they  may  be  a  blaze  of  jewels,  if  they  like,  and 
can  ;  but  only  when  they  are  part  of  a  great  show  or  ceremony.  In 
their  daily  life,  and  ordinary  social  relations,  they  ought  at  present  to 
dress  with  marked  simplicity,  to  put  down  the  curses  of  luxury  and 
waste  which  are  consuming  England. 

**  Women  usually  apologize  to  themselves  for  their  pride  and  vanit}'', 
by  saying,  '  It  is  good  for  trade. ' 

''Now  you  may  soon  convince  yourself,  and  everybody  about  you,  of 
the  monstrous  folly  of  this,  by  a  very  simple  piece  of  definite  action. 

''Wear,  yourself,  becoming,  pleasantly  varied,  but  simple,  dress;  of 
the  best  possible  material. 

"What  you  think  necessary  to  buy  (beyond  this)  'for  the  good  of 
trade,'  buy,  and  immediately  burn. 

"  Even  your  dullest  friends  will  see  the  folly  of  that  proceeding.  You 
can  then  exi)lain  to  thein  that  by  wearing  what  they  don't  want  (instead 
of  burning  it)  for  the  good  of  trade,  they  are  merely  adding  insolence 
and  vulgarity  to  absurdity." 

I  am  very  grateful  to  the  writer  of  the  following  letters  for  his  per- 
mission to  print  the  portions  of  them  bearing  on  our  work.  The  first 
was  written  several  years  ngo. 

''Now,  my  dear  friend,  I  don't  know  why  I  should  intrude  what  I 
pow  want  to  say  about  m}'  litile  farm,  which  you  disloyally  dare  to  call 
a  kingdom,  but  that  I  know  you  do  feel  an  interest  in  such  things  ; 
whereas  I  find  not  one  in  a  hundred  does  care  a  jot  for  the  moral  iutlu- 
ence  and  responsibilities  of  landowners,  or  for  those  who  live  out  of  it, 
and  by  the  sweat  of  the  brow  for  them  and  their  own  luxuries  which 
pamper  them,  whilst  too  often  their  tenants  starve,  and  the  children 
die  of  want  and  fever. 

*'  One  of  the  most  awful  things  I  almost  ever  heard  was  from  the  lipa 
of  a  clergyman,  near  B  ,  when  asked  what  became  of  the  children. 


158 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


by  day,  of  those  mothers  employed  in  mills.  He  said,  *0h,  /  take  card 
of  them  ;  they  are  brought  to  me,  and  I  lay  them  in  the  churchyard.' 
Poor  lambs  !    What  a  flock  ! 

But  now  for  ray  little  kingdom, — the  royalties  of  which,  by  the 
way,  still  go  to  the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  as  lord  of  the  minerals  under 
the  earth. 

*'It  had  for  many  years  been  a  growing  dream  nnd  desire  of  mine 
(whether  right  or  wrong  I  do  not  say)  to  possess  a  piece  of  God's  earth, 
be  it  only  a  rock  or  a  few  acres  of  land,  with  a  few  people  to  live  out  of 
and  upon  it.    Well,  my  good  father  had  an  estate  about  four  miles 

across,  embra '  ng  the  whole  upper  streams  and  head  of   dale, 

some  twelve  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and  lifted  thus  far  away  above 
the  din  and  smoke  of  men,  surrounded  by  higher  hills,  the  grassy  slopes 
of  Ingleborough  and  Carn  Fell.  It  was  a  waste  moorland,  with  a  few 
sheep  farms  on  it,  undivided,  held  in  common, — a  few  small  enclosures 
of  grass  and  flowers,  taken  off  at  the  time  of  the  Danes,  retaining 
Danish  names  and  farm  usages, — a  few  tenements,  built  by  that  great 
and  noble  Lady  Anne  Clifford,  two  hundred  years  ago;  in  which  dwelt 
honest,  sturdy,  great-hearted  English  men  and  women,  as  I  think  this 
land  knows. 

Well,  this  land  my  father  made  over  by  deed  of  gift  to  me,  reserv- 
ing to  himself  the  rents  for  life,  but  granting  to  me  full  liberty  to  *  im- 
prove' and  lay  out  what  I  pleased  ;  charged  also  with  the  maintenance 
of  a  schoolmaster  for  the  little  school-hoase  I  built  in  memory  of  my 
late  wife,  who  loved  the  place  and  people.  With  this  arrangement  1 
was  well  pleased,  and  at  once  began  to  enclose  and  drain,  and,  on  Adam 
Smith  principle,  make  two  blades  of  grass  grow  where  one  grew  before. 
This  has  gone  on  for  some  years,  affording  labour  to  the  few  folks  there, 
and  some  of  their  neighbours.  Of  the  prejudices  of  the  old  farmers, 
the  less  said  the  better  ;  and  as  to  the  prospective  increased  value  of 
rental,  I  may  look,  at  least,  for  mj  five  per  cent.,  may  I  not?  1  am 
well  repaid,  at  present,  by  the  delight  gained  to  me  in  wandering  over 
this  little  Arcady,  where  I  fancy  at  times  I  still  hear  the  strains  of  the 
pipe  of  the  shepherd  Lord  Clifford  of  Cumberland,  blending  with  the 
crow  of  the  moor-fowl,  the  song  of  the  lark,  and  cry  of  the  curlew,  the 
bleating  of  sheep,  and  heaving  and  dying  fall  of  the  manj^  waters.  To 
think  of  all  this,  and  yet  men  prefer  the  din  of  loar  or  commercial 
strife  !  It  is  so  pleasant  a  thing  to  know  all  the  inhabitants,  and  all 
their  little  joys  and  woes, — like  one  of  your  bishops ;  and  to  be  able  to 
apportion  them  their  work.  Labour,  there,  is  not  accounted  degrading 
work;  even  stone  breaking  for  the  roads  is  not  paupei-^s  work,  and  a 
test  of  starvation,  but  taken  gladly  by  tenant  farmers  to  occupy  spare 
time  ;  for  I  at  once  set  to  work  to  make  roads,  rude  bridges,  planta- 
tions of  fir-trees,  and  of  oak  and  birch,  which  once  flourished  there,  as 
the  name  signifies. 

*'Iara  now  laying  out  some  thousands  of  pounds  in  draining  and 
liming,  and  kUliarf  out  the  Alpine  flowers,  which  you  tell  me  *  is  not 
wrong  to  do,  as  God  has  reserved  other  gardens  for  them,  though  I 
must  say  not  one  dies  without  a  pang  to  me ;  yet  I  see  there  springs 
up  the  fresh  grass,  the  daisy,  the  primrose — the  life  of  growing  men 
and  women,  the  source  of  labour  and  of  happiness  ;  God  be  thanked  if 

*  1  don't  romember  teUiug  you  anything  of  the  sort.  I  should  tell  you  another  storj 
now,  my  dear  friend. 


FOES  CLAVIOEIIA. 


159 


one  does  even  a  little  to  attain  that  for  one's  fellows,  either  for  this 
world  or  the  next ! 

How  I  wish  you  could  see  them  on  our  one  day^s  feast  and  holiday, 
when  all — as  mauy  as  will  come  from  all  the  countiy  round  —  are  re- 
galed with  a  hearty  Yorkshire  tea  at  the  Hall,  as  they  will  call  a  rough 
muUioned-wiudowed  house  I  built  upon  a  rock  rising  from  the  river's 
edge.  The  children  have  their  games,  and  then  all  join  in  a  missionary 
meeting,  to  hear  somethicg  of  their  fellow-creatures  who  live  in  other 
lands;  the  little  ones  gather  their  pennies  to  support  and  educate  a 
little  Indian  school  child;  *  this  not  only  for  sentiment,  but  to  teach  a 
care  for  others  near  home  and  far  off. 

The  place  is  five  miles  from  church,  and,  happily,  as  far  from  a 
public-house,  though  still,  I  grieve  to  say,  drink  is  the  one  failing  of 
these  good  people,  mostly  arising  from  the  want  of  full  occupation. 

You  speak  of  mining  as  servile  work  :  why  so  ?  Hugh  Miller  was 
a  quarryman,  and  I  know  an  old  man  who  has  wrought  coal  for  me  in 
a  narrow  seam,  lying  on  his  side  to  work,  who  has  told  me  that  in  win- 
tertime he  had  rather  w^ork  thus  than  .sit  over  his  fireside  ;  f  he  is  quiet 
and  undisturbed,  earns  his  bread,  and  is  a  man  not  without  reflection. 
Then  there  is  the  smith,  an  artist  in  his  way,  and  loves  Jiis  work  too  ; 
and  as  to  the  quarrymen  and  masons,  they  are  Fome  of  the  merriest 
fellows  I  know  ;  they  come  five  or  six  miles  to  work,  knitting  stockings 
as  they  walk  along. 

I  must  just  allude  to  one  social  feature  which  is  pleasant, — that  is, 
the  free  intercourse,  without  familiarity,  or  loss  of  respect  for  master 
and  man.  The  farmer  or  small  landowner  sits  at  the  same  table  at  meals 
with  the  servants,  yet  the  class  position  of  yeoman  or  labourer  is  fully 
maintained,  and  due  respect  shown  to  the  superior,  and  almost  royal  wor- 
ship to  the  lord  of  the  soil,  if  he  is  in  anywise  a  good  landlord.  Now  is 
England  quite  beyond  all  hope,  when  such  things  exist  here,  in  this  nine- 
teenth century  of  machine-made  life  ?  I  know  not  why,  I  say  again,  I 
should  inflict  all  this  about  self  upon  you,  except  that  I  have  a  hobby, 
and  I  love  it,  and  so  fancy  others  must  do  so  too. 

Forgive  me  this,  and  believe  me  always, 

Y^ours  affectionately.** 

January,  1874. 

My  dkar  Mr.  Ruskin, — I  have  just  come  from  an  old  Tudor  house 
in  Leicestershire,  which  tells  of  happier  days  in  some  ways  than  our  own. 
It  was  once  the  Grange  of  St.  Mary's  Abbey,  where  rent  and  service  were 
paid  and  done  in  kind.  When  there,  I  wished  I  could  have  gone  a 
few  miles  with  you  to  St.  Bernard's  Monastery  in  Charnwood  Forest; 
there  you  would  see  what  somewhat  resembles  your  St.  George's  land, 
only  without  the  family  and  domestic  features — certainly  most  essential 
to  the  happiness  of  a  people.  J    But  there  you  may  see  rich  well-kept 

♦  Very  fine  ;  but  have  all  the  children  in  Sheffield  and  Leeds  had  their  pennyworth  of 
gospel,  first? 

t  All  T  can  say  is,  taf^tes  differ  ;  but  I  have  not  myself  tried  the  deprce  of  comfort 
which  may  be  attained  in  winter  by  lying  on  one's  side  in  a  coal-eeam,  and  cannot  there- 
lore  feci  conildence  in  offering  an  opinion. 

X  Very  much  so  indeed,  my  good  friend  ;  and  yet,  the  plague  of  it  is,  one  never  can  get 
people  to  do  anything  that  is  wise  or  generous,  unless  they  go  and  make  monks  of  them- 
Belves.  I  believe  this  St.  Geoi-ge's  land  of  mine  will  really  be  the  first  place  where  it  has 
been  attempted  to  get  maiTied  people  to  live  in  any  charitable  and  human  way,  and  grafl 
Apples  where  they  may  eat  them,  without  getting  driven  out  of  their  Paradise. 


160 


F0R8  CLAVIOEBA, 


fields  and  gardens,  where  thirty  years  ago  was  nothing  but  wild  moor 
land  and  granite  tors  on  the  hiJl  ridges. 

'  ^  The  Cross  of  Calvary  rises  now  on  the  highest  rock  ;  below  are  gar- 
dens and  fields,  all  under  the  care  and  labour  (happy  labour  it  seems)  of 
the  Silent  Brothers,*  and  a  reformatory  for  boys.  There  is  much  still 
waste  land  adjoining.  The  spot  is  central,  healthy,  and  as  yet  unoc- 
cupied :  it  really  seems  to  offer  itself  to  you.  There,  too,  is  space, 
pure  air  and  water,  and  quarries  of  slate  and  granite,  etc.^  for  the  lesa 
skilled  labour. 

Well,  you  ask  if  the  dalesmen  of  Yorkshire  rise  to  a  vivid  state  of 
contented  life  and  love  of  the  pretty  things  of  heaven  and  enrth.  '1  hey 
have  a  rough  outside,  at  times  hard  to  penetrate ;  but  when  you  do, 
there  is  a  warm  heart,  but  not  much  culture,  although  a  keen  value  of 
manly  education,  and  their  duty  to  God  and  man.  Apart  from  the 
vanities  of  the  so-called  'higher  education,'  their  calling  is  mostly  out 
of  doors,  in  company  with  sheep  and  cattle  ;  the  philosophy  of  their 
minds  often  worthy  of  the  Shepherd  Lord, — not  much  sight  for  the 
beauties  of  Nature  beyond  its  uses.  I  can  say  their  tastes  are  not  low 
nor  degraded  by  literature  of  the  daily  press,  etc.  I  have  known  them  for 
twenty  years,  have  stood  for  hours  beside  them  at  work,  building  or 
draining,  and  I  never  heard  one  foul  or  coarse  word.  In  sickness,  both 
man  and  woman  are  devoted.  They  have,  too,  a  reverence  for  social 
order  and  '  Divine  Law,' — familiar  without  familiarity.  This  even 
pervades  their  own  class  or  sub-classes; — for  instance,  although  farm.ers 
and  their  families,  and  work-people  and  servants,  all  sit  at  the  same 
table,  it  is  a  rare  thing  for  a  labourer  to  presume  to  ask  in  marriage  a 
farmer's  daughter.  Their  respect  to  landlords  is  equally  shown.  As  a 
specimen  of  their  politics,  I  may  instance  this ; — to  a  man  at  the 
county  election  they  voted  for  Stuart  Wortley,  *  because  he  bore  a  well- 
known  Yorkshire  name,  and  had  the  blood  of  a  gentleman. 

"As  to  hardsMvs^  I  see  none  beyond  those  incident  to  their 
calling,  in  snow-storms,  etc.  You  never  see  a  child  unshod  or  ill  clad. 
Very  rarely  do  they  allow  a  relative  to  receive  aid  from  the  parish. 

**I  tried  a  reading  club  for  winter  evenings,  but  found  they  liked 
their  own  fireside  better.  Happily,  there  is,  in  my  part,  no  public-house 
within  six  miles;  still  I  must  say  drink  is  the  vice  of  some.  In  winter 
they  have  much  leisure  time,  in  which  there  is  a  good  deal  of  card- 
playing.  Still  some  like  reading;  and  we  have  among  them  now  a  fair 
lot  of  books,  mostly  from  the  Pure  Literature  Society.  They  are  proud 
and  iudependent,  and,  as  you  say,  must  be  dealt  with  cautiously. 
Everywhere  I  see  much  might  be  done.  Yet  on  the  whole,  when  ^^om* 
pared  with  the  town  life  of  men,  one  sees  little  to  amend.  There  is  a 
pleasant  and  curious  combination  of  work.  Mostly  all  workmen, — 
builders  [i.e.  wallers),  carpenters,  smiths,  etc.,— work  a  little  farm  cs 
well  as  follow  their  own  craft ;  this  gives  wholesome  occupation  as  well 
as  independence,  and  almost  realizes  Sir  T.  More's  Utopian  plan. 
There  is  contented  life  of  men,  women,  and  children,— happy  in  their 
work  and  joyful  in  prospect :  what  could  one  desire  further,  if  each  be 
full  according  to  his  capacity  and  refinement  ? 

**  You  ask  what  I  purpose  to  do  further,  or  leave  untouched.  I  desire 

♦  There,  again  !  why,  in  the  name  of  all  that's  natural,  can^t  decent  men  and  women 
use  their  tongues,  on  occasion,  for  what  God  made  them  for, — talking  in  a  civil  way  ;  but 
must  either  po  and  make  dumb  beasts  of  themselves,  or  else  (far  worse)  let  cufc  theil 
tongues  for  hire,  and  live  by  vomiting  novels  and  reviews  1 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


101 


to  leave  untouched  some  3,000  acres  of  moor-land  needed  for  their 
sheep,  serviceable  for  peat  fuel,  freedom  of  air  and  mind  and  body,  and 
the  growth  of  all  the  lovely  things  of  moss  and  heather.  Wherever 
land  is  capable  of  improvement,  I  hold  it  is  a  grave  responsibility  until 
it  is  done.    You  must  come  and  look  for  yourself  some  day. 

I  enclose  a  cheque  for  ten  guineas  for  St.  George's  Fund,  with  my 
best  wishes  for  this  new  year. 

Ever  yours  affectionately." 

I  have  questioned  one  or  two  minor  points  in  my  friend's  letters  ;  but 
on  the  whole,  they  simply  describe  a  piece  of  St.  George's  old  England, 
still  mercifully  left, — and  such  as  I  hope  to  make  even  a  few  pieces 
iT>ore,  a^^ain  ;  conquering  them  out  of  the  Devil's  new  England. 
Vol.  II.— 11 


162 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


LETTER  XXXIX. 


On  a  foggy  forenoon,  two  or  three  days  ago,  I  wanted  to 
make  my  way  quickly  from  Hengler's  Circus  to  Drury  Lane 
Theatre,  without  losing  time  which  might  be  philosophically 
employed  ;  and  therefore  afoot,  for  in  a  cab  I  never  can  think 
of  anything  but  how  the  driver  is  to  get  past  whatever  is  in 
front  of  him. 

On  foot,  then,  1  proceeded,  and  accordingly  by  a  somewhat 
complex  diagonal  line,  to  be  struck,  as  the  stars  might  guide 
me,  between  Regent  Circus  and  Covent  Garden.  I  have 
never  been  able,  by  the  way,  to  make  any  coachman  under- 
stand that  such  diagonals  were  not  always  profitable. 
Coachmen,  as  far  as  I  know  them,  always  possess  just  enough 
geometry  to  feel  that  the  hypotenuse  is  shorter  than  the 
two  sides,  but  I  never  yet  could  get  one  to  see  that  an 
hypotenuse  constructed  of  cross  streets  in  the  manner  of  the 
line  A  C,  had  no  advantage,  in  the  mat- 
ter of  distance  to  be  traversed,  over  the 
simple  thoroughfares  A  B,  B  C,  while  it 
involved  the  loss  of  the  momentum  of 
the  carriage,  and  a  fresh  start  for  the 
cattle,  at  seventeen  corners  instead  of 
one,  not  to  mention  the  probability  of  a 
block  at  half  a  dozen  of  them,  none  the 
less  frequent  since  underground  rail- 
ways, and  more  difficult  to  get  out  of,  in  consequence  of  the 
increasing  discourtesy  and  diminishing  patience  of  all  hu^ 
man  creatures. 

Now  here  is  just  one  of  the  pieces  of  practical  geometry 
and  dynamics  wliich  a  modern  schoolmaster,  exercising  his 
pupils  on  the  positions  of  letters  in  the  word  Chillianwallah, 
would  wholly  despise.  Whereas,  in  St.  George's  schools,  it 
shall  be  very  early  learned,  on  a  square  and  diagonal  of 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


1()3 


actual  road,  with  actual  loaded  wheelbarrow — first  one- 
wheeled,  and  pushed  ;  and  secondly,  two-wheeled,  and  pulled. 
And  similarly,  every  bit  of  science  the  children  learn  shall 
be  directly  applied  by  them,  and  the  use  of  it  felt,  which 
involves  the  truth  of  it  being  known  in  the  best  possible 
way,  and  without  any  debating-  thereof.  And  what  they 
cannot  apply  they  shall  not  be  troubled  to  know.  I  am  not 
the  least  desirous  that  they  should  know  so  much  even  of  the 
sun  as  tiiat  it  stands  still,  (if  it  does).  They  may  remain, 
for  anything  T  care,  under  the  most  simple  conviction  that  it 
gets  up  every  morning  and  goes  to  bed  every  night  ;  but 
they  shall  assuredly  possess  the  applicable  science  of  the 
hour  it  gets  up  at,  and  goes  to  bed  at,  on  any  day  of  the 
year,  because  they  will  have  to  regulate  their  own  gettings 
up  and  goings  to  bed  upon  those  solar  proceedings. 

Well,  to  return  to  Regent  Street.  Being  afoot,  I  took 
the  complex  diagonal,  because  by  wise  regulation  of  one's 
time  and  angle  of  crossing,  one  may  indeed  move  on  foot  in 
an  economically  drawn  line,  provided  one  does  not  miss  its 
main  direction.  As  it  chanced,  I  took  my  line  correctly 
enough  ;  but  found  so  much  to  look  at  and  think  of  on  the 
way,  that  I  gained  no  material  advantage.  First,  I  could 
not  help  stopping  to  consider  the  metaphysical  reasons  of 
the  extreme  o-ravitv  and  self-abstraction  of  Arclier  Street. 
Then  I  was  delayed  a  while  in  Prince's  Street,  Soho,  won- 
dering what  Prince  it  had  belonged  to.  Then  I  got  through 
Gerrard  Street  into  Little  Newport  Street  ;  and  came  there 
to  a  dead  pause,  to  think  why,  in  these  days  of  division  of 
mechanical  labour,  there  should  be  so  little  space  for  classi- 
fication of  commodities,  as  to  require  oranges,  celery,  butchers' 
meat,  cheap  hosiery,  soap,  and  salt  fish,  to  be  all  sold  in  the 
same  alley. 

Some  clue  to  the  business  was  afforded  me  by  the  sisrn  of 
the  *  Hotel  de  I'Union  des  Peuples '  at  the  corner,  "  bouillon 
et  boeuf  a  emporter  ; "  but  I  could  not  make  out  why,  in  spite 
of  the  union  of  people,  the  provision  merchant  at  the  opposite 
corner  liad  given  up  business,  and  left  his  house  w  ith  ail  its 
upper  windows  broken,  and  its  door  nailed  up.    Finally,  I 


164 


FOES  CLAVIGERA, 


was  stopped  at  the  corner  of  Cranbourne  Street  by  a  sign 
over  a  large  shop  advising  me  to  buy  some  "  screwed  boots 
and  shoes."  I  am  too  shy  to  go  in  and  ask,  on  such  occasions, 
what  screwed  boots  are,  or  at'  least  too  shy  to  come  out  again 
without  buying  any,  if  the  people  tell  me  politely,  and  yet  I 
couldn't  get  the  question  what  such  things  may  be  out  of  my 
head,  and  nearly  got  run  over  in  consequence,  before  attain-, 
ing  the  Arcadian  shelter  of  Covent  Garden.  I  was  but  just 
in  time  to  get  my  tickets  for  Jack  in  the  JBox^  on  the  day  I 
wanted,  and  put  them  carefully  in  the  envelope  with  those 
1  had  been  just  securing  at  Hengler's  for  my  fifth  visit  to 
Cinderella,  For  indeed,  during  the  last  three  weeks,  the 
greater  part  of  my  available  leisure  has  been  spent  between 
Cinderella  and  JacJc  in  the  ]3ox  ;  with  this  curious  result 
upon  my  mind,  that  the  intermediate  scenes  of  Archer  Street 
and  Prince's  Street,  Soho,  have  become  to  me  merely  as  one 
part  of  the  drama,  or  pantomime,  which  I  happen  to  have 
seen  last  ;  or,  so  far  as  the  difference  in  the  appearance  of 
men  and  things  may  compel  me  to  admit  some  kind  of 
specific  distinction,  I  begin  to  ask  myself,  Which  is  the 
reality,  and  which  the  joantomime  ?  Nay,  it  appears  to  me 
not  of  much  moment  which  we  choose  to  call  Reality.  Both 
are  equally  real  ;  and  the  only  question  is  whether  the 
cheerful  state  of  things  which  the  spectators,  especially  the 
youngest  and  w^isest,  entirely  applaud  and  approve  at  Hen- 
gler's  and  Drury  Lane,  must  necessarily  be  interrupted  always 
by  the  woful  interlude  of  the  outside  world. 

It  is  a  bitter  question  to  me,  for  I  am  myself  now,  hope- 
lessly, a  man  of  the  world  ! — of  that  woful  outside  one  I 
mean.  It  is  now  Sunday  ;  half-past  eleven  in  the  morning. 
Everybody  about  me  is  gone  to  church  except  the  kind  cook, 
who  is  straining  a  point  of  conscience  to  provide  me  with 
dinner.  Everybody  else  is  gone  to  church,  to  ask  to  be  made 
angels  of,  and  profess  that  they  despise  the  world  and  the 
flesh,  which  I  find  myself  always  living  in,  (rather,  perhaps, 
living,  or  endeavouring  to  live,  in  too  little  of  the  last).  And 
I  am  left  alone  with  the  cat,  in  the  world  of  sin. 

But  I  scarcely  feel  less  an  outcast  when  I  come  out  of  the 


FOIiS  CLAVIOEEA. 


165 


Circus,  on  week  days,  into  iny  own  world  of  sorrow.  Inside 
the  Circus,  tiiere  have  been  wonderful  Mr.  Henry  Cooke,  and 
pretty  Mademoiselle  Aguzzi,  and  the  three  brothers  Leonard, 
like  the  three  brothers  in  a  German  story,  and  grave  little 
Sandy,  and  bright  and  graceful  Miss  Hengler,  all  doing  the 
most  splendid  feats  of  strength,  and  patience,  and  skill 
There  have  been  dear  little  Cinderella  and  her  Prince,  and 
all  the  pretty  children  beautifully  dressed,  taught  thoroughly 
how  to  behave,  and  how  to  dance,  and  how  to  sit  still,  and 
giving  everybody  delight  that  looks  at  them  ;  whereas,  the 
instant  I  come  outside  the  door,  I  find  all  the  cliildren  about 
the  streets  ill-dressed,  and  ill-taught,  and  ill-behaved,  and 
nobody  cares  to  look  at  them.  And  then,  at  Drury  Lane, 
there's  just  everything  I  want  people  to  have  always,  got  for 
them,  for  a  little  while  ;  and  they  seem  to  enjoy  them  just 
as  I  sliould  expect  they  would.  ^Mushroom  Common,  with 
its  lovely  mushrooms,  white  and  gray,  so  finely  set  off  by 
the  incognita  fairy's  scarlet  cloak  ;  the  golden  land  of  plenty 
with  furrow  and  sheaf  ;  Buttercup  Green,  with  its  flock  of 
mechanical  sheep,  which  the  whole  audience  claps  because 
they  are  of  pasteboard,  as  they  do  tlie  sheep  in  lAttle  Red 
Hiding  Hood  because  they  are  alive  ;  but  in  eitiier  case, 
must  have  them  on  the  stage  in  order  to  be  pleased  with 
them,  and  never  clap  when  they  see  the  creatures  in  a  field 
outside.  They  can't  have  enough,  any  more  than  I  can,  of 
the  loving  duet  between  Tom  Tucker  and  Little  Do  Peep  : 
they  would  make  the  dark  fairy  dance  all  night  long  in  her 
amber  light  if  they  could  ;  and  yet  contentedly  return  to 
what  they  call  a  necessary  state  of  things  outside,  where 
their  corn  is  reaped  by  machinery,  and  the  only  duets  are 
between  steam  whistles.  Why  haven't  they  a  steam  whistle 
to  whistle  to  them  on  the  stage,  instead  of  Miss  Violet 
Cameron  ?  Why  haven't  they  a  steam  Jack  in  the  Box  to 
jump  for  them,  instead  of  Mr.  Evans?  or  a  steam  doll  to 
dance  for  them,  instead  of  Miss  Kate  Vaughan  ?  They  still 
seem  to  have  human  ears  and  eyes,  in  the  Theatre  ;  to  know 
there,  for  an  hour  or  two,  that  golden  light,  and  song,  and 
human  tkill  and  grace,  are  better  than  smoke-blackness,  and 


166 


FOES  CLAVIGEEA. 


shrieks  of  iron  and  fire,  and  monstrous  powers  of  con- 
strained elements.  And  then  they  return  to  their  under- 
ground railroad,  and  say,  ^This,  behold, — this  is  the  right 
way  to  move,  and  live  in  a  real  world.' 

Very  notable  it  is  also  that  just  as  in  these  two  theatrical 
entertainments — the   Churcli  and  the  Circus, — the  imagi- 
native con o^re orations  still  retain  some  true  notions  of  the 
value  of  human  and  beautiful  things,  and  don't  have  steam- 
preachers  nor  steam-dancers, — so  also  they  retain  some  just 
notion  of  the  truth,  in  moral  things  :  Little  Cinderella,  for 
instance,  at  Hengler's,  never  thinks  of  offering  her  poor  fairy 
Godmother  a  ticket  from  the  Mendicity  Society.    She  im- 
mediately goes  and  fetches  her  some  dinner.   And  she  makes 
herself  generally  useful,  and  sweeps  the  doorstep,  and  dusts 
the  door  ; — and  none  of  the  audience  think  any  the  worse  of 
her  on  that  account.  They  think  the  worse  of  her  proud  sisters 
who  make  her  do  it.    But  when  they  leave  the  Circus,  they 
never  think  for  a  moment  of  making  themselves  useful,  like 
Cinderella.   Tliey  forthwith  play  the  proud  sisters  as  much  as 
they  can  ;  and  try  to  make  anybody  else,  who  will,  sweep 
th^ir  doorsteps.    Also,  at  Hengler's,  nobody  advises  Cin- 
derella to  write  novels,  instead  of  doing  her  washing,  by  way 
of  bettering  herself.    The  audience,  gentle  and  simple,  feel 
that  the  only  chance  she  has  of  pleasing  her  Godmother,  or 
marrying  a  prince,  is  in  remaining  patiently  at  her  tub,  as 
long  as  the  Fates  will  have  it  so,  heavy  though  it  be.  Again, 
in  all  dramatic  presentation  of  Little  Red  Riding  Iloody 
everybody  disapproves  of  the  carnivorous  propensities  of  the 
Wolf.    They  clearly  distinguish  there — as  clearly  as  the 
Fourteenth  Psalm,  itself — between  the  class  of  animal  which 
eats,  and  the  class  of  animals  which  is  eaten.    But  once  out- 
side the  theatre,  they  declare  the  whole  human  race  to  be 
universally  carnivorous — and  are  ready  themselves  to  eat  up 
any  quantity  of  Red  Riding  Hoods,  body  and  soul,  if  they 
can  make  money  by  them. 

x\nd  lastly, — at  Hengler's  and  Drury  Lane,  see  how  the 
whole  of  the  pleasure  of  life  depends  on  the  existence  of 
Princes,  Princesses,  and  Fairies.    One  never  hears  of  a  Re- 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


167 


publican  pantomime  ;  one  never  thinks  Cinderella  would  be 
a  bit  better  off  if  there  were  no  princes.  The  audience  un- 
derstand that  thougli  it  is  not  every  good  little  house-maid 
who  can  marry  a  prince,  the  world  would  not  be  the  least 
pleasanter,  for  the  rest,  if  there  were  no  princes  to  marry. 

Nevertheless,  it  being  too  certain  that  the  sweeping  of 
doorsteps  diligently  will  not  in  all  cases  enable  a  pretty 
maiden  to  drive  away  from  said  doorsteps,  for  evermore,  in 
a  gilded  coach, — one  lias  to  consider  what  may  be  the  next 
best  for  her.  And  next  best,  or,  in  the  greater  number  of 
cases,  best  altogether,  will  be  that  Love,  with  his  felicities, 
should  himself  enter  over  the  swept  and  garnished  steps,  and 
abide  with  her  in  her  own  life,  such  as  it  is.  And  since  St. 
Valentine's  grace  is  with  us,  at  this  season,  I  will  finish  my 
jFhrs,  for  this  time,  by  carrying  on  our  little  romance  of  the 
Broom-maker,  to  the  place  in  which  he  unexpectedly  finds 
it.  In  which  romance,  while  we  may  perceive  the  principal 
lesson  intended  by  the  author  to  be  that  the  delights  and 
prides  of  affectionate  married  life  are  consistent  with  the 
humblest  station,  (or  may  even  be  more  easily  found  there 
than  in  a  higher  one,)  we  may  for  ourselves  draw  some  farther 
conclusions  which  the  good  Swiss  pastor  only  in  part  in- 
tended. We  may  consider  in  what  degree  tlie  lightening  of 
the  wheels  of  Hansli's  cart,  when  they  dravo  heavily  by  the 
wood  of  Muri,  corresponds  to  the  change  of  the  English 
highway  into  Mount  Parnassus,  for  Sir  Philip  Sidney  ;  and 
if  the  correspondence  be  not  complete,  and  some  deficiency 
in  the  divinest  power  of  Love  be  traceable  in  the  mind  of 
the  simple  person  as  compared  to  that  of  the  gentle  one,  we 
may  farther  consider,  in  due  time,  how,  without  help  from 
any  fairy  Godmother,  we  may  make  Cinderella's  life  gentle 
to  her,  as  well  as  simple  ;  and,  without  taking  the  peasant's 
hand  from  his  labour,  make  his  heart  leap  with  joy  as  pure 
as  a  king's.* 

*  If  to  any  reader,  looking  back  on  the  history  of  Europe  for  the  last 
four  centuries,  this  sentence  aeems  ironical,  let  him  be  assured  that  for 
the  causes  which  make  it  seem  so,  during  the  last  four  centuries,  the 
end  of  kinghood  has  come. 


168 


F0R8  CLAVIGEEA. 


Well,"  said  Ilansli,  'Til  help  you  ;  give  me  your  bag*j 
I'll  put  it  among  my  brooms,  and  nobody  will  see  it.  Every- 
body knows  me.  Not  a  soul  will  think  I've  got  your  shoes 
underneath  there.  You've  only  to  tell  me  where  to  leave 
them — or  indeed  where  to  stop  for  you,  if  you  like.  You 
can  follow  a  little  way  off; — nobody  will  think  we  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  each  other." 

The  young  girl  made  no  compliments.* 

"  You  are  really  very  good,"  f  said  she,  with  a  more  serene 
face.  She  brought  her  packet,  and  Hans  hid  it  so  nicely 
that  a  cat  couldn't  have  seen  it. 

Shall  I  push,  or  help  you  to  pull?"  asked  the  young 
girl,  as  if  it  had  been  a  matter  of  course  that  she  should  also 
do  her  part  in  the  work. 

"  As  you  like  best,  though  you  needn't  mind  ;  it  isn't  a 
pair  or  two  of  shoes  that  will  make  my  cart  much  heavier." 
The  young  girl  began  by  pushing  ;  but  that  did  not  last  long. 
Presently  she  found  herself  J  in  front,  pulling  also  by  the  pole. 

''It  seems  to  me  that  the  cart  goes  better  so,"  said  she. 
As  one  ought  to  suppose,  she  pulled  with  all  her  strength; 
that  which  nevertheless  did  not  put  her  out  of  breath,  nor 
hinder  her  from  relating  all  she  had  in  her  head,  or  heart. 

They  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill  of  Stalden  without  Hansli's 
knowing  how  that  had  happened:  the  long  alley  §  seemed  to 
have  shortened  itself  by  half. 

There,  one  made  one's  dispositions  ;  the  young  girl  stopped 
behind,  while  Hansli,  with  her  bag  and  his  brooms,  entered 

*  Untranslateable.  It  means,  she  made  no  false  pretence  of  reluc- 
tance, and  neither  politely  nor  feebly  declined  what  she  meant  to  ac- 
cept. But  the  phrase  might  be  used  of  a  person  accepting*  with  un- 
graceful eagerness,  or  want  of  sense  of  obligation.  A  slight  sense  of 
this  simplicity  is  meant  by  our  author  to  be  here  included  in  the  ex- 
pression. 

f  "  Trop  bon."  It  is  a  little  more  than  '  very  good,'  but  not  at  all 
equivalent  to  our  English  'too  good.* 

:j:  "  Se  trouva."  Untranslateable.  It  is  very  little  more  than  *  was' 
in  front.  But  that  little  more, — the  slight  sense  of  not  knowing  quite 
how  she  got  there, — is  necessary  to  mark  the  under-current  of  mean- 
ing ;  she  goes  behind  the  cart  first,  thioking  it  more  modes  ;  but  pres- 
ently, nevertheless,  'finds  herself  in  front ;  "  the  cart  goes  better,  so." 

g  There  used  to  be  an  avenue  of  tall  trees,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
long,  on  the  Thun  road,  just  at  the  brow  of  the  descent  to  the  bridge 
of  the  Aar,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  main  street  of  Berne, 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


169 


the  town  without  the  least  difficulty,  where  he  remitted 
her  packet  to  the  young  girl,  also  without  any  accident ; 
but  they  had  scarcely  time  to  say  a  word  to  each  other  be- 
fore the  press  *  of  people,  cattle,  and  vehicles  separated 
them.  Ilansli  had  to  look  after  his  cart,  lest  it  should  be 
knocked  to  bits.  And  so  ended  the  acquaintanceship  for 
that  day.  This  vexed  Hansli  not  a  little;  howbeit  he  didn't 
think  long  about  it.  We  cannot  (more's  the  pity)  affirm  that 
the  young  girl  had  made  an  ineffaceable  impression  upon 
him, — and  all  the  less,  that  she  was  not  altogether  made  for 
producing  ineffaceable  impressions.  She  was  a  stunted  little 
girl,  with  a  broad  face.  That  which  she  had  of  best  was 
a  good  heart,  and  an  indefatigable  ardour  for  work;  but 
those  are  things  which,  externally,  are  not  very  remarkable, 
and  many  people  don't  take  much  notice  of  them. 

Nevertheless,  the  next  Tuesday,  when  Ilansli  saw  himself  f 
at  his  cart  again,  he  found  it  extremely  heavy. 

"I  wouldn't  have  believed,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  what  a 
difference  there  is  between  two  pulling,  and  one." 

"Will  she  be  tliere  again,  I  wonder,"  thought  he,  as  ho 
came  near  the  little  wood  of  Muri.  I  would  take  her  bag 
very  willingly  if  she  would  lielp  me  to  pull.  Also  the  road 
is  nowhere  so  ugly  as  between  here  and  the  town."  J 

And  behold  that  it  precisely  happened  that  the  young 
girl  was  sitting  there  upon  the  same  bench,  all  the  same  as 
eight  days  before  ;  only  with  the  difference  that  she  was  not 
crying. 

*  "Cohue."  Confused  aud  moving  mass.  We  have  no  such  useful 
word. 

f  "  Se  revit."  It  would  not  be  right  to  say  here  '  se  trouva/  because 
there  is  no  surprise,  or  discovery,  in  the  doing  once  again  what  is  done 
every  week.  But  one  may  nevertheless  contemplate  oneself,  and  the 
situation,  from  a  new  point  of  view.  Ilansli  se  '  revit  * — reviewed 
himself,  literally ;  a  very  proper  operation,  every  now  and  then,  for 
everybody. 

X  A  slight  difference  between  the  Swiss  and  English  peasant  is  marked 
here;  to  the  advantage  of  the  former.  At  least,  I  imagine  an  English 
Hansli  would  not  have  known,  even  in  love,  whether  the  road  was  ugly 
Dr  pretty. 


170 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


"  Have  you  got  anything  for  me  to  carry  to-day  ?  "  asked 
Hansli,  who  found  his  cart  at  once  became  a  great  deal  light- 
er at  the  sight  of  the  young  girl. 

It  is  not  only  for  that  that  I  have  waited,"  answered  she  ; 

even  if  I  had  had  nothing  to  carry  to  the  town,  I  should 
have  come,  all  the  same;  for  eight  days  ago  I  wasn't  able  to 
thank  you;  nor  to  ask  if  that  cost  anything." 

''A  fine  question  !"  said  Hansli.  Why,  you  served  me 
for  a  second  donkey;  and  yet  I  never  asked  how  much  I 
owed  you  for  helping  me  to  pull  !  "  So,  as  all  that  went  of 
itself,  the  young  girl  brought  her  bundle,  and  Hansli  hid  it, 
and  she  went  to  put  herself  at  the  pole  as  if  she  had  known 
it  all  by  heart.  had  got  a  little  way  from  home,"  said 
she,  before  it  came  into  my  head  that  I  ought  to  have 
brought  a  cord  to  tie  to  the  cart  behind,  and  that  would  have 
gone  better  ;  but  another  time,  if  I  return,  I  won't  forget." 

This  association  for  mutual  help  found  itself,  then,  estab- 
lished, without  any  long  diplomatic  debates,  and  in  the  most 
simple  manner.  And,  that  day,  it  chanced  that  they  were 
also  able  to  come  back  together  as  far  as  the  place  where 
their  roads  parted  ;  all  the  same,  they  were  so  prudent  as 
not  to  show  themselves  together  before  the  gens-d'armes  at  the 
town  gates. 

And  now  for  some  time  Hansli's  mother  had  been  quite 
enchanted  witii  lier  son.  It  seemed  to  her  he  was  more  gay, 
she  said.  He  whistled  and  sang,  now,  all  the  blessed  day  ; 
and  tricked  himself  up,  so  that  he  could  never  have  done.* 
Only  just  the  other  day  he  had  bought  a  great-coat  of 
drugget,  in  which  he  had  nearly  the  air  of  a  real  counsellor. 
But  she  could  not  find  any  fault  with  him  for  all  that  ;  he 
was  so  good  to  her  that  certainly  the  good  God  must  reward 
him  ; — as  for  herself,  she  was  in  no  way  of  doing  it,  but 
could  do  nothing  but  pray  for  him.  "Not  that  you  are  to 
think,"  said  she,  "that  he  puts  everything  into  his  clothes  ; 
he  has  some  money  too.  If  God  spares  his  life,  I'll  wager  that 
one  day  he'll  come  to  have  a  cow  : — he  has  been  talking  of 
a  goat  ever  so  long  ;  but  it's  not  likely  I  shall  be  spared 
to  see  it.  And,  after  all,  I  don't  pretend  to  be  sure  it  will 
ever  be." 

*  Se  requinquait  a  n'en  plus  finir."  Entirely  beyond  English  ren* 
dering. 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


171 


"  Mother,"  said  Hans  one  day,  "  I  don't  know  how  it  is  ; 
but  either  the  cart  gets  heavier,  or  I'm  not  so  strong  as  I 
was  ;  for  some  time  I've  scarcely  been  able  to  manage  it.  It 
is  getting  really  too  much  for  me  ;  especially  on  the  Berne 
road,  where  there  are  so  many  hills." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  the  mother  ;  "  aussi,  why  do  you  go  on 
loading  it  more  every  day  ?  I've  been  fretting  about  you 
many  a  time  ;  for  one  always  suffers  for  over-work  when  one 
gets  old.  But  you  must  take  care.  Put  a  dozen  or  two  of 
brooms  less  on  it,  and  it  will  roll  ao^ain  all  riofht." 

"  That's  impossible,  mother  ;  I  never  have  enough  as  it  is, 
and  I  haven't  time  to  go  to  Berne  twice  a  week." 

But,  Hansli,  suppose  you  got  a  donkey.  I've  heard  say 
they  are  the  most  convenient  beasts  in  the  world  :  they  cost 
almost  nothing,  eat  almost  nothing,  and  anything  one  likes 
to  give  them  ;  and  that's  *  as  strong  as  a  horse,  without 
counting  that  one  can  make  something  of  the  milk,--not  that 
I  want  any,  but  one  may  speak  of  it."  f 

"  No,  mother,"  said  Hansli, — "they're  as  self-willed  as  dev- 
ils :  sometimes  one  can't  get  them  to  do  anything  at  all  ; 
and  then  what  I  should  do  with  a  donkey  the  other  five  days 
of  the  week  !  No,  mother  ; — I  was  thinking  of  a  wife, — 
hey,  what  say  you  ?  " 

"But,  Hansli,  I  think  a  goat  or  a  donkey  would  bo  much 
better.  A  wife  !  \\  hat  sort  of  idea  is  that  that  has  come 
into  your  head  ?    What  would  you  do  with  a  wife  ?  " 

"  Do  !  "  said  Hansli  ;  "  what  other  people  do,  1  suppose  ; 
and  then,  I  thought  she  would  help  me  to  draw  th(^  cart,  vvliich 
goes  ever  so  much  better  with  another  hand  : — without 
counting  that  she  could  plant  potatoes  between  times,  and 
help  me  to  make  my  brooms,  which  I  couldn't  get  a  goat  or 
a  donkey  to  do." 

*'  But,  Hansli,  do  you  think  to  find  one,  then,  who  will  help 
you  to  draw  tl)e  cart,  and  will  be  clever  enough  to  do  all 
tluit  ?  "  asked  the  mother,  searchingly. 

"  Oh,  mother,  tiiere's  one  who  has  helped  me  already  often 
with  the  cart,"  said  Hansli,  "  and  who  would  be  good  for  a 
great  deal  besides  ;  but  as  to  whether  she  would  marry  me 

*  **(^a/'  Note  the  peculiar  character  and  value,  in  modern  French, 
of  this  general  and  slightly  depreciatory  pronoun,  essentially  a  repub- 
lican word,— hurried,  inconsiderate,  and  insolent.  The  popular  chant 
*  ca  ira '  gives  the  typical  power. 

f  '*  C'est  senlement  pour  dire."  I've  been  at  least  ten  minutes  try- 
ing to  IraUdlate  it,  and  oan't. 


172 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


or  not,  I  don't  know,  for  I  haven't  asked  her.  I  thought  that 
I  would  teli  you  first." 

You  rogue  of  a  boy,  what's  tliat  you  tell  me  there  ?  i 
don't  understand  a  word  of  it,"  cried  the  mother,  "  You 
too  ! — are  you  also  like  that  ?  The  good  God  Himself 
might  have  told  me,  and  I  wouldn't  have  believed  Him. 
AVhat's  that  you  say  ? — you've  got  a  girl  to  help  you  to  pull 
the  cart  !  A  pretty  business  to  engage  her  for  !  Ah  w^ell, — ► 
trust  men  after  this  !  " 

Thereupon  Hansli  put  himself  to  recount  the  history  ;  and 
how  that  had  happened  quite  by  chance  ;  and  how  that  girl 
was  just  expressly  made  for  him  :  a  girl  as  neat  as  a  clock, — 
not  showy,  not  extravagant, — and  who  would  draw  the  cart 
better  even  than  a  cow  could. 

But  I  haven't  spoken  to  her  of  anything,  however.  All 
the  same,  I  think  I'm  not  disagreeable  to  her.  Indeed,  she 
has  said  to  me  once  or  twice  that  she  wasn't  in  a  hurry  to 
marry  ;  but  if  she  could  manage  it,  so  as  not  to  be  worse  off 
than  she  was  now,  she  wouldn't  be  long  making  up  her  mind. 
She  knows,  for  that  matter,  very  well  also  why  she  is  in  the 
world.  Her  little  brothers  and  sisters  are  growing  up  after 
her  ;  and  she  knows  well  how  things  go,  and  how  the  young- 
est are  always  made  the  most  of,  for  one  never  thinks  of 
thanking  the  elder  ones  for  the  trouble  they've  had  in  bring- 
ing them  up." 

All  that  didn't  much  displease  the  mother  ;  and  the  more 
she  ruminated  over  these  unexpected  matters,  the  more  it  all 
seemed  to  her  very  proper.  Then  she  put  herself  to  make 
inquiries,  and  learned  that  nobody  knew  the  least  harm  of 
the  girl.  They  told  her  she  did  all  she  could  to  help  her 
parents  ;  but  that  with  the  best  they  could  do,  there  wouldn't 
be  much  to  fish  for. 

"Ah,  well:  it's  all  the  better,"  thought  she;  "for  then 
neither  of  them  can  have  much  to  say  to  the  other." 

The  next  Tuesday,  while  Hansli  was  getting  his  cart 
ready,  his  mother  said  to  him, 

"Well,  speak  to  that  girl  :  if  she  consents,  so  will  I  ;  but 
I  can't  run  after  her.  Tell  her  to  come  here  on  Sundav, 
that  I  may  see  her,  and  at  least  we  can  talk  a  little.    If  she 


FOBS  CLAVICtERA. 


IT 


is  willing  to  be  nice,  it  will  all  go  very  well.  Aussi,  it  must 
happen  some  time  or  other,  I  suppose." 

But,  mother,  it  isn't  written  anywhere  that  it  must  hap- 
pen, whether  or  no  ;  and  if  it  doesn't  suit  you,  nothing  hin- 
ders me  from  leaving  it  all  alone." 

*•  Nonsense,  child  ;  don't  be  a  goose.  Hasten  thee  to  set 
out  ;  and  say  to  that  girl,  that  if  she  likes  to  be  my  daugh- 
ter-in-law, ril  take  her,  and  be  very  well  pleased." 

Hansli  set  out,  and  found  the  young  girl.  Once  that  they 
were  pulling  together,  he  at  his  pole,  and  she  at  her  cord, 
Hansli  put  himself  to  say, 

"That  certainly  goes  as  quick  again  when  there  are  thus 
two  cattle  at  the  same  cart.  Last  Saturday  I  went  to  Thun 
by  myself,  and  dragged  all  the  breath  out  of  my  body." 

"Yes,  I've  often  thought,"  said  the  young  girl,  "that  it 
was  very  foolish  of  you  not  to  get  somebody  to  help  you  ; 
all  the  business  would  go  twice  as  easily,  and  you  would 
gain  twice  as  much." 

"What  would  you  liave?"  said  Hansli.  "Sometimes 
one  thinks  too  soon  of  a  thing,  sometimes  too  late, — one's 
always  mortal.*  But  now  it  really  seems  to  me  that  I  should 
like  to  have  somebody  for  a  help  ;  if  you  were  of  the  same 
mind,  you  would  be  just  the  good  thing  for  me.  If  that 
suits  you,  I'll  marry  you." 

"  Well,  why  not, — if  you  don't  think  me  too  ugly  nor  too 
poor?"  answered  the  young  girl.  "Once  you've  got  me,  it 
will  be  too  late  to  despise  me.  As  for  me,  1  could  scarcely 
fall  in  with  a  better  chance.  One  always  gets  a  liusband, — 
but,  aussi,  of  what  sort  !  You  are  quite  good  enough  f  for 
me  :  you  take  care  of  your  affairs,  and  1  don't  think  you'll 
treat  a  wife  like  a  dog." 

"  My  faitli,  she  will  be  as  much  master  as  I  ;  if  she  is  not 
pleased  that  way,  I  don't  know  what  more  to  do,"  said 
Hansli.  "And  for  orher  matters,  I  don't  think  3^ou'll  be 
worse  off  with  me  than  you  have  been  at  home.  If  that 
suits  you,  come  to  see  us  on  Sunday.  It's  my  mother  who 
told  me  to  ask  you,  and  to  say  that  if  you  liked  to  be  her 
daughter-in-law,  she  would  be  very  well  pleased." 

*  *'  On  est  toujours  homme."  The  proverb  ia  frequent  amon^  the 
French  and  Germans.  The  modesty  of  it  is  not  altogether  easy  to  an 
English  mind,  and  would  be  totally  incomprehensible  to  an  ordinary 
Scotch  one. 

f  Assez  brave."  Untranslateable,  except  by  the  old  English  sense 
of  the  word  brave,  and  even  that  has  more  reference  to  outside  show 
than  the  French  word. 


174 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


1 


"Liked  !  But  what  could  I  want  more?  I  am  used  to 
submit  myself,  and  take  things  as  they  come, — worse  to-day, 
better  to-morrow, — sometimes  more  sour,  sometimes  less.  I 
never  have  thought  that  a  hard  word  made  a  hole  in  me, 
else  by  this  time  I  shouldn't  have  had  a  bit  of  skin  left  as 
big  as  a  kreutzer.  But,  all  the  same,  I  must  tell  my  people, 
as  the  custom  is.  For  the  rest,  they  won't  give  themselves 
any  trouble  about  the  matter.  There  are  enough  of  us  in 
the  house  :  if  any  one  likes  to  go,  nobody  will  stop  them."* 

And,  aussi,  that  was  what  happened.  On  Sunday  the 
young  girl  really  appeared  at  Rychiswyl.  Hansli  had  given 
her  very  clear  directions  ;  nor  had  she  to  ask  long  before 
she  was  told  where  the  broom-seller  lived.  The  mother 
made  her  pass  a  good  examination  upon  the  garden  and  the 
kitchen  ;  and  would  know  what  book  of  prayers  she  used, 
and  whether  she  could  read  in  the  New  Testament,  and  also 
in  the  Bible,  f  for  it  was  very  bad  for  the  children,  and  it 
was  always  they  who  suffered,  if  the  mother  didn't  know 
enough  for  that,  said  the  old  woman.  The  girl  pleased  her, 
and  the  affair  was  concluded. 

"  You  won't  have  a  beautv  there,"  said  she  to  Hansli,  be^ 
fore  the  young  girl  ;  nor  much  to  crow  about,  in  what  she 
has  got.  But  all  that  is  of  no  consequence.  It  isn't  beauty 
that  makes  the  pot  boil ;  and  as  for  money,  there's  many  a 
man  who  wouldn't  marry  a  girl  unless  she  was  rich,  who  has 
had  to  pay  his  father-in-law's  debts  in  the  end.  When  one 
has  health,  and  work,  in  one's  arms,  one  gets  along  always. 
I  suppose  "  (turning  to  the  girl)  "  you  have  got  two  good 
chemises  and  two  gowns,  so  that  you  won't  be  the  same  on 
Sunday,  and  work-days?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  young  girl  ;  3^ou  needn't  give  your- 
self any  trouble  about  that.  I've  one  chemise  quite  new, 
and  two  good  ones  besides, — and  four  others  which,  in  truth, 

*  You  are  to  note  carefully  the  conditions  of  sentiment  in  family  re- 
lationships implied  both  here,  and  in  the  bride's  reference,  farther  on, 
to  her  godmother's  children.  Poverty,  with  St.  Francis'  pardon,  is  not 
always  holy  in  its  influence  :  yet  a  richer  girl  might  have  felt  exactly 
the  same,  without  beiug  innocent  enough  to  say  so. 

f  I  believe  the  reverend  and  excellent  novelist  would  himself  author- 
ize the  distinction  ;  but  Hansli  s  mother  must  be  answerable  for  it  to 
my  Evangelical  readers. 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


175 


are  rather  ragged.  But  my  mother  said  I  should  have 
another  ;  and  my  father,  that  he  would  make  me  my  wed- 
ing-shoes,  and  they  should  cost  me  nothing.  And  with  that 
I've  a  very  nice  godmother,  wlio  is  sure  to  give  me  some- 
thing fine  ;  perhaps  a  saucepan,  or  a  frying-stove,* — who 
knows? — without  counting  that  perhaps  I  shall  inherit  some- 
thing from  her  some  day.  She  has  some  children,  indeed, 
but  they  may  die." 

Perfectly  satisfied  on  both  sides,  but  especially  the  girl,  to 
whom  Hansli's  house,  so  perfectly  kept  in  order,  appeared  a 
palace  in  comparison  with  her  own  home,  full  of  children 
and  scraps  of  leather,  they  separated,  soon  to  meet  again 
and  quit  each  other  no  more.  iVs  no  soul  made  the  slightest 
objection,  and  the  preparations  were  easy, — seeing  that 
new  shoes  and  a  new  chemise  are  soon  stitched  together, — 
within  a  month,  Hansli  was  no  more  alone  on  his  way  to 
Thun.    And  the  old  cart  went  again  as  well  as  ever. 

And  they  lived  happily  ever  after  ?  You  shall  hear.  The 
story  is  not  at  an  end  ;  note  only,  in  the  present  phase  of 
it,  this  most  important  point,  that  Hansli  does  not  think  of 
his  wife  as  an  expensive  luxury,  to  be  refused  to  himself 
imless  under  irresistil)le  temptation.  It  is  only  the  modern 
Pall-Mall-pattern  Englishman  who  must  '  abstain  from  the 
luxury  of  marriage'  if  he  be  wise.  Hansli  thinks  of  his 
wife,  on  the  contrary,  as  a  useful  article,  which  he  cannot 
any  longer  get  on  without.  He  gives  us,  in  fact,  a  final 
definition  of  proper  wifely  quality, — "She  will  draw  the 
cart  better  than  a  cow  could." 


LETTER  XL. 

I  AM  obliged  to  go  to  Italy  this  spring,  and  find,  beside 
me,  a  mass  of  Fors  material  in  arrear,  needing  various  ex- 
planation and  arrangement,  for  which  I  have  no  time.  Fors 

*  "  Poele  a  frire."  I  don't  quite  understand  the  nature  of  this 
article. 


176 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


herself  must  look  to  it,  and  my  readers  use  their  own  wits  in 
thinking  over  what  she  has  looked  to.  I  begin  with  a  piece 
of  Marmontel,  which  was  meant  to  follow,  'in  due  time/  the 
twenty-first  letter, — of  which,  please  glance  at  the  last  four 
pages  again.  This  following  bit  is  from  another  story  pro- 
fessing to  give  some  account  of  Moliere's  Misanthrope,  in  his 
country  life,  after  his  last  quarrel  with  Celimene.  He  calls 
on  a  country  gentleman,  M.  de  Laval,  "  and  was  received  by 
him  with  the  simple  and  serious  courtesy  which  announces 
neither  the  need  nor  the  vain  desire  of  makinor"  new  connec- 
tions.  '  Behold,'  said  he,  '  a  man  who  does  not  surrender  him- 
self at  once.  I  esteem  him  the  more.'  He  congratulated  M. 
de  Laval  on  the  agreeableness  of  his  solitude.  '  You  conie  to 
live  here,'  he  said  to  him,  '  far  from  men,  and  you  are  very 
right  to  avoid  them.' 

''Z,  Monsieur  !  I  do  not  avoid  men  ;  I  am  neither  so  weak 
as  to  fear  them,  so  proud  as  to  despise  them,  or  so  unhappy 
as  to  hate  them." 

This  answer  struck  so  home  that  Alceste  was  disconcerted 
by  it  ;  but  he  wished  to  sustain  his  debut,  and  began  to  sat- 
irize the  world. 

''I  have  lived  in  the  world  like  another,"  said  M.  de  Laval, 
''and  I  have  not  seen  that  it  was  so  wicked.  There  are  vices 
and  virtues  in  it, — good  and  evil  mingled, — I  confess  ;  but 
nature  is  so  made,  and  one  should  know  how  to  accommo- 
date oneself  to  it." 

"On  my  word,"  said  Alceste,"  in  that  unison  the  evil  governs 
to  such  a  point  that  it  chokes  the  other."  "  Sir,**  replied  the 
Viscount,  "if  one  were  as  eager  to  discover  good  as  evil,  and 
had  the  same  delight  in  spreading  the  report  of  it, — if  good 
examples  were  made  public  as  the  bad  ones  almost  always 
are, — do  you  not  think  that  the  good  would  weigh  down  the 
balance?  *  But  gratitude  speaks  so  low,  and  indignation  so 
loudly,  that  you  cannot  hear  but  the  last.  Both  friendship 
«'iird  esteem  are  commonly  moderate  in  their  praises  ;  they 

*  Well  said,  the  Viscount.  People  think  me  a  grumbler;  but  I 
wholiy  believe  this, --nay, -/:;2M«  this.  The  world  exists,  indeed,  only 
by  the  strength  of  its  bilent  virtue. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


177 


imitate  the  modesty  of  honour,  in  praise,  while  resentment 
and  mortification  exaggerate  everything  they  describe." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Alceste  to  the  Viscount,  '*you  make  me 
desire  to  think  as  you  do  ;  and  even  if  the  sad  truth  were  on 
my  side,  your  error  would  be  preferable."  "Ah,  yes,  without 
doubt,"  replied  M.  de  Laval,  "  ill-humour  is  good  for  nothing, 
the  fine  part  that  it  is,  for  a  man  to  play,  to  fall  into  a  fit  of 
spite  like  a  child  ! — and  why  ?  ¥ov  the  mistakes  of  the 
circle  in  which  one  has  lived,  as  if  the  whole  of  nature  were 
in  the  plot  against  us,  and  responsible  for  the  hurt  we  have 
received." 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  Alceste,  it  would  be  unjust  to  con- 
sider all  men  as  partners  in  fault  ;  yet  how  many  complaints 
may  we  not  justly  lodge  against  tliem,  as  a  body  ?  Believe 
me,  sir,  my  judgment  of  them  has  serious  and  grave  motives. 
You  will  do  me  justice  when  you  know  me.  Permit  me  to 
see  you  often  !  "  0/l5m,"  said  the  Viscount,  will  be  diffi- 
cult. I  have  much  business,  and  my  daughter  and  I  have  our 
studies,  which  leave  us  little  leisure  ;  but  sometimes,  if  you 
will,  let  us  profit  by  our  neighbourhood,  at  our  ease,  and 
without  formality,  for  the  privilege  of  the  country  is  to  be 
alone,  when  we  like." 

Some  days  afterwards  Monsieur  de  Laval  returned  his 
visit,  and  Alceste  spoke  to  him  of  the  pleasure  that  he  doubt- 
less felt  in  making  so  many  people  happy.  "  It  is  a  beautiful 
example,"  he  said,  "  and,  to  the  shame  of  men,  a  very  rare  one. 
How  many  persons  there  are,  more  powerful  and  more  rich 
than  you,  who  are  nothing  but  a  burden  to  their  inferiors  !  " 
"I  neither  excuse  nor  blame  them  altogether,"  replied  M.  do 
Laval.  In  order  to  do  good,  one  must  know  how  to  set 
about  it  ;  and  do  not  think  that  it  is  so  easy  to  effect  our 
purpose.  It  is  not  enough  even  to  be  sagacious  ;  it  is  needful 
also  to  be  fortunate  ;  it  is  necessary  to  find  sensible  and 
docile  persons  to  manage  :     and  one  has  constantly  need  of 

*  Well  said,  Viscount,  .ig.iiii  !  So  few  people  know  the  power  of 
the  third  Fors.  If  I  had  not  chanced  to  give  lessons  in  drawing  to 
Octavia  Hill,  I  could  have  done  nothing  in  Marylebone,  nor  she  either, 
for  a  while  yet,  I  fancy. 

Vol.  II. -13 


178 


FOBS  CLAVIGEHA. 


much  address,  and  patience,  to  lead  the  people,  naturallv 
suspicious  and  timid,  to  what  is  really  for  their  advantage.'' 

Indeed,"  said  Alceste,*^  such  excuses  are  continually  made  ; 
but  have  you  not  conquered  all  these  obstacles  ?  and  why 
should  not  others  conquer  them  ?  "  I,"  said  M.  de  Laval, 
*'have  been  tempted  by  opportunity,  and  seconded  by  acci- 
dent.* The  people  of  this  province,  at  the  time  that  I  came 
into  possession  of  my  estate,  were  in  a  condition  of  extreme 
distress.  I  did  but  stretch  my  arms  to  them  ;  they  gave 
themselves  up  to  me  in  despair.  An  arbitrary  tax  had  been 
lately  imposed  upon  them,  which  they  regarded  with  so 
much  terror  that  they  preferred  sustaining  hardships  to 
making  any  appearance  of  having  wealth  ;  and  I  found,  cur- 
rent through  the  country,  this  desolating  and  destructive 
maxim,  'The  more  we  work,  the  more  we  shall  be  trodden 
down.'  "  (It  is  precisely  so  in  England  to-day,  also.)  "  The 
men  dared  not  he  laborious  *  the  women  trembled  to  have 
children.  I  went  back  to  the  source  of  the  evil.  I  addressed 
myself  to  the  man  appointed  for  the  reception  of  the 
tribute.  '  Monsieur,'  I  said  to  him,  '  my  vassals  groan  under 
the  weight  of  the  severe  measures  necessary  to  make  them 
pay  the  tax.  I  wish  to  hear  no  more  of  them  ;  tell  me 
what  is  wanting  yet  to  make  up  the  payment  for  the  year, 
and  I  will  acquit  the  debt  myself.'  '  Monsieur,'  replied  the 
receiver,  '  that  cannot  be.'  ^  Why  not  ?  '  said  I.  '  Because  it  is 
not  the  rule.'  'What  !  is  it  not  the  rule  to  pay  the  King 
the  tribute  that  he  demands  with  the  least  expense  and  the 
least  delay  possible?'  'Yes,'  answered  he,  'that  would  be 
enough  for  the  King,  but  it  would  not  be  enough  for  me. 
Where  should  I  be  if  they  paid  money  down  ?  It  is  by  the 
expense  of  the  compulsory  measures  that  I  live  ;  they  are 
the  perquisites  of  my  office.'  To  this  excellent  reason  I  had 
nothing  to  reply,  but  I  went  to  see  the  head  of  the  depart- 
ment, and  obtained  from  him  the  place  of  receiver-general 
tor  my  peasants. 

"  '  My  children,*  I  then  said  to  them,  (assembling  them  on 

*  A  lovely,  classic,  unbetterable  sentence  of  Marmontel's,  perfect  in 
wisdom  and  modesty. 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


179 


my  return  home),  'I  have  to  announce  to  you  that  you  are  in 
future  to  deposit  in  my  hands  the  exact  amount  of  the  King's 
tribute,  and  no  more.  There  will  be  no  more  expenses,  no 
more  bailiif's  visits.  Every  Sunday,  at  the  bank  of  the  par- 
ish, your  wives  shall  bring  me  their  savings,  and  insensibly 
you  shall  find  yourselves  out  of  debt.  Work  now.  and  culti- 
vate your  land  ;  make  the  most  of  it  you  can  ;  no  farther 
tax  shall  be  laid  on  you.  jT  answer  for  this  to  you — I  who 
am  your  father.  For  those  who  are  in  arrear,  I  will  take 
some  measures  for  support,  or  I  will  advance  them  the  sum 
necessar}^,*  and  a  few  days  at  the  dead  time  of  the  year,  em- 
ployed in  work  for  me,  will  reimburse  me  for  my  expenses.' 
This  plan  was  agreed  upon,  and  we  have  followed  it  ever 
since.  The  housewives  of  the  villaire  brinor  me  their  little 
offerings  :  I  encourage  them,  and  speak  to  them  of  our  good 
King  ;  and  what  was  an  act  of  distressing  servitude,  has 
become  an  unoppressive  act  of  love. 

"  Finally,  as  there  was  a  good  deal  of  superfluous  time,  I 
established  the  workshop  that  you  have  seen  ;  it  turns  every- 
thing to  account,  and  brings  into  useful  service  time  which 
would  be  lost  between  the  operations  of  agriculture  :  the 
profits  of  it  are  applied  to  public  works.  A  still  more  pre- 
cious advantage  of  this  establishment  is  its  having  greatly 
increased  the  population — more  children  arc  born,  as  there 
is  certainty  of  extended  means  for  their  support." 

Now  note,  first,  in  this  passage  what  material  of  loyalty 
and  affection  there  was  still  in  the  French  heart  before  the 
Revolution  ;  and,  secondly,  how  useless  it  is  to  be  a  good 
King,  if  the  good  King  allows  his  officers  to  live  upon  the 
cost  of  compulsory  measures,  f  And  remember  that  the 
French  Revolution  was  the  revolt  of  absolute  loyalty  and 
love  against  the  senseless  cruelty  of  a    good  King." 

Next,  for  a  little  specimen  of  the  state  of  our  own  work- 
ing population  ;  and  the     compulsory — not  measures,  but 

*  Not  for  a  dividend  upon  it,  I  beg  you  to  observe,  and  even  the  cap* 
ital  to  be  repaid  in  work. 

f  Or,  worse  still,  as  our  public  men  do,  upon  the  cost  of  ?io/i-compul- 
Bory  measures  1 


ISO 


FOES  GLAVIGERA. 


measureless  license,"  under  which  their  loyalty  and  love  are 
placed, — here  is  a  genuine  working  woman's  letter  ;  and  if 
the  reader  thinks  I  liave  given  it  him  in  its  own  spelling  that 
he  may  laugh  at  it,  the  reader  is  wrong. 

"  Wile  Reading  the  herald  to  Day  on  the  subject  on 
shortor  houers  of  Labou^  *  I  was  Reminded  of  A  cercom- 
stanc®  that  came  under  my  hone  notis  when  the  10  hours 
sistom  Beofan  in  the  cotton  mills  in  Lancashire  I  was  Mind- 
inof  a  mesheen  with  30  treds  in  it  I  was  then  maid  to  mind 
2  of  30  treds  each  with  one  shillng  Advance  of  wages  wich 
was  5^  for  one  and  6^  for  tow  with  an  increes  of  speed  and 
with  improved  mecheens  in  A  few  years  I  was  minding  tow 
mecheens  with  tow  100  trads  Each  and  Dubel  speed  for  9^ 
perweek  so  thsft  in  our  improved  condation  we  had  to  turn 
out  some  100  weght  per  day  and  we  went  as  if  the  Devel 
was  After  us  for  10  houers  per  day  and  with  that  compare- 
tive  small  Advance  in  money  and  the  feemals  have  ofton 
Been  carred  out  fainting  what  with  the  heat  and  hard  work 
and  those  that  could  not  keep  up  mst  go  and  make  room 
for  a  nother  and  all  this  is  Done  in  Christian  England  and 
tlien  we  are  tould  to  Be  content  in  the  station  of  Life  in 
wich  the  Lord  as  places  us  But  I  say  the  Lord  never  Did 
place  us  there  so  we  have  no  Right  to  Be  content  o  that 
Right  and  not  might  was  the  Law    yours  truely  C.  H.  S.'* 

Next  to  this  account  of  Machine-labour,  here  is  one  of 
Hand-labour,  also  in  a  genuine  letter, — this  second  being  to 
myself  ;  (I  wish  the  other  had  been  also,  but  it  was  to  one 
of  my  friends.) 

"  Beckenham,  Kent, 

''Sept.  24, 1873. 

"That  is  a  pleasant  evening  in  our  family  when  w^e  read 
and  discuss  the  subjects  of  Fors  Clavigera,  and  we  fre- 
quently reperuse  them,  as  for  instance,  within  a  few  days, 
your  August  letter.  In  page  16  I  was  much  struck  by  the 
notice  of  the  now  exploded  use  of  the  spinning  wheel.  My 
mother,  a  Cumberland  woman,  was  a  spinner,  and  the  whole 

*  These  small  powers  "  of  terminal  letters  in  some  of  the  wordi 
are  very  curious. 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


181 


process,  from  the  fine  thread  that  passed  through  her  notable 
fingers,  and  the  weaving  into  linen  by  an  old  cottager — a 
very  'Silas  Marner,^ — to  the  bleaching  on  the  orchard  grass, 
was  well  known  to  my  sister*  and  myself,  when  children. 

When  I  married,  part  of  the  linen  that  I  took  to  my  new 
home  was  my  mother's  spinning,  and  one  fine  table-cloth  was 
my  grandmother's.  What  factory^  with  its  thousand  spindles, 
and  chemical  bleaching  powders,  can  send  out  sitch  linen  as 
that,  lohich  lasted  tliree  generations  ?  \ 

''I  should  not  have  troubled  you  with  these  remarks,  had 
I  not  at  the  moment  when  I  read  your  paragraph  on  hand- 
spinning,  received  a  letter  from  my  daughter,  now  for  a  time 
resident  in  Coburg  (a  friend  of  Octavia  Hill's),  which  bears 
immediately  on  tlie  subject.  I  have  therefore  ventured  to 
transcribe  it  for  your  perusal,  believing  that  the  picture  she 
draws  from  life,  beautiful  as  it  is  for  its  simplicity,  may 
give  you  a  moment's  pleasure." 

CoBURQ,  Sept.  4,  1873. 

"On  Thursday  I  went  to  call  on  Frau  L. ;  she  was  not  in  ; 
so  I  went  to  lier  mother's,  Frau  E.,  knowing  that  I  should 
find  her  there.  They  were  all  sitting  down  to  afternoon 
coffee,  and  asked  me  to  join  them,  which  I  gladly  did.  I 
had  my  work-basket  with  me,  and  as  they  were  all  at  work, 
it  was  pleasant  to  do  the  same  thing.  Hildigard  was  there  ; 
in  fact  she  lives  there,  to  take  care  of  Frau  E.  since  she  had 
her  fall,  and  stilToned  her  ankle,  a  year  ago.  Hildigard  took 
her  spinning,  and  tied  on  her  white  apron,  filled  the  little 
brass  basin  of  the  spinning-wheel  with  water,  to  wet  her  fin- 
gers, and  set  the  wheel  a-purring.  I  liad  never  seen  the  pro- 
cess before,  and  it  was  very  pretty  to  see  her,  with  her  white 
fingers,  and  to  hear  the  little  low  sound.  It  is  quite  a  pity, 
I  think,  ladies  do  not  do  it  in  England, — it  is  so  pretty,  and 
far  nicer  work  than  crotchet,  and  so  on,  when  it  is  finished. 
This  soft  linen  made  hy  hand  is  so  superior  to  any  tJiat  you 
get  now.  Presently  the  four  children  came  in,  and  the 
great  hunting  dog,  Feldman;  and  altogether  I  thought,  as 
dear  little  Frau  E.  sat  sewing  in  her  arm-chair,  and  her  old 
sister  near  her  at  her  knitting,  and  Hildigard  at  lier  spin- 
ning, while  pretty  Frau  L.  sewed  at  her  little  girl's  stufl- 
skirt, — all  in  the  old-fashioned  room  full  of  old  furniture, 
and  liung  round  with  miniatures  of  still  older  dames  and 

"  A  lady  high  in  the  ranks  of  kindly  English  literature- 
f  Italics  mine,  as  usual. 


182 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


officers,  in,  to  our  eyes,  strange  stiff  costumes,  that  it  was  a 
most  charming  scene,  and  one  I  enjoyed  as  much  as  going 
to  the  theatre, — which  I  did  in  the  evenino^." 

A  most  charming  scene,  my  dear  lady,  I  have  no  doubt; 
just  what  Hengler's  Circus  was,  to  me,  this  Christmas.  Now 
for  a  little  more  of  the  charming  scenery  outside,  and  far 
away. 

"12,  TuNSTALL  Terrace,  Sunderland, 
Uth  Feb,,  1874. 

"My  dear  Sir,- — The  rice  famine  is  down  upon  us  in  ear- 
nest, and  finds  our  wretched  '  administration  '  unprepared — - 
a  ministration  unto  death  ! 

'*It  can  carry  childish  gossip  'by  return  of  post'  into 
every  village  in  India,  but  not  food  ;  no,  not  food  even  for 
mothers  and  babes.  So  far  has  our  scientific  and  industrial 
progress  attained. 

"  To-niofht  comes  news  that  hundreds  of  deaths  from  star- 
vation  have  already  occurred,  and  that  even  high-caste 
women  are  working  on  the  roads  ; — no  food  from  stores  of 
ours  except  at  the  price  of  degrading,  health-destroying, 
and  perfectly  useless  toil.  God  help  the  nation  responsible 
for  this  wickedness  ! 

"  Dear  Mr.  Ruskin,  you  wield  the  most  powerful  pen  in 
England,  can  you  not  shame  us  into  some  sense  of  duty, 
some  semblance  of  human  feeling?  [Certainly  not.  My 
good  sir,  as  far  as  I  know,  nobody  ever  minds  a  word  I  say, 
except  a  few  nice  girls,  who  are  a  great  comfort  to  me,  but 
can't  do  anything.  They  don't  even  know  how  to  spin,  poor 
little  lilies  !] 

"  I  observe  that  the  Daily  News  of  to-day  is  horrified  at 
the  idea  that  Disraeli  should  dream  of  appropriating  any 
part  of  the  surplus  revenue  to  the  help  of  India  in  this 
calamity  [of  course],  and  even  the  Spectator  calls  that  a 
*  dangerous  '  policy.  So  far  is  even  '  the  conscience  of  the 
Press  '  [What  next  ?]  corrupted  by  the  dismal  science. 

"  I  am,  yours  truly." 

So  far  the  third  Fors  has  arranged  matters  for  me  ;  but  I 
must  put  a  stitch  or  two  into  her  work. 

Look  back  to  my  third  letter,  for  March,  1871,  page  31, 
YoM  see  it  is  said  there  that  the  French  war  and  its  issuei 
were  none  of  Napoleon's  doing,  nor  Count  Bismarck's;  thai 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


183 


the  mischief  in  them  was  St.  Louis's  doing  ;  and  the  good, 
such  as  it  was,  the  rough  father  of  Frederick  the  Great's 
doing. 

The  father  of  Frederick  the  Great  was  an  Evangelical 
divine  of  the  strictest  orthodoxy, — very  fond  of  beer,  bacon, 
and  tobacco,  and  entirely  resolved  to  have  his  own  way, 
fcupposing,  as  pure  Evangelical  people  always  do,  that  his 
own  way  was  God's  also.  It  happened,  however,  for  the 
good  of  Germany,  that  this  King's  own  way,  to  a  great 
extent,  was  God's  also, — (we  will  look  at  Carlyle's  state- 
ment of  that  fact  another  day,) — and  accordingly  he  main- 
tained, and  the  ghost  of  him, — with  the  help  of  his  son, 
whom  he  had  like  to  have  shot  as  a  disobedient  and  dis- 
sipated character, — maintains  to  this  day  in  Germany,  such 
sacred  domestic  life  as  that  of  which  vou  have  an  account  in 
the  above  letter.  Which,  in  peace,  is  entirely  happy,  for  its 
own  part  ;  and,  in  war,  irresistible. 

'Entirely  blessed ^  I  had  written  first,  too  carelessly;  I 
have  had  to  scratch  out  the  *  blessed  '  and  put  in  Miappy.' 
For  blessing  is  only  for  the  meek  and  merciful,  and  a 
German  cannot  be  either  ;  he  does  not  understand  even  the 
meaning  of  the  words.  In  that  is  the  intense,  irreconcilable 
difTerence  between  the  French  and  German  natures.  A 
Frenchman  is  selfish  only  when  he  is  vile  and  lustful ;  but 
a  German,  selfish  in  the  purest  states  of  virtue  and  morality. 
A  Frenchman  is  arrotjant  onlv  in  iornorance  ;  but  no 
quantity  of  learning  ever  makes  a  German  modest.  "  Sir," 
says  Albert  Durer  of  his  own  work,  (and  he  is  the  modestest 
German  I  know,)  ''\t  cannot  be  better  done."  Luther  se- 
renely damns  the  entire  gospel  of  St.  James,  because  St. 
James  happens  to  be  not  precisely  of  his  own  opinions. 

Accordingly,  when  the  Germans  get  command  of  Lom 
bardy,  they  bombard  Venice,  steal  her  pictures,  (which  they 
can't  understand  a  single  touch  of,)  and  entirely  ruin  the 
country,  morally  and  physically,  leaving  behind  them  misery, 
vice,  and  intense  hatred  of  themselves,  wherever  their  ac- 
cursed feet  have  trodden.  They  do  precisely  the  same  thing 
by  France, — crush  her,  rob  her,  leave  her  in  misery  of  rage 


184 


F0R8  CLAVIGEBA. 


and  shame  ;  and  return  home,  smacking  their  lips,  and  singi 
ing  Te  Deums. 

But  when  the  French  conquer  England,  their  action  upon 
it  is  entirely  beneficent.  Gradually,  the  country,  from  a  nest 
of  restless  savages,  becomes  strong  and  glorious  ;  and  having 
good  material  to  work  upon,  they  make  of  us  at  last  a  nation 
stronger  than  themselves. 

Then  the  strength  of  France  perishes,  virtually,  through 
the  folly  of  St.  Louis  ; — her  piety  evaporates,  her  lust  gathers 
infectious  power,  and  the  modern  Cite  rises  round  the  Sainta 
Chapelle. 

It  is  a  woful  history.  But  St.  Louis  does  not  perish  self- 
ishly ;  and  perhaps  is  not  wholly  dead  yet, — whatever  Gari- 
baldi and  his  red-jackets  may  think  about  him,  and  their 
'  Holy  Republic' 

Meantime  Germany,  through  Geneva,  works  quaintly 
against  France,  in  our  British  destiny,  and  makes  an  end  of 
many  a  Sainte  Chapelle,  in  our  own  sweet  river  islands.  Read 
Fronde's  sketch  of  the  Influence  of  the  Reformation  on  Scot- 
tish Character,  in  his  Short  Studies  on  Great  Subjects,  And 
that  would  be  enough  for  you  to  think  of,  this  month  ;  but  as 
this  letter  is  all  made  up  of  scraps,  it  may  be  as  well  to  finish 
with  this  little  pri  vate  note  on  Luther's  people,  made  last  week, 

4:th  March^  1874. — I  have  been  horribly  plagued  and  mis- 
guided by  evangelical  people,  all  my  life  ;  and  most  of  all 
lately  ;  but  my  mother  was  one,  and  my  Scptch  aunt  ;  and  I 
have  yet  so  much  of  the  superstition  left  in  me,  that  I  can't 
help  sometimes  doing  as  evangelical  people  wish, — for  all  I 
know  it  comes  to  nothing. 

One  of  them,  for  whom  I  still  have  some  old  liking  left, 
sent  me  one  of  their  horrible  sausage-books  the  other  day, 
made  of  chopped-up  Bible  ;  but  with  such  a  solemn  and 
really  pathetic  adjuration  to  read  a  '  text '  every  morning, 
that,  merely  for  old  acquaintance'  sake,  I  couldn't  refuse.  It 
is  all  one  to  me,  now,  v/hether  I  read  my  Bible,  or  my  Homer, 
at  one  leaf  or  another  ;  only  I  take  the  liberty,  pace  my 
evangelical  friend,  of  looking  up  the  contexts  if  I  happen  not 
to  know  them. 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


185 


Now  I  was  very  much  beaten  and  overtired  yesterday, 
chiefly  owing  to  a  week  of  black  fog,  spent  in  looking  over 
the  work  of  days  and  people  long  since  dead  ;  and  my  *  text' 
this  morning  was,  Deal  courageously,  and  the  Lord  do  that 
which  seemeth  Him  good."  It  sounds  a  very  saintly,  submis- 
sive, and  useful  piece  of  advice  ;  but  I  was  not  quite  sure 
who  gave  it  ;  and  it  was  evidently  desirable  to  ascertain  that. 

For,  indeed,  it  chances  to  be  given,  not  by  a  saint  at  all, 
but  by  quite  one  of  the  most  self-willed  people  on  record  in 
any  history, — about  the  last  in  the  world  to  let  the  Lord  do 
that  which  seemed  Ilim  good,  if  he  could  help  it,  unless  it 
seemed  just  as  good  to  himself  also, — Joab  the  son  of  Zeruiah. 
The  son,  to  wit,  of  David's  eldest  sister ;  who,  finding  that  it 
seemed  good  to  the  Lord  to  advance  the  son  of  David's 
younger  sister  to  a  place  of  equal  power  with  himself,  un- 
hesitatingly smites  his  thriving  young  cousin  under  tiie  fiftii 
rib,  while  pretending  to  kiss  him,  and  leaves  him  wallowing 
in  blood  in  the  midst  of  the  highway.  But  we  have  no  record 
of  the  pious  or  resigned  expressions,  he  made  use  of  on  that 
occasion.  We  have  no  record,  either,  of  several  other  matters 
one  would  have  liked  to  know  about  these  people.  How  it  is, 
for  instance,  that  David  has  to  make  a  brother  of  Saul's 
son  ; — getting,  as  it  seems,  no  brotherly  kindness — nor,  more 
wonderful  yet,  sisterly  kindness — at  his  own  fireside.  It  is 
like  a  German  story  of  the  seventii  son — or  the  seventh 
bullet — as  far  as  the  brothers  are  concerned  ;  but  these 
sisters,  had  they  also  no  love  for  their  brave  young  shepherd 
brother?  Did  they  receive  no  countenance  from  him  when  he 
was  king?  Even  for  Zeruiah's  sake,  might  he  not  on  his 
death-bed  have  at  least  allowed  the  Lord  to  do  what  seemed 
Him  good  with  Zeruiah's  son,  who  had  so  well  served  him  in 
his  battles,  (and  so  quietly  in  the  matter  of  Bathsheba,)  in- 
stead of  charging  the  wisdom  of  Solomon  to  fmd  some  subtle 
way  of  preventing  his  hoar  head  from  going  down  to  the 
grave  in  peace?  My  evangelical  friend  will  of  course  desire 
me  not  to  wish  to  be  wise  above  that  which  is  written.  I  am 
not  to  ask  even  who  Zeruiah's  husband  was  ? — nor  whether, 
in  the  West-end  sense,  he  was  her  husband  at  all? — Well  ; 


186 


FORS  CLA  VIGERA. 


but  if  I  only  want  to  be  wise  up  to  the  meaning  of  what  is 
written  ?  I  find,  indeed,  nothing  whatever  said  of  David's 
elder  sister's  lover  ; — but,  of  his  younger  sister's  lover,  I  find 
it  written  in  this  evangelical  Book-Idol,  in  one  place,  that  his 
name  was  Ithra,  an  Israelite,  and  in  another  that  it  was 
Jether,  the  Ishmaelite.  Ithra  or  Jether,  is  no  matter  ;  Israelite 
or  Ishmaelite,  perhaps  matters  not  much  ;  but  it  matters  a 
great  deal  that  you  should  know  that  this  is  an  ill  written, 
and  worse  trans-written,  human  history,  and  not  by  any 
means  'Word  of  God';  and  that  whatever  issues  of  life, 
divine  or  human,  there  may  be  in  it,  for  you,  can  only  be  got 
by  searching  it  ;  and  not  by  chopping  it  up  into  small  bits 
and  swallowing  it  like  pills.  What  a  trouble  there  is,  for  in- 
stance, just  now,  in  all  manner  of  people's  minds,  about  Sun- 
day keeping,  just  because  these  evangelical  people  i^i7/ swal- 
low their  bits  of  texts  in  an  entirely  indigestible  manner, 
without  chewing  them.  Read  3^our  Bibles  honestly  and  ut- 
terly, my  scrupulous  friends,  and  stand  by  the  consequences, 
— if  you  have  what  true  men  call  '  faith.'  In  the  first  place, 
determine  clearly,  if  there  is  a  clear  place  in  your  brains  to  do 
it,  whether  you  mean  to  observe  the  Sabbath  as  a  Jew,  or 
the  day  of  the  Resurrection,  as  a  Christian.  Do  either  thor- 
oughly ;  you  can't  do  both.  If  you  choose  to  keep  the  '  Sab- 
bath,' in  defiance  of  your  great  prophet,  St.  Paul,  keep  the 
new  moons  too,  and  the  other  fasts  and  feasts  of  the  Jewish 
law  ;  but  even  so,  remember  that  the  Son  of  Man  is  Lord  of 
the  Sabbath  also,  and  that  not  only  it  is  lawful  to  do  good 
upon  it,  but  unlawful,  in  the  strength  of  what  you  call  keep- 
ing one  day  Holy,  to  do  Evil  on  other  six  days,  and  make 
those  unholy  ;  and,  finally,  that  neither  new-moon  keeping, 
nor  Sabbath  keeping,  nor  fasting,  nor  praying,  will  in  anywise 
help  an  evangelical  city  like  Edinburgh  to  stand  in  the  judg- 
ment higher  than  Gomorrah,  while  her  week-day  arrange- 
ments for  rent  from  her  lower  orders  are  as  follows  :  * — 

*  Notes  on  Old  Edinburgh  :  Edmonston  and  Douglas,  1869.  Things 
may  possibly  have  mended  in  some  respects  in  the  last  five  years,  but 
they  have  assuredly,  in  the  country  villages,  got  tenfold  worsen 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


187 


"  We  entered  the  first  room  by  descending  two  steps.  It 
seemed  to  be  an  old  coal-ceilar,  with  an  earthen  floor,  shining 
in  many  places  from  damp,  and  from  a  greenish  ooze  which 
drained  through  the  wall  from  a  noxious  collection  of  garbage 
outside,  upon  which  a  small  window  could  have  looked  had 
it  not  have  been  filled  up  with  brown  paper  and  rags.  There 
was  no  grate,  but  a  small  fire  smouldered  on  the  floor,  sur- 
rounded by  heaps  of  ashes.  The  roof  ^vas  unceiled,  the  walls 
were  rougli  and  broken,  the  only  light  came  in  from  the  open 
door,  which  let  in  unwholesome  smells  and  sounds.  No  cow 
or  horse  could  thrive  in  such  a  hole.  It  was  abominable.  It 
measured  eleven  feet  by  six  feet,  and  the  rent  was  10^/.  per 
week,  paid  in  advance.  It  was  nearly  dark  at  noon,  even 
with  the  door  open  ;  but  as  my  eyes  became  accustomed  to 
the  dimness,  I  saw  that  the  plenishings  consisted  of  an  old 
bed,  a  barrel  wuth  a  flagstone  on  the  top  of  it  for  a  table,  a 
three-legged  stool,  and  an  iron  pot.  A  very  ragged  girl, 
sorely  afflicted  with  ophthalmia,  stood  aniong  the  ashes  doing 
nothiniif.  She  had  never  been  inside  a  school  or  church. 
She  did  not  know  how  to  do  anything,  but  *did  for  her  fa- 
ther and  brother.'  On  a  heap  of  straw,  partly  covered  with 
sacking,  which  was  the  bed  in  which  father,  son,  and  daugh- 
ter slept,  the  brother,  ill  with  rheumatism  and  sore  legs,  was 
lying  moaning  from  under  a  heap  of  filthy  rags.  He  had 
been  a  baker  *  over  in  the  New  Town,'  but  seemed  not  very 
likely  to  recover.  It  looked  as  if  the  sick  man  had  crept 
into  his  dark,  damp  lair,  just  to  die  of  ho|)elessness.  The 
father  was  past  work,  but  'sometimes  got  an  odd  job  to  do.' 
The  sick  man  had  supported  the  three.  It  was  hard  to  be 
godly,  impossible  to  be  cleanly,  impossible  to  be  healthy  in 
such  circumstances. 

"The  next  room  was  entered  by  a  low,  dark,  impeded 
passage  about  twelve  feet  long,  too  filthy  to  be  traversed 
without  a  light.  At  the  extremit}''  of  tliis  was  a  dark  wind- 
ing stair  which  led  up  to  four  superincumbent  stories  of 
crowded  subdivided  rooms  ;  and  beyond  this,  to  the  right,  a 
pitch-dark  passage  with  a  '  room  '  on  either  side.  It  was  not 
possible  to  believe  that  the  most  grinding  greed  could  ex- 
tort money  from  human  beings  for  the  tenancy  of  such  dens 
as  those  to  which  this  passage  led.  They  were  lairs  into 
which  a  starving  dog  might  creep  to  die,  but  nothing  more. 
Opening  a  dilapidated  door,  w^e  found  ourselves  in  a  recess 
nearly  six  feet  high,  and  nine  feet  in  length  by  five  in  breadth. 
It  was  not  absolutely  dark,  yet  matches  aided  our  investiga- 


188 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


tions  even  at  noonday.  There  was  an  earthen  floor  full  of 
holes,  in  some  of  which  water  had  collected.  The  walls  were 
black  and  rotten,  and  alive  with  woodlice.  There  was  no 
grate.  The  rent  paid  for  this  evil  den,  which  was  only  ven- 
tilated by  the  chimney,  is  Is.  per  week,  or  £2  12s.  annually! 
The  occupier  was  a  mason's  labourer,  with  a  wife  and  three 
children.  He  had  come  to  Edinburgh  in  search  of  work,  and 
could  not  afford  a*  higher  rent.'  The  wife  said  that  her 
husband  took  the  ^  wee  drap.'  So  would  the  President  of 
the  Temperance  League  himself  if  he  were  hidden  away  in 
such  a  hole.  The  contents  of  this  lair  on  our  first  visit  were 
a  great  heap  of  ashes  and  other  refuse  in  one  corner,  some 
damp  musty  straw  in  another,  a  broken  box  in  the  third,  with 
a  battered  tin  pannikin  upon  it,  and  nothing  else  of  any  kind, 
saving  two  small  children,  nearly  nude,  covered  with  running 
sores,  and  pitiable  from  some  eye  disease.  Their  hair  was 
not  long,  but  felted  into  wisps,  and  alive  with  vermin.  When 
we  went  in  they  were  sitting  among  the  ashes  of  an  extinct 
fire,  and  blinked  at  the  light  from  our  matches.  Here  a 
neighbour  said  they  sat  all  day,  unless  their  mother  was 
merciful  enough  to  turn  them  into  the  gutter.  We  were 
there  at  eleven  the  following  night,  and  found  the  mother,  a 
decent,  tidy  body,  at  ^  hame,^  There  was  a  small  fire  then, 
but  no  other  light.  She  complained  of  little  besides  the 
darkness  of  the  house,  and  said,  in  a  tone  of  dull  discontent, 
she  supposed  it  was  ^as  good  as  such  as  they  could  expect  in 
Edinburgh.' " 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


189 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


To  M¥^reai  satisfaction,  I  am  asked  by  a  pleasant  correspondent, 
where  and*  what  the  picture  of  the  Princess's  Dream  is.  High  up,  in  an 
out-of-the-way  comer  of  the  Academy  of  Venice,  seen  by  no  man — nor 
woman  neither, — of  rll  pictures  in  Europe  the  one  I  should  choose  for 
a  gift,  if  a  fairy  queen  gave  me  choice, — Victor  Carpaccio's  *^  Vision  of 
St.  Ursula.'* 

The  following  letter,  from  the  Standard^  is  worth  preserving : — 

Sir, — For  some  time  past  the  destruction  of  tons  of  young  fry — viz., 
salmon,  tijrbot,  trout,  sjles,  cod,  whiting,  etc., — in  fact,  every  fish 
that  is  to  be  found  in  the  Thames, — has  been  enormous.  I  beg 
leave  to  say  that  it  is  now  worse  than  ever,  inasmuch  as  larger  nets, 
and  an  increased  number  of  them,  are  used,  and  the  trade  h;is  com- 
menced a  month  earlier  than  usual,  from  the  peculiarity  of  tho 
eeason. 

At  this  time  there  are,  at  one  part  of  the  river,  four  or  five  vessels  at 
work,  which  in  one  tide  catch  three  tons  of  fry ;  this  is  sifted  and 
picked  over  by  hand,  and  about  three  per  cent,  of  fry  is  all  that  oan  be 
picked  out  small  enough  for  the  London  market.  The  remainder  of 
course  dies  during  the  process,  and  is  thrown  overboard  I  Does  the 
London  consumer  realize  the  fact  that  at  least  thirty  tons  a  week  of 
young  fry  arc  thus  sacrificed  V  Do  Londoners  know  tliat  under  the 
name  of  whitebait "  tliey  cat  a  mixture  lanifely  composed  of  sprat  fry, 
a  fish  which  at  Christmas  cost  0./.  a  bushel,  but  which  now  fetches  a 
quart,  which  is  4^.  a  bushel  ?  (Price  regulated  by  Demand  and 
Supply,  you  observe  ! — J.  R. )  It  is  bad  enough  that  so  many  young 
salmon  and  trout  arc  trapped  and  utterly  wasted  in  these  nets ;  but  is 
it  fair  towards  the  public  thus  to  diminish  their  supply  of  useful  and 
cheap  food  ? 

Mr.  Fr.mk  Buckland  would  faint,  were  he  to  see  the  wholesale  dc 
struction  of  young  fry  ofF  Southend  (on  one  fishing-ground  only).  I 
may  truly  say  that  the  fishermen  themselves  are  ashamed  of  the  havoo 
they  are  making — well  they  may  be;  but  who  is  to  blame? 

I  have  the  honour  to  be,  etc. , 

Feb.  23.  PiscicuLUS. 

The  following  note,  written  long  before  the  last  Foi\^  on  fish,  bears 
on  some  of  the  same  matters,  and  may  as  well  find  place  now.  Of  the 
Bishop  to  whom  it  allude.-=;,  I  have  also  something  to  say  in  next,  or 
next,  Fors.    The  note  itself  refers  to  what  I  said  about  the  defence  of 


190 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


Pope,  who,  like  all  other  gracious  men,  had  grave  faults ;  and  who^ 
like  all  other  wise  meQ,  is  intensely  obnoxious  to  evangelical  divines. 
I  don't  know  what  school  of  divines  Mr.  Elv/yn  belongs  to  ;  nor  did  I 
know  his  name  when  I  wrote  the  note  :  I  have  been  surprised,  since, 
to  see  how  good  his  work  is  ;  he  writes  with  the  precise  pomposity  of 
Macaulay,  and  in  those  worst  and  fatallest  forms  of  fallacy  which  ara 
true  as  far  as  the}^  reach. 

*^  There  is  an  unhappy  wretch  of  a  clergyman  I  read  of  in  the  papers 
— spending  his  life  industriously  in  showing  the  meanness  of  Alexander 
Pope — and  how  Alexander  Pope  cringed,  and  lied.  He  cringed — yes — 
to  his  friends  ; — nor  is  any  man  good  for  much  who  will  noc  play 
spaniel  to  his  friend,  or  his  mistress,  on  occasion  ; — to  how  many  more 
than  their  friends  do  average  clergymen  cringe  ?  1  have  had  a  Bishop 
go  round  the  Royal  Academy  even  with  me^ — pretending  he  liked  paint- 
ing, when  he  was  eternally  incapable  of  knowing  anything  whatever 
about  it.  Pope  lied  also — alas,  yes,  for  his  vanity's  sake.  Very  woful. 
But  he  did  not  pass  the  whole  of  his  life  in  trying  to  anticipate,  or  ap- 
propriate, or  efface,  other  people's  discoveries,  as  your  modern  men 
of  science  do  so  often;  and  for  lying — any  average  partizan  of  religious 
dogma  tells  more  lies  in  his  pulpit  in  defence  of  what  in  his  heart  he 
knows  to  be  indefensible,  on  any  given  Sunday,  than  Pope  *did  in  his 
whole  life.  Nay,  how  often  is  your  clergyman  himself  nothing  but  a 
lie  rampant — in  the  true  old  sense  of  the  word, — creeping  up  into  his  pul- 
pit pretending  that  he  is  there  as, a  messenger  of  God,  when  he  really 
took  the  place  that  he  might  be  able  to  marry  a  pretty  girl,  and  live 
like  a  *  gentleman'  as  he  thinks.  Alas  !  how  infinitely  more  of  a  gen- 
tleman if  he  would  but  hold  his  foolish  tongue,  and  get  a  living  hon- 
estly— by  street-sweeping,  or  any  other  useful  occupation — instead  of 
sweeping  the  dust  of  his  own  thoughts  into  people's  eyes — as  this 
'  biographer.'  *' 

I  shall  have  a  good  deal  to  say  about  human  madness,  in  the  course 
ot  Fors ;  the  following  letter,  concerning  the  much  less  mischievous 
rabies  of  Dogs,  is,  however,  also  valuaV^Ie,  Note  especially  its  closing 
paragraph.  I  omit  a  sentence  here  and  there  which  seem  to  me 
unnecessary. 

"  On  the  7th  June  last  there  appeared  in  the  Macclesfleld  Ouardian 
newspaper  a  letter  on  Rabies  and  the  muzzling  and  confining  of  Dogs, 
signed  '  Beth-Gelert. '  That  communication  contained  several  facts 
and  opinions  relating  to  the  disease ;  the  possible  causes  of  the  same  • 
and  the  uselessness  and  cruelty  of  muzzling  and  confinement  as  a  pre- 
ventive to  it.  The  first-named  unnatural  practice  has  been  condemned 
(as  was  there  shown)  by  no  less  authority  than  the  leading  medical  jour- 
nal of  England, — which  has  termed  muzzling  *  a  great  practical  mistake, 
and  one  lohich  cannot  fail  to  have  an  injurious  effect  hoik  upon  the  health 
and  temper  of  dogs  ;  for,  although  rabies  is  a  dreadful  thing ^  dogs  ought 
7iotj  any  more  than  men^  to  be  constantly  treated  as  creatures  likely  to  go 
mad.'' 

This  information  and  judgment,  however^  seem  insufficient  to  con- 


FOBS  GLAVIOEBA. 


191 


vinoe  some  minds,  even  although  they  have  no  observations  or  argu- 
ments to  urge  in  opposition.  It  may  be  useful  to  the  i)ublic  to  bring 
forward  an  opinion  on  the  merits  of  that  letter  expressed  by  the  late 
Thomas  Turner,  of  Manchester,  who  was  not  only  a  member  of  the 
Coancil,  but  one  of  the  ablest  and  most  experienced  surgeons  in  Eu- 
rope. The  words  of  so  eminent  a  professional  man  cannot  but  be  con- 
sidered valuable,  and  must  have  weight  with  the  sensible  and  sincere  ; 
though  on  men  of  an  opposite  character  all  evidence,  all  reason,  is  too 
often  utterly  cast  away. 

"  '  MosLEY  Street,  June  8,  I8T0. 

'^*Dear  , — Thanks  for  your  sensible  letter.    It  contains  great 

and  kind  truths,  and  such  as  humanity  should  applaud.  On  the  subject 
you  write  about  there  is  a  large  amount  of  ignorance  both  in  and  out  of 
the  profession. 

*  Ever  yours, 

"  *  Thomas  Turner.* 

*'In  addition  to  the  foregoing  statement  of  the  founder  of  the  Man- 
chester Royal  School  of  Medicine  and  Surgery,  the  opinion  shall  now 
be  given  of  one  of  the  best  veterinarians  in  London,  who,  writing  on  the 
above  letter  in  the  Alacde-'^Jield  Gunrdiariy — observed,  *  With  regard  to 
your  paper  on  muzzling  dogs,  I  feel  certain  from  observation  that  the  re- 
9traint  put  upon  them  by  the  muzzle  is  prodiMcticeof  evil^  and  has  a  ten- 
dency to  cause  Jits^  etc.^ 

Kabies,  originally  spontaneous,  was  probably  created,  like  many 
other  evils  which  alllict  humanity,  by  the  viciousness,  ignorance,  and 
selfishness  of  man  himself.  '  Man^s  inharaanity  to  man  makes  count- 
less thousands  mourn, ^ — wrote  the  great  peasant  and  national  poet  of 
Scotland.  He  would  have  littered  even  a  wider  and  more  embracing 
truth  had  he  said,  man's  inhumanity  to  his  fellow-creatures  makes 
countless  millions  mourn.  Rabies  is  most  prevalent  amongst  the 
breeds  of  dogs  bred  and  maintained  for  the  atrocious  sports  of  *  the 
pit ; '  they  are  likewise  the  most  dangerous  when  victims  to  that  dread- 
ful malady.  Moreover,  dogs  kept  to  worry  other  animals  are  also 
among  those  most  liable  to  the  disease,  and  the  most  to  be  feared  when 
mad.  But,  on  tlie  other  hand,  dogs  who  live  as  the  friends  and  com- 
panions ot*  men  of  true  humanity,  an-l  never  exposed  to  annoyance  or 
ill-treatment,  remain  gentle  and  affectionate  even  imder  the  excruciat- 
ing agonies  of  this  dire  disease.  Delabere  Blaine,  first  an  army  sur- 
geon and  subsequently  the  greatest  veterinarian  of  this  or  probably  of 
any  other  nation,  tells  ns  in  his  Canine  Pathology, — 

*  It  will  sensibly  affect  any  one  to  witness  the  earnest,  imploring 
look  I  have  often  seen  from  the  unhappy  sufferers  under  this  dreadful 
malady.  The  strongest  attachment  has  been  manifested  to  those  around 
during  their  utmost  sufferings ;  and  the  parched  tongue  has  been  catTied 
over  the  hands  and  feet  of  those  who  noticed  them,  with  more  than 
usual  fondness.  This  disposition  has  continued  to  the  last  moment  of 
life, — in  many  cases,  without  one  manifestation  of  any  inclination  to 
bite,  or  to  do  the  smallest  harm.' 

Here  is  another  instance  of  *  with  whatsoever  measure  ye  mete,  it 
shall  be  measured  to  you  again.'  The  cruelty  of  man.  :ih  it  ever  does, 
recoils,  like  a  viper,  ultimately  on  man.    He  who  invests  in  the  Bank 


192 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA, 


of  Vice  receives  back  his  capital  with  compound  interest  at  a  high  rate 
and  to  the  uttermost  farthing. 

*^  When  a  mad  dog  bites  many  people,  'he  sometimes  quits  scores  for 
a  long,  loag  arrear  of  brutalities,  insults,  and  oppression  inflicted  upon 
him  by  the  baser  portion  of  mankind : — the  hard  blow,  the  savage  kick, 
the  loud  curse,  the  vile  annoyance,  the  insulting  word,  the  starving  meal, 
the  carrion  food,  the  shortened  chain,  the  rotten  straw,  the  dirty  kennel 
(appropriate  name),  the  bitter  winter's  night,  the  parching  heat  of  sum- 
mer, the  dull  and  dreary  years  of  hopeless  imprisonment,  the  thousand 
aches  which  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes,  are  represented,  cul- 
minate there  ;  and  the  cup  man  has  poisoned,  man  is  forced  to  drink. 

"  All  these  miseries  are  often,  too  often,  the  lob  of  this  most  affec- 
^;ionate  creature,  who  has  truly  been  called  '  our  faithful  friend,  gallant 
t^rotector,  and  useful  servant.' 

*'  No  muzzling,  murder,  or  incarceration  tyrannically  inflicted  on  this 
much-enduring,  mucn-insulted  slave  by  his  master,  will  ever  extirpate 
rabies.  No  abuse  of  the  wondrous  creature  beneficently  bestowed  by 
the  Omniscient  and  Almighty  on  ungrateful  man,  to  be  the  friend  of  the 
^oor  and  the  guardian  of  the  rich,  will  ever  extirpate  rabies.  Mercy 
and  justice  would  help  us  much  more. 

In  many  lands  the  disease  is  utterly  unknown.  In  the  land  of 
Egypt,  for  example,  where  dogs  swarm  in  all  the  towns  and  villages. 
Yet  the  follower  of  Mohammed,  more  humane  than  the  follower  of 
Christ, — to  our  shame  be  it  spoken, — neither  imprisons,  muzzles,  nor 
murders  them.  England,  it  is  believed,  never  passed  such  an  Act  of 
Parliament  as  this  before  the  present  century.  There  is,  certainly,  in 
the  laws  of  Canute  a  punishment  awarded  to  the  man  whose  dog  went 
mad,  and  by  his  negligence  wandered  up  and  dov/n  the  country.  A  far 
more  sensible  measure  than  our  own.  Canute  punished  the  man^  not 
the  dog.  Also,  in  Edward  the  Third's  reign,  all  owners  of  fighting  dogs 
Vv^hose  dogs  were  found  wandering  about  the  streets  of  London  were 
fined.  Very  different  species  of  legislation  from  the  brainless  or  brutal 
;Oog's  Act  of  1871,  passed  by  a  nuraber  of  men,  not  one  of  whom  it  is 
probable  either  knew  or  cared  to  know  anything  of  the  nature  of  the 
creature  they  legislated  about ;  not  even  that  he  perspires,  not  by  means 
of  his  skin,  but  performs  this  vital  function  by  means  of  his  tongue,  and 
that  to  muzzle  7um  is  tantamount  to  coating  the  skin  of  a  man  all  over 
with  paint  or  gutta-percha.  Such  selfishness  and  cruelty  in  this  age 
appears  to  give  evidence  towards  proof  of  the  assertion  made  b}^  our 
greatest  writer  on  Art, — that  *  we  are  now  getting  cruel  in  our  avarice,* 
— *  our  hearts,  of  iron  and  clay,  have  hurled  the  Bible  in  the  face  of  our 
God,  and  fallen  down  to  grovel  before  Mammon.' — If  not,  how  is  it  that 
we  can  so  abuse  one  of  the  Supreme 's  most  choicest  works, — a  creature 
sent  to  be  man's  friend,  and  whose  devotion  so  often  *  puts  to  shame  ail 
human  attachments  ?  ' 

We  are  reaping  what  we  have  sown :  Rabies  certainly  seems  on  the 
increase  in  this  district,  — in  whose  neighbourhood,  it  is  stated,  muzzlinjf 
was  first  practised.  It  may  spread  more  widely  if  we  force  a  crop.  The 
best  way  to  check  it,  is  to  do  our  duty  to  the  noble  creature  the  Almighty 
has  entrusted  to  us,  and  treat  him  with  the  humanity  and  affection  he 
so  eminently  deserves.  To  deprive  him  of  liberty  and  exercise  ;  to  chain 
him  like  a  felon  ;  to  debar  him  from  access  to  his  natural  medicine  ;  to 
prevent  him  from  following  the  overpoweringf  instincts  of  his  being  and 
the  laws  of  Nature,  is  conduct  revolting  to  reason  and  rehgion. 


F0R8  CLAVIGEEA. 


193 


*'The  disease  of  Rabies  comes  on  by  degrees,  not  suddenly.  Its 
Bymptoms  can  easily  be  read.  Were  knowledge  more  diffused,  people 
would  know  the  approach  of  the  malady,  and  take  timely  precautions. 
To  do  as  we  now  do, — namely,  drive  the  unhappy  creatures  insane,  into 
an  agonizing  sickness  by  sheer  ignorance  or  inhumanity,  and  then,  be- 
cause one  is  ill,  tie  up  the  mouths  of  the  healthy,  and  unnaturally 
restrain  all  the  rest,  is  ib  not  the  conduct  of  idiots  rather  than  of  reason- 
able beings  ? 

Why  all  this  hubbub  about  a  disease  which  causes  less  loss  of  life 
than  almost  any  other  complaiDt  known,  and  whose  fatal  effects  can,  in 
almost  every  case,  be  surely  and  certainly  prevented  by  ii  surgeon  V  If 
our  lawgivers  and  lawmakers  (who,  by  the  way,  although  the  House  of 
Commons  is  crowded  with  lawyers,  do  not  in  these  times  draw  Acts  of 
Parliament  so  that  they  can  be  comprehended,  without  the  heavy  cost 
of  going  to  a  superior  court,)  wish  to  save  human  life,  let  them  educate 
the  hearts  as  well  as  heads  of  Englishmen,  and  give  more  attention  to 
boiler  and  colliery  explosions,  railway  smashes,  and  rotten  ships  ;  to  the 
overcrowding  and  misery  of  the  poor ;  to  tbe  adulteration  of  food  and 
medicines.  Also,  to  dirt,  municipal  stupidity,  and  neglect ;  by  which 
one  city  alone,  Manchester,  loses  annually  above  three  thousand  lives. 

I  am,  your  humble  servant, 

Beth-Gkleht." 


Vol.  11—13 


194 


FOES  OLAVTOEUA. 


LETTER  XLI. 

Paris,  \st  April,  1874. 

I  FIND  there  are  still  primroses  in  Kent,  and  that  it  is  pos- 
sible still  to  see  blue  sky  in  London  in  the  early  nioriiiiig. 
It  was  entirely  pure  as  1  drove  down  past  my  old  Denmark 
Hill  gate,  bound  for  Cannon  Street  Station,  on  Monda}^ 
morning  last  ;  gate,  closed  now  on  me  for  evermore,  iliac 
used  to  open  gladly  enough  when  I  .came  back  to  it  from 
work  in  Italy.  Nov7,  father  and  mother  and  nurse  all  dead, 
and  the  roses  of  the  spring,  prime  or  late — what  are  they  to 
me? 

But  I  want  to  know,  rather,  what  they  are  to  you?  What 
have  you^  workers  in  England,  to  do  with  April,  or  May,  or 
June  either;  your  mill-wheels  go  no  faster  for  the  sunshine, 
do  they?  and  you  can't  get  more  smoke  up  the  chimneys 
because  more  sap  goes  up  the  trunks.  Do  you  so  much  as 
know  or  care  who  May  was,  or  her  son.  Shepherd  of  the 
heathen  souls,  so  despised  of  you  Christians  ?  Nevertheless, 
I  have  a  word  or  two  to  say  to  you  in  the  light  of  the  haw- 
thorn blossom,  only  you  must  read  some  rougher  ones  first. 
I  have  printed  the  June  Fors  together  with  this,  because  I 
want  you  to  read  the  June  one  first,  only  the  substance  of  it 
is  not  good  for  the  May-time  ;  but  read  it,  and  when  you 
get  to  near  the  end,  where  it  speaks  of  the  distinctions  be- 
tween the  sins  of  the  hot  heart  and  the  cold,  come  back  to 
this,  for  I  want  you  to  think  in  the  flush  of  May  what 
strength  is  in  the  flush  of  the  heart  also.  You  will  find  that 
in  all  my  late  books  (during  the  last  ten  years)  I  have 
summed  the  needful  virtue  of  men  under  the  terms  of  gen- 
tleness and  justice  ;  gentleness  being  the  virtue  which  dis- 
tinguishes gentlemen  from  churls,  and  justice  that  which 
distinguishes  honest  men  from  rogues.  Now  gentleness 
may  be  defined  as  the  Habit  or  State  of  Love  ;  the  Red 


FOliS  CLAVIGERA, 


195 


Carita  of  Giotto  (see  account  of  her  in  Letter  VII)  ;  and 
ungentleness  or  clownishness,  the  opposite  State  or  Habit 
of  Lust. 

Now  there  are  three  great  loves  that  rule  the  souls  of  men  : 
the  love  of  wliat  is  lovely  in  creatures,  and  of  what  is  lovely 
in  things,  and  wliat  is  lovely  in  report.  And  these  three 
loves  have  each  their  relative  corruption,  a  lust — the  lust  of 
the  flesh,  the  lust  of  the  eyes,  and  the  pride  of  life. 

And,  as  I  have  just  said,  a  gentleman  is  distinguished 
from  a  churl  by  the  purity  of  sentiment  he  can  reach  in  all 
these  three  passions  :  by  his  imaginative  love,  as  opposed  to 
lust  ;  his  imaginative  possession  of  wealth  as  opposed  to 
avarice  ;  his  imaginative  desire  of  honour  as  opposed  to 
pride. 

And  it  is  quite  possible  for  the  simplest  workman  or 
labourer  for  whom  I  write  to  understand  what  the  feelinofs 
of  a  gentleman  are,  and  share  tliem,  if  he  will  ;  hut  the 
crisis  and  horror  of  this  present  time  are  that  its  desire  of 
money,  and  the  fulness  of  luxury  dishonestly  attainable  by 
common  persons,  are  gradually  making  churls  of  all  men  ; 
and  the  nobler  passions  are  not  merely  disbelieved,  but  even 
the  conception  of  thom  seems  ludicrous  to  the  impotent  churl 
mind  ;  so  that,  to  take  only  so  poor  an  instance  of  them  as 
my  own  life — because  I  have  passed  it  in  almsgiving,  not  in 
fortune  hunting  ;  because  I  have  laboured  always  for  the 
honour  of  others,  not  my  own,  and  have  chosen  rather  to 
make  men  look  to  Turner  and  Luini  than  to  form  or  exhibit 
the  skill  of  my  own  hand  ;  because  I  have  lowered  my  rents, 
and  assured  the  comfortable  lives  of  my  poor  tenants,  instead 
of  taking  from  them  all  I  could  force  for  the  roofs  they 
needed  ;  because  I  love  a  wood-walk  better  than  a  London 
street,  and  would  rather  watch  a  seagull  fly  than  shoot  it, 
and  rather  hear  a  thrush  sing  than  eat  it  ;  finally,  because  I 
never  disobeyed  my  mother,  because  T  have  honoured  all 
women  with  solemn  worshiii,  and  have  been  kind  even  to  the 
unthankful  and  the  evil,  therefore  the  hacks  of  English  art 
and  literature  wag  their  heads  at  me,  and  the  poor  w^retch 
who  pawns  the  dirty  linen  of  his  soul  daily  for  a  bottle  of 


196 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


sour  wine  and  a  cigar,  talks  of  the  "  effeminate  sentimen- 
tality of  Raskin." 

Now  of  these  despised  sentiments,  which  in  all  ages  have 
distinguished  the  gentleman  from  the  churl,  the  first  is  that 
reverence  for  womanhood  which,  even  through  all  the  cruel- 
ties of  the  Middle  Ages,  developed  itself  with  increasing 
power  until  the  thirteenth  century,  and  became  consummated 
in  the  imagination  of  the  Madonna,  which  ruled  over  all  the 
highest  arts  and  purest  thoughts  of  that  age. 

To  the  common  Protestant  mind  the  dignities  ascribed  to 
the  Madonna  have  been  always  a  violent  offence  ;  they  are 
one  of  the  parts  of  the  Catholic  faith  which  are  openest  to 
reasonable  dispute,  and  least  comprehensible  by  the  average 
realistic  and  materialist  temper  of  the  Reformation.  But 
after  the  most  careful  examination,  neither  as  adversary  nor 
as  friend,  of  the  influences  of  Catholicism  for  good  and  evil, 
I  am  persuaded  that  the  worship  of  the  Madonna  has  been 
one  of  its  noblest  and  most  vital  graces,  and  has  never  been 
otherwise  than  productive  of  true  holiness  of  life  and  purity 
of  character.  I  do  not  enter  into  any  question  as  to  the 
truth  or  fallacy  of  the  idea  ;  I  no  more  wish  to  defend  the 
historical  or  theological  position  of  the  Madonna  than  that 
of  St.  Michael  or  St.  Christopher  ;  but  I  am  certain  that  to 
the  habit  of  reverent  belief  in,  and  contemplation  of,  the 
characters  ascribed  to  the  heavenly  hierarchies,  we  must 
ascribe  the  highest  results  yet  achieved  in  human  nature  and 
that  it  is  neither  Madonna  worship  nor  saint  worship,  but  the 
evangelical  self-worship  and  hell-worship — gloating,  with  an 
imagination  as  unfounded  as  it  is  foul,  over  the  torments  of 
the  damned,  instead  of  the  glories  of  the  blest, — which  have 
in  reality  degraded  the  languid  powers  of  Christianity  to 
their  present  state  of  shame  and  reproach.  There  has  prob- 
ably not  been  an  innocent  cottage  home  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  Europe  during  the  whole  period  of  vital 
Christianity,  in  which  the  imagined  presence  of  the  Madonna 
has  not  given  sanctity  to  the  humblest  duties,  and  comfort 
to  the  sorest  trials  of  the  lives  of  women  ;  and  every  bright- 
est and  loftiest  achievement  of  the  arts  and  strength  of  man- 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


197 


hood  has  been  the  fulfilment  of  the  assured  prophecy  of  the 
poor  Israelite  maiden,  "He  that  is  mighty  hath  magnified 
me,  and  Holy  is  His  name."  What  we  are  about  to  substi- 
tute for  such  magnifying  in  our  modern  wisdom,  let  the 
reader  judge  from  two  slight  things  that  chanced  to  be  no- 
ticed by  me  in  my  walk  round  Paris.  I  generally  go  first  to 
Our  Lady's  Church,  for  though  the  towers  and  most  part  of 
the  walls  are  now  merely  the  modern  model  of  the  oriofinal 
building,  much  of  the  portal  sculpture  is  still  genuine,  and 
especially  the  greater  part  of  the  lower  arcades  of  the  nortii- 
west  door,  where  the  common  entrance  is.  I  always  held 
these  such  valuable  pieces  of  the  thirteenth  century  work 
that  I  had  them  cast,  in  mass,  some  years  ago,  brought  away 
casts,  eight  feet  high  by  twelve  wide,  and  gave  them  to  the 
Architectural  Museum.  So  as  I  was  examining  these,  and 
laboriously  gleaning  what  was  left  of  the  old  work  among  M. 
Violet  le  Due's  fine  fresh  heads  of  animals  and  points  of 
leaves,  I  saw  a  brass  plate  in  the  back  of  one  of  the  niches, 
where  the  improperly  magnified  saints  used  to  be.  At  first 
I  thought  it  was  over  one  of  the  usual  almsboxes  which  have 
a  right  to  be  at  church  entrances  (if  anywhere)  ;  but  catch- 
ing sight  of  an  English  word  or  two  on  it,  I  stopped  to  read, 
and  read  to  the  following  effect  : — 

"  F.  du  Larin, 
office 
of  the 

Victoria  Pleasure  Trips 
And  Excursions  to  Versailles. 
Excursions  to  the  Battle-fields  round  Paris. 
A  four-horse  coach  with  an  English  guide  starts  daily 
from  Notre  Dame  Cathedral,  at  10^  a  ni  for  Versailles,  by 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  St.  Cloud,  -Montretout,  and  Ville 
d'Avray.    Back  in  Paris  at  5^  ])  m.    Pares  must  be  secured 
one  day  in  advance  at  the  entrance  of  Notre  Dame. 

The  Manager,  H.  du  Larin." 

"Magnificat  anima  mea  Dominum,  quia  respexit  humili* 
tatem  ancillse  Suii?."  Truly  it  seems  to  be  time  that  God 
should  again  regard  the  lowliness  of  His  handmaiden,  no\V 


198 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


that  slie  has  become  keeper  of  the  coach  office  for  excur^ 
sions  to  Versailles.  The  arrangement  becomes  still  more 
perfect  in  the  objects  of  this  Christian  joyful  pilgrimage 
\fr07n  Canterbury  as  it  were,  instead  of  to  it),  the  "  Battle- 
fields round  Paris  !  " 

From  Notre  Dame  I  walked  back  into  the  livelier  parts  of  . 
the  city,  though  in  no  very  lively  mood  :  but  recovered 
some  tranquillity  in  the  Marche  aux  fleurs,  which  is  a  pleas- 
ant spectacle  in  April,  and  then  made  some  circuit  of  the 
Boulevards,  where,  as  the  third  Fors  would  have  it,  I 
suddenly  came  in  view  of  one  of  the  temples  of  tlie  modern 
superstition,  which  is  to  replace  Mariolatry.  For  it  seems 
that  human  creatures  must  imagine  something  or  someone 
in  Apotheosis,  and  the  Assumption  of  the  Virgin,  and 
Titian's  or  Tintoret's  views  on  that  matter  being  held 
reasonable  no  more,  apotheosis  of  some  other  power  follows 
as  a  matter  of  course.  Here  accordingly  is  one  of  the 
modern  hymns  on  the  Advent  of  Spring,  which  replace  now 
in  France  the  sweet  Cathedral  services  of  the  Mois  de  Marie. 
It  was  printed  in  vast  letters  on  a  white  sheet,  dependent  at 
the  side  of  the  porch  or  main  entrance  to  the  fur  shop  of 
the  "  Compagnie  Anglo-Russe." 

Le  printemps  s'annonce  avec  son  gracieux  cortege  de 
rayons  et  de  fleurs.  Adieu,  I'hiver  !  C'en  est  bien  fini  !  Et 
cependant  il  faut  que  toutes  ces  fourrures  soient  enlevees, 
vendues,  donnees,  dans  ces  6  jours.  C'est  une  aubaine  in- 
esperee,  un  placement  fabuleux  ;  car,  qu'on  ne  I'oublie  pas, 
la  fourrure  vraie,  la  belle,  la  riche,  a  toujours  sa  valeur  in- 
trinsique.  Et,  comme  couronnement  de  cette  sorte  d'Apo- 
THEOSE  la  C'^*  Anglo-Russe  remet  gratis  a  tout  acheteur  un 
talisman  merveilleux  pour  conserver  la  fourrure  pendant  10 
saisons."  / 

"Unto  Adam  also,  and  to  his  wife,  did  the  Lord  God 
make  coats  of  skins  and  clothed  them." 

The  Anglo-Russian  company  having  now  superseded 
Divine  labour  in  such  matters,  vou  have  also,  instead  of  the 
grand  old  Dragon-Devil  with  his  Ye  shall  be  as  Gods, 
knowing  good  and  evil,"  only  a  little  weasel  of  a  devil  with 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


199 


an  ermine  tip  to  his  tail,  advising  you,  '*Ye  shall  be  as 
Gods,  buying  your  skins  cheap." 

I  am  a  simpleton,  am  I,  to  quote  such  an  exploded  book 
as  Genesis  ?  My  good  wiseacre  readers,  I  know  as  many 
flaws  in  the  book  of  Genesis  as  the  best  of  you,  but  I  knew 
the  book  before  I  knew  its  flaws,  while  you  know  the  flaws, 
and  never  have  known  the  book,  nor  can  know  it.  And  it  is 
at  present  much  tlie  worse  for  you  ;  for  indeed  the  stories  of 
this  book  of  Genesis  have  been  the  nursery  tales  of  men 
mightiest  whom  the  world  has  yet  seen  in  art,  and  policy, 
and  virtue,  and  none  of  you  will  write  better  stories  for  your 
children,  yet  awhile.  And  your  little  Cains  will  learn  quickly 
enough  to  ask  if  they  are  their  brother's  keepers,  and  your 
little  Fathers  of  Canaan  merrily  enough  to  show  their  own 
father's  nakedness  without  dread  either  of  banishment  or 
malediction  ;  but  many  a  day  will  pass,  and  their  evil  gen- 
erations vanish  with  it,  in  that  sudden  nothingness  of  the 
wicked,  He  passed  away,  and  lo,  he  was  not,"  before  one 
will  again  rise,  of  whose  death  there  may  remain  the  Divine 
tradition,  He  walked  with  God,  and  was  not,  for  God  took 
him."  Apotheosis  !  How  the  dim  hope  of  it  haunts  even 
the  last  degradation  of  men  ;  and  tiirougli  the  six  thousand 
years  from  Enoch,  and  the  vague  Greek  ages  which  dreamed 
of  their  twin-hero  stars,  declines,  in  this  final  stage  of  civil- 
ization, into  dependence  on  the  sweet  promise  of  the  Anglo- 
Russian  tempter,  with  his  ermine  tail,  "Ye  shall  be  as  Gods, 
and  buy  cat-skin  cheap." 

So  it  must  be.  I  know  it,  my  good  wiseacres.  You  can 
have  no  more  Queens  of  Heaven,  nor  assumptions  of  tri- 
umphing saints.  Even  your  simple  country  Queen  of  May, 
whom  once  you  worshipped  for  a  goddess — has  not  little  Mr. 
Faraday  analysed  her,  and  proved  her  to  consist  of  charcoal 
and  water,  combined  under  what  the  Duke  of  Argyll  calls 
the  "reign  of  law"?  Your  once  fortune-guiding  stars, 
which  used  to  twinkle  in  a  mysterious  manner,  and  to  make 
you  wonder  what  they  were, — everybody  knows  what  they 
are  now  :  only  hydrogen  gas,  and  they  stink  as  they  twinkle. 


200 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA, 


My  wiseacre  acquaintances,  it  is  very  fine,  doubtless,  for  yon 
to  know  all  these  things,  who  have  plenty  of  money  in  your 
pockets,  and  nothing*  particular  to  burden  your  chemical 
minds  ;  but  for  the  poor,  who  have  nothing  in  their  pockets, 
and  the  wretched,  who  have  much  on  their  hearts,  what  in 
the  world  is  the  good  of  knowing  that  the  only  heaven  they 
have  to  go  to  is  a  large  gasometer? 

Poor  and  wretched  !  "  you  answer.  "  But  when  once 
everybody  is  convinced  that  heaven  is  a  large  gasometer, 
and  when  we  have  turned  all  the  world  into  a  small  gasome- 
ter, and  can  drive  round  it  by  steam,  and  in  forty  minutes 
be'  back  again  where  we  were, — nobody  will  be  poor  or 
wretched  any  more.  Sixty  pounds  on  the  square  inch, — can 
anybody  be  wretched  under  that  general  application  of  high 
pressure  ?  " 

(Assisi,  15  April.) 

Good  wiseacres,  yes  ;  it  seems  to  me,  at  least,  more  than 
probable  :  but  if  not,  and  you  all  find  yourselves  rich  and 
merry,  with  steam  legs  and  steel  hearts,  I  am  well  assured 
there  will  be  found  yet  room,  where  your  telescopes  have 
not  reached,  nor  can, — grind  you  their  lenses  ever  so  finely, 
— room  for  the  quiet  souls,  who  choose  for  their  part,  pov- 
erty, with  light  and  peace. 

I  am  writing  at  a  narrow  window,  which  looks  out  on  some 
broken  tiles  and  a  dead  wall.  A  wall  dead  in  the  profound- 
est  sense,  you  wiseacres  would  think  it.  Six  hundred  years 
old,  and  as  strong  as  when  it  was  built,  and  paying  nobody 
any  interest,  and  still  less  commission,  on  the  cost  of  repair. 
Both  sides  of  the  street,  or  pathway  rather,— it  is  not  nine 
feet  wide, — are  similarly  built  with  solid  blocks  of  grey  mar- 
ble, arched  rudely  above  the  windows,  with  here  and  there 
a  cross  on  the  kevstones. 

If  I  chose  to  rise  from  my  work  and  walk  a  hundred  yards 
down  this  street  (if  one  may  so  call  the  narrow  path  between 
grey  walls,  as  quiet  and  lonely  as  a  sheep-walk  on  Shap 
Fells,)  I  should  come  to  a  small  prison-like  door  ;  and  over 
the  door  is  a  tablet  of  white  marble  let  into  the  grey,  and  on 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


201 


the  tablet  is  written,  in  contracted  Latin,  what  in  English 
signifies  : — 

"  Here,  Bernard  the  Happy  * 
Received  St.  Francis  of  iVssisi, 
And  saw  him,  in  ecstacy." 

Good  wiseacres,  you  believe  nothing  of  the  sort,  do  you  ? 
Nobody  ever  yet  was  in  ecstacy,  you  think,  till  now,  when 
they  may  buy  cat-skin  cheap? 

Do  you  believe  in  Blackfriars  Bridge,  then  ;  and  admit 
that  some  day  or  other  there  must  have  been  reason  to  call 
it  "Black  Friar's"?  As  surely  as  tlie  bridge  stands  over 
Thames,  and  St.  Paul's  above  it,  these  two  men,  Paul  and 
Francis,  had  their  ecstacies,  in  bygone  days,  concerning 
other  matters  than  ermine  tails  ;  and  still  the  same  ecsta- 
cies, or  effeminate  sentiments,  are  possible  to  human  creat- 
ures, believe  it  or  not  as  you  will.  I  am  not  now,  what- 
ever the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  may  think,  an  ecstatic  person 
myself.  But  thirty  years  ago  I  knew  once  or  twice  what 
joy  meant,  and  have  not  forgotten  the  feeling  ;  nay,  even 
so  little  a  while  as  two  years  ago,  I  had  it  back  again — 
for  a  day.  And  I  can  assure  you,  good  wiseacres,  tliere 
is  such  a  thing  to  be  had  ;  but  not  in  cheap  shops,  nor, 
I  was  going  to  say,  for  money  ;  yet  in  a  certain  sense  it 
is  buyable — by  forsaking  all  that  a  man  hath.  Buyable — 
literally  enough — the  freehold  Elysian  field  at  that  price, 
but  not  a  doit  cheaper  ;  and  I  believe  at  this  moment  the 
reason  mv  voice  has  an  uncertain  sound,  the  reason  that 
this  design  of  mine  stays  unhelped,  and  that  only  a  little 
group  of  men  and  women,  moved  chiefly  by  personal  regard, 
stand  with  me  in  a  course  so  plain  and  true,  is  that  I  have 
not  yet  given  myself  to  it  wholly,  but  have  halted  between 

*** Bernard  the  happy."  The  Beato  of  Mont  Oliveto  ;  not  Bernard 
of  Clairvaux.  The  entire  inscription  is,  ''received  St.  Francis  of 
Assisi  to  supper  and  bed  "  ;  but  if  I  had  written  it  so,  it  would  have 
appeared  that  St.  Francis's  ecstacy  was  in  consequence  of  his  getting 
Lis  supper. 


202 


FOBS  OLA  no  ERA. 


good  and  evil,  and  sit  still  at  the  receipt  of  custom,  and  am 
always  looking  back  from  the  plough. 

It  is  not  wholly  my  fault  this.  There  seem  to  me  good 
reasons  why  I  should  go  on  with  my  work  in  Oxford  ;  good 
reasons  w^hy  I  should  have  a  house  of  my  own  with  pictures 
and  library  ;  good  reasons  why  I  should  still  take  interest 
from  the  bank  ;  good  reasons  why  I  should  make  myself  as 
comfortable  as  I  can,  wherever  I  go  ;  travel  with  two  ser- 
vants, and  have  a  dish  of  game  at  dinner.  It  is  true,  indeed, 
that  I  have  given  the  half  of  my  goods  and  more  to  the  poor ; 
it  is  true  also  that  the  work  in  Oxford  is  not  a  matter  of 
pride,  but  of  duty  with  me  ;  it  is  true  that  I  think  it  wiser 
to  live  what  seems  to  other  people  a  rational  and  pleasant, 
not  an  enthusiastic,  life  ;  and  that  I  serve  my  servants  at 
least  as  much  as  they  serve  me.  But,  all  this  being  so,  I 
find  there  is  yet  something  wrong  ;  I  have  no  peace,  still 
less  ecstacy.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  one  had  indeed  to  weat 
camel's  hair  instead  of  dress  coats  before  one  can  get  that  ; 
and  I  was  looking  at  St.  Francis's  camel's-hair  coat  yesterday 
(they  have  it  still  in  the  sacristy),  and  I  don't  like  the  look 
of  it  at  all  ;  the  Anglo-Russian  Company's  wear  is  ever  so 
much  nicer, — let  the  devil  at  least  have  this  due. 

And  he  must  have  a  little  more  due  even  than  this.  It  is 
not  at  all  clear  to  me  how  far  the  Beggar  and  Pauper  Saint, 
whose  marriage  with  the  Lady  Poverty  I  have  come  here  to 
paint  from  Giotto's  dream  of  it, — how  far,  I  say,  the  mighty 
work  he  did  in  the  world  was  owing  to  his  vow  of  poverty, 
or  diminished  by  it.  If  he  had  been  content  to  preach  love 
alone,  whether  among  poor  or  rich,  and  if  he  had  understood 
that  love  for  all  God's  creatures  was  one  and  the  same  bless- 
ing ;  and  that,  if  he  was  right  to  take  the  doves  out  of  the 
fowler's  hand,  that  they  might  build  their  nests,  he  was  him- 
self wrong  when  he  went  out  in  the  winter's  night  on  the 
hills,  and  made  for  himself  dolls  of  snow,  and  said,  "Francis, 
these — behold — these  are  thy  wife  and  thy  children."  If 
instead  of  quitting  his  father's  trade,  that  he  might  nurse 
lepers,  he  had  made  his  father's  trade  holy  and  pure,  and 
honourable  more  than  beggary  ;  perhaps  at  this  day  the 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


203 


Black  Friars  might  yet  have  had  an  unruined  house  by 
Thames  shore,  and  the  children  of  his  native  village  not  be 
standing  in  the  porches  of  the  temple  built  over  his  tomb  to 
ask  alms  of  the  infidel. 


LETTER  XLII. 

I  MUST  construct  my  letters  still,  for  a  while,  of  swept-up 
fragments  ;  every  day  provokes  me  to  write  new  matter  ; 
but  I  must  not  lose  the  fruit  of  the  old  days.  Here  is  some 
worth  picking  up,  though  ill-ripened  for  want  of  sunshine, 
(the  little  we  had  spending  itself  on  the  rain,)  last  year. 

\8t  August,  1873. 
Not  being  able  to  work  steadily  this  morning,  because 
there  was  a  rainbow  half  a  mile  broad,  and  violet-bright,  on 
the  shoulders  of  the  Old  man  of  Coniston — (by  calling  it  half 
a  mile  broad,  I  mean  that  half  a  mile's  breadth  of  mountain 
was  coloured  by  it, — and  by  calling  it  violet-bright,  I  mean 
that  the  violet  zone  of  it  came  pure  against  the  grey  rocks  ; 
and  note,  by  the  way,  that  essentially  all  the  colours  of  the 
rainbow  are  secondary  ; — yellow  exists  only  as  a  line — red  as 
a  line — blue  as  a  line  ;  but  the  zone  itself  is  of  varied  orange, 
green,  and  violet,) — not  being  able,  I  say,  for  steady  work,  1 
opened  an  old  diary  of  1849,  and  as  the  third  Fors  would 
have  it,  at  this  extract  from  the  Letters  of  Lady  Mary 
AVortley  Montagu. 

(Venice.) 

"The  Prince  of  Saxony  went  to  see  the  Arsenal  three 
days  ago,  waited  on  by  a  numerous  nobility  of  both  sexes  ; 
the  Bucentaur  was  adorned  and  launched,  a  magnificent  col- 
lation given  ;  and  we  sailed  a  little  in  it.  I  was  in  conipany 
with  the  Signora  Justiniani  Gradenigo  and  Signora  Marina 
Crizzo.  There  were  two  cannons  founded  in  his  (the  Prince 
of  Saxony's)  presence,  and  a  galley  built  and  launched  in  an 
hour's  time."  (Well  may  Dante  speak  of  that  busy  Arsenal !) 
Last  night  there  was  a  concert  of  voices  and  instruments 


204 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


at  the  Hospital  of  the  Incurabili,  where  there  were  two  girk 
that  in  the  opinion  of  all  people  excel  either  Faustina  or 
Cuzzoni. 

"  I  am  invited  to-morrow  to  the  Foscarini  to  dinner,  which 
is  to  be  followed  by  a  concert  and  a  ball." 

The  account  of  a  regatta  follows,  in  which  the  various 
nobles  had  boats  costing  £1000  sterling  each,  none  less  than 
£500,  and  enough  of  them  to  look  like  a  little  fleet.  The 
Signora  Pisani  Mocenigo's  represented  the  Chariot  of  the 
Night,  drawn  by  four  sea-horses,  and  showing  the  rising  of 
the  moon,  accompanied  with  stars,  the  statues  on  each  side 
representing  the  Hours,  to  the  number  of  twenty-four. 

Pleasant  times,  these,  for  Venice  !  one's  Bucentaur 
launched,  wherein  to  eat,  buoyantly,  a  magnificent  collation 
— beautiful  ladies  driving  their  ocean  steeds  in  the  Chariot 
of  the  Night — beautiful  songs,  at  the  Hospital  of  the  Incu- 
rabili. Much  bettered,  these,  from  the  rough  days  when  one 
had  to  row  and  fight  for  life,  thought  Venice  ;  better  days 
still,  in  the  nineteenth  century,  being — as  she  appears  to 
believe  now — in  store  for  her. 

You  thought,  I  suppose,  that  in  writing  tliose  numbers  of 
Fors  last  year  from  Venice  and  Verona,  I  was  idling,  or 
digressing  ? 

Nothing  of  the  kind.  The  business  of  Fors  is  to  tell  you 
of  Venice  and  Verona  ;  and  many  things  of  them. 

You  don't  care  about  Venice  and  Verona  ?  Of  course  not. 
Who  does  ?  And  I  beg  you  to  observe  that  the  day  is  com- 
ing when,  exactly  in  the  same  sense,  active  working  men 
will  say  to  any  antiquarian  w^ho  purposes  to  tell  them  some- 
thing of  England,  We  don't  care  about  England."  And 
the  antiquarian  will  answer,  just  as  I  have  answered  you  now. 

Of  course  not.    Who  does  ?  " 

Nay,  the  saying  has  been  already  said  to  mc,  and  by  a 
wise  and  good  man.  When  I  asked,  at  the  end  of  my  in-* 
augural  lecture  at  Oxford,  "  Will  you,  youths  of  England, 
make  your  country  again  a  royal  throne  of  kings,  a  sceptred 
isle,  for  all  the  world  a  source  of  light — a  centre  of  peace  ?'* 
• — my  University  friends  came  to  me,  with  grave  faces,  to 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


205 


remonstrate  against  irrelevant  and  Utopian  topics  of  that 
nature  being  introduced  in  lectures  on  art  ;  and  a  very  dear 
American  friend  wrote  to  me,  when  I  sent  the  lecture  to  him, 
in  some  such  terms  as  these  :  "Why  will  you  diminish  your 
real  influence  for  good,  by  speaking  as  if  England  could  now 
take  any  dominant  place  in  the  world  ?  How  many  millions, 
think  you,  are  there  here,  of  the  activest  spirits  of  their  time, 
who  care  nothing  for  England,  and  would  read  no  farther, 
after  coming  upon  such  a  passage  ?  " 

That  England  deserves  little  care  from  an}^  man  nowadays, 
is  fatall}''  true  ;  that  in  a  century  more  she  will  be — where 
Venice  is — among  the  dead  of  nations,  is  far  more  than  prob- 
able. And  yet — that  you  do  not  care  for  dead  Venice,  is 
the  sign  of  your  own  ruin  ;  and  that  the  Americans  do  not 
care  for  dying  England,  is  only  the  sign  of  their  inferiority 
to  her. 

For  tliis  dead  Venice  once  taught  us  to  be  merchants, 
sailors,  and  gentlemen  ;  and  this  dying  England  taught  the 
Americans  all  they  have  of  speech,  or  thought,  hitherto. 
What  thoughts  they  have  not  learned  from  England  are 
foolish  thoughts  ;  what  words  they  have  not  learned  from 
England,  unseemly  words  ;  the  vile  among  them  not  being 
able  even  to  be  humorous  parrots,  but  only  obscene  mocking 
birds.  An  American  republican  woman,  lately,  describes  a 
child  which  "like  cherubim  and  seraphim  continually  did 
cry;"  *  such  their  feminine  learning  of  the  European  fashions 
of  'Te  Deum  '  !  And,  as  I  tell  you,  Venice  in  like  manner 
taught  us,  when  she  and  we  w^ere  honest,  our  marketing,  and 
our  manners.  Then  she  began  trading  in  pleasure,  and  souls 
of  men,  before  us  ;  followed  that  Babylonish  trade  to  her 
death, — we  nothing  loth  to  imitate,  so  plausible  she  was,  in 
her  mydiic  gondola,  and  Chariot  of  the  Night  !  But  where 
her  pilotage  has  for  the  present  carried  her,  and  is  like  to 
carry  lis,  it  may  be  well  to  consider.  And  therefore  I  will 
ask  you  to  glance  back  to  my  twentieth  letter,  giving  account 
of  the  steam  music  the  modern  Tasso's  echoes  practised  on 
her  principal  lagoon.  That  is  her  present  manner,  you  ol> 
*  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  July  3 1st,  ?873. 


206 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


serve,  of  "  whistling  at  her  darg^  But  for  festivity  after 
work,  or  altogether  superseding  work — launching  one's 
adorned  Bucentaur  for  collation — let  us  hear  what  she  is 
doing  in  that  kind. 

From  the  Rinnovamento  (Renewal,  or  Revival,)  "  Gazette 
of  the  people  of  Venice  "  of  2nd  July,  1872,  I  print,  in  ray 
terminal  notes,  a  portion  of  one  of  their  daily  correspond- 
ent's letters,  describing  his  pleasures  on  the  previous  day,  of 
which  I  here  translate  a  few  pregnant  sentences. 

I  embarked  on  a  little  steamboat.  It  was  elegant — it 
was  vast.  But  its  contents  were  enormously  greater  than 
its  capacity.  The  little  steamboat  overflowed  ^  with  men, 
women,  and  boys.  The  Commandant,  a  proud  young 
man,  cried,  '  Come  in,  come  in  ! '  and  tlie  crowd  became 
always  more  close,  and  one  could  scarcely  breathe "  (the 
heroic  exhortations  of  the  proud  youth  leading  his  public 
to  this  painful  result).  "All  at  once  a  delicate  person  •)*  of 
the  piazza,  feeling  herself  unwell,  cried,  ^  I  suffocate.'  The 
Commandant  perceived  that  suffocation  did  veritably  prevail, 
and  gave  the  word  of  command,  *  Enough.' 

'^In  eighteen  minutes  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  land  safe 
at  the  establishment,  'The  Favourite.'  And  here  my  eyes 
opened  for  wonder.  In  truth,  only  a  respectable  force  of 
will  could  have  succeeded  in  transforming  this  place,  only  a 
few  months  ago  still  desert  and  uncultivated,  into  a  site  of 
delights.  Long  alleys,  grassy  carpets,  small  mountains, 
charming  little  banks,  chalets,  solitary  and  mysterious  paths, 
and  then  an  interminable  covered  w^ay  which  conducts  to  the 
bathing  establishment  ; — and  in  that,  attendants  dressed  in 
mariner's  dresses,  a  most  commodious  basin,  the  finest  linen, 
and  the  most  reo^ular  and  solicitous  service. 

Surprised,  and  satisfied,  I  plunged  myself  cheerfully  into 
the  sea.  After  the  bath,  is  prescribed  a  walk.  Obedient  to 
the  dictates  of  hygiene,  I  take  my  returning  way  along  the 
pleasant  shore  of  the  sea  to  the  Favourite.    A  chalet,  or 

*  Ri^^urgitava  " — g-ushed  or  gorged  up  ;  as  a  bottle  which  you  have 
filled  too  full  and  too  fast, 

f  Sens:ile,  an  interesting  Venetian  v/ord.  The  fair  on  the  Feast  of 
the  Ascension  at  Venice  became,  in  mellifluous  brevity,  *  Sensa/  and 
the  most  ornamental  of  the  ware  purchaseable  at  it,  therefore,  Sensale. 
A  '*  Holy-Thursday- Fairing,"  feeling  herself  unwell,  would  be  the 
properest  translation. 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


207 


rather  an  immense  salon,  ia  become  a  concert  room.  And, 
in  fact,  an  excellent  orchestra  is  executing  therein  most 
chosen  pieces.  The  artists  are  all  endued  in  dress  coats, 
and  wear  white  cravats.  1  hear  with  delight  a  pot-pourri 
from  Faust,  I  then  take  a  turn  through  the  most  vast  park, 
and  visit  the  Restaurant. 

'*To  conclude.  The  Lido  has  no  more  need  to  become  a 
place  of  delights.    It  is,  in  truth,  already  become  so. 

^'  All  honour  to  the  brave  who  have  effected  the  marvel- 
lous transformation." 

Onori  ai  bravi  I — Honour  to  the  brave  !  Yes  ;  in  all  times, 
among  all  nations,  that  is  entirely  desirable.  You  know  I 
told  you,  in  last  Fors,  that  to  honour  the  brave  dead  was  to 
be  our  second  child's  lesson.  None  the  less  expedient  if  the 
brave  we  have  to  honour  be  alive,  instead  of  long  dead.  Here 
are  our  modern  Venetian  troubadours,  in  white  cravats,  cele- 
brating the  victories  of  their  Ilardicanutes  with  collection 
of  choicest  melody — pot-pourri — hotcli-potch,  from  Faust, 
And,  indeed,  is  not  this  a  notable  conquest  which  resus- 
citated Venice  has  made  of  her  Lido?  Where  all  was  vague 
sea-shore,  now,  behold,  little  mountains,  mysterious  paths." 
Those  unmanufactured  mountains — Eugeneans  and  Alps — 
seen  against  the  sunset,  are  not  enough  for  the  vast  mind  of 
Venice  born  again  ;  nor  the  canals  between  her  palaces  mys- 
terious enough  paths.  Here  are  mountains  to  our  perfect 
mind,  and  more  solemn  ways, — a  new  kingdom  for  us,  con- 
quered by  the  brave.  Conquest,  you  observe  also,  just  of 
the  kind  which  in  our  Times  newspaper  is  honoured  always 
in  like  manner,  '  Private  Enterprise.'  The  only  question  is, 
whether  the  privacy  of  your  enterprise  is  always  as  fearless 
of  exposure  as  it  used  to  be, — or  even,  the  enterprise  of  it  as 
enterprising.  Let  mo  tell  you  a  little  of  the  private  enter- 
prise of  dead  Venice,  that  you  may  compare  it  with  that  of 
the  living. 

You  doubted  me  just  now,  probably,  when  I  told  you  that 
Venice  taught  you  to  be  sailors.  You  thought  your  Drakes 
and  Grenvilles  needed  no  such  masters.  No  !  but  a  hun- 
dred years  before  Sir  Francib's  time,  the  blind  captain  of  a 


208 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


Venetian  galley, — of  one  of  those  things  which  the  Lady 
Mary  saw  built  in  an  hour, — won  the  empire  of  the  East. 
You  did  fine  things  in  the  Baltic,  and  before  Sebastopol,  with 
3^our  ironclads  and  your  Woolwich  infants,  did  you  ?  Here 
was  a  piece  of  fighting  done  from  the  deck  of  a  rowed  boat, 
which  came  to  more  good,  it  seems  to  me. 

The  Duke  of  Venice  had  disposed  his  fleet  in  one  line 
along  the  sea-wall  (of  Constantinople),  and  had  cleared  the 
battlements  with  his  shot  (of  stones  and  arrows);  but  still  the 
galleys  dared  not  take  ground.  But  the  Duke  of  Venice, 
though  he  was  old  (ninety)  and  stone-blind,  stood,  all  armed, 
at  the  head  of  his  galley,  and  had  the  gonfalon  of  St.  Mark 
before  him  ;  and  he  called  to  his  people  to  ground  his  ship, 
or  they  should  die  for  it.  So  they  ran  the  ship  aground, 
and  leaped  out,  and  carried  St.  Mark's  gonfalon  to  the  shore 
before  the  Duke.  Then  the  Venetians,  seeing  their  Duke^s 
galley  ashore,  followed  him  ;  and  they  planted  the  flag  of  St. 
Mark  on  the  walls,  and  took  twenty-five  towers." 

The  good  issue  of  which  piece  of  pantaloon's  play  was  that 
the  city  itself,  a  little  while  after,  with  due  help  from  the 
French,  was  taken_,  and  that  the  crusading  army  proceeded 
thereon  to  elect  a  new  Emperor  of  the  Eastern  Empire. 

Which  office  six  French  Barons,  and  six  Venetian,  being 
appointed  to  bestow,  and  one  of  the  French  naming  first  the 
Duke  of  Venice,  he  had  certainly  been  declared  Emperor,  but 
one  of  the  Venetians  themselves,  Pantaleone  Barbo,  declar- 
ing that  no  man  could  be  Duke  of  Venice,  and  Emperor  too, 
gave  his  word  for  Baldwin  of  Flanders,  to  whom  accordingly 
the  throne  was  given  ;  while  to  the  Venetian  State  was 
offered,  with  the  consent  of  all,  if  they  chose  to  hold  it — 
about  a  third  of  the  whole  Roman  Empire  ! 

Venice  thereupon  deliberates  with  herself.  Her  own  pres- 
ent national  territory — the  true  ^  State  '  of  Venice — is  a 
marsh,  which  3^ou  can  see  from  end  to  end  of ; — some  wooden 
houses,  half  afloat,  and  others  wholly  afloat,  in  the  canals  of 
it;  and  a  total  population,  in  round  numbers,  about  as  large 
as  that  of  our  parish  of  Lambeth.  Venice  feels  some  doubt 
whether,  out  of  this  wild  duck's  nest,  and  with  that  number 


H'ORS  CLAVIGERA. 


209 


of  men,  she  can  at  once  safely,  and  in  all  the  world's  sight, 
undertake  to  govern  Lacedaemon,  ^gina,  -^gos  Potamos, 
Crete,  and  half  the  Greek  islands  ;  nevertheless,  she  thinks 
she  will  try  a  little  'private  enterprise'  upon  them.  So  in 
1207  the  Venetian  Senate  published  an  edict  by  which  there 
was  granted  to  all  Venetian  citizens  permission  to  arm,  at 
their  own  expense,  war-galleys,  and  to  subdue,  if  they  could 
manage  it  in  that  private  manner,  such  islands  and  Greek 
towns  of  the  Archipelago  as  might  seem  to  them  what  we 
call  eligible  residences,"  the  Senate  graciously  giving  them 
leave  to  keep  whatever  they  could  get.  Whereupon  certain 
Venetian  merchants — proud  young  men — stood,  as  we  see 
them  standing  now  on  their  decks  on  the  Riva,  crying  to  the 
crowd,  '  Montate  !  Montate  ! '  and  without  any  help  from 
steam,  or  encumbrance  from  the  markets  of  Ascension  Day, 
rowed  and  sailed — somewhat  outside  the  Lido.  Mark  Dan- 
dolo  took  Gallipoli  ;  Mark  Sanudo,  Naxos,  Paros,  and  Melos  ; 
— (you  have  heard  of  marbles  and  Venuses  coming  from  those 
places,  have  not  you  ?) — Marin  Dandolo,  Andros  ;  Andrea 
Ghisi,  Micone  and  Scyros  ;  Dominico  Michieli,  Ceos  ;  and 
Philocola  Navigieri,  the  island  of  Vulcan  himself,  Lemnos. 
Took  them,  and  kept  them  also  !  (not  a  little  to  our  present 
sorrow  ;  for,  being  good  Christians,  these  Venetian  gentlemen 
made  wild  work  among  the  Parian  and  Melian  gods).  It  was 
not  till  1570  that  the  twenty-lirst  Venetian  Duke  of  Melos 
was  driven  out  by  the  Turks,  and  the  career  of  modern  white- 
cravated  Venice  virtually  begun. 

"  Honour  to  the  brave  !  "  Yes,  in  God's  name,  and  by  all 
manner  of  means  !  And  dishonour  to  the  cowards  :  but,  my 
good  Italian  and  good  English  acquaintances,  are  you  so 
sure,  then,  you  know  which  is  which  ?  Nay,  are  you 
lionestly  willing  to  acknowledge  there  is  any  difference  ? 
Heaven  be  praised  if  you  are  ! — but  I  thought  your  modern 
gospel  was,  that  all  were  alike  ?  Here's  the  PancJi  of  last 
week  lying  beside  me,  for  instance,  with  its  normal  piece  of 
pathos  upon  the  advertisements  of  death.  Dual  deaths  this 
time  ;  and  pathetic  epitaphs  on  the  Bishop  of  Winchester 
and  the  Baron  Bethell.  The  best  it  can  honestly  say,  (and 
Vol.  II.— 14 


210 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


Punchy  as  far  as  I  know  papers,  is  an  honest  one,)  is  that  the 
Bishop  was  a  pleasant  kind  of  person  ;  and  the  best  it  can 
say  for  the  Chancellor  is,  that  he  was  witty  ; — but,  fearing 
that  something  more  might  be  expected,  it  smooths  all  down 
with  a  sop  of  popular  varnish,  "  How  good  the  worst  of  us  ! 
—how  bad  the  best !  "  Alas,  Mr.  Punch,  is  it  come  to  this  ? 
and  is  there  to  be  no  more  knocking  down,  then  ?  and  is  your 
last  scene  in  future  to  be — shaking  hands  with  the  devil  ?-— ' 
clerical  pantaloon  in  white  cravat  asking  a  blessing  on  the 
reconciliation,  and  the  drum  and  pipe  finishing  with  a  pot- 
pourri from  jFbust? 

A  popular  tune,  truly,  everywhere,  nowadays — Devil's 
hotch-potch,"  and  listened  to  avec  delices  !  "  And,  doubt- 
less, pious  Republicans  on  their  death-beds  will  have  a  care 
to  bequeath  it,  rightly  played  to  their  children,  before  they  go 
to  hear  it,  divinely  executed,  in  their  own  blessed  country. 

"  How  good  the  worst  of  us  ! — how  bad  the  best  !  "  Jeanie 
Deans,  and  St.  Agnes,  and  the  Holj'- Thursday  fairing,  all  the 
same  ! 

My  good  working  readers,  I  will  try  to-day  to  put  you 
more  clearly  in  understanding  of  this  modern  gospel, — of 
what  truth  there  is  in  it — for  some  there  is, — and  of  what 
pestilent  evil. 

I  call  it  a  modern  gospel  :  in  its  deepest  truth  it  is  as  old 
as  Christianity.  "This  man  receiveth  sinners,  and  eateth 
with  them."  And  it  was  the  most  distinctive  character  of 
Christianity.  Here  was  a  new,  astonishing  religion  in- 
deed ;  one  had  heard  before  of  righteousness  ;  before  of 
resurrection  ; — never  before  of  mercy  to  sin,  or  fellowship 
with  it. 

But  it  is  only  in  strictly  modern  times  (that  is  to  say, 
within  the  last  hundred  years)  that  this  has  been  fixed  on, 
by  a  large  sect  of  thick-headed  persons,  as  the  essence  of 
Christianity, — nay,  as  so  much  its  essence,  that  to  be  an  ex- 
tremely sinful  sinner  is  deliberately  announced  by  them  as 
the  best  of  qualifications  for  becoming  an  extremely  Chris- 
tian Christian. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


211 


But  all  the  teachings  of  Heaven  are  given — by  sad  law — 
in  so  obscure,  nay,  often  in  so  ironical  manner,  that  a  block- 
head necessarily  reads  them  wrong.  Very  marvellous  it  is 
that  Heaven,  which  really  in  one  sense  is  merciful  to  sinners, 
is  in  no  sense  merciful  to  fools,  but  even  lays  pitfalls  for 
them,  and  inevitable  snares. 

Again  and  again,  in  the  New  Testament,  the  publican 
(supposed  at  once  traitor  to  his  country  and  thief)  and  the 
harlot  are  made  the  companions  of  Christ.  She  out  of  whom 
He  had  cast  seven  devils,  loves  Him  best,  sees  Him  first, 
after  His  resurrection.  The  sting  of  that  old  verse,  When 
thou  sawest  a  thief,  thou  consentedst  to  him,  and  hast  been 
partaker  with  adulterers,"  seems  done  away  with.  Adultery 
itself  uncondemned, — for,  behold,  in  your  hearts  is  not  every 
one  of  you  alike?  "He  that  is  without  sin  among  you,  let 
him  first  cast  a  stone  at  her."  And  so,  and  so,  no  more 
stones  shall  be  cast  nowadays  ;  and  here,  on  the  top  of  our 
epitaph  on  the  Bishop,  lies  a  notice  of  the  questionable 
sentence  which  hanged  a  man  for  beating  his  wife  to  death 
with  a  stick.  The  jury  recommended  him  strongly  to 
mercy." 

They  did  so,  because  they  knew  not,  in  their  own  hearts, 
what  mercy  meant.  They  were  afraid  to  do  anything  so  ex- 
tremely compromising  and  disagreeable  as  causing  a  man  to 
be  lianged, — had  no  ^  pity '  for  any  creatures  beaten  to 
death — wives,  or  beasts  ;  but  only  a  cowardly  fear  of  com- 
manding death,  where  it  was  due.  Your  modern  conscience 
will  not  incur  the  responsibility  of  shortening  the  hourly 
more  guilty  life  of  a  single  rogue  ;  but  will  contentedly  fire 
a  salvo  of  mitrailleuses  into  a  regiment  of  honest  men — 
leaving  Providence  to  guide  the  shot.  But  let  us  fasten  on 
the  word  they  abused,  and  understand  it.  Mercy — miseri- 
cordia  :  it  does  not  in  the  least  mean  forgiveness  of  sins, — 
it  means  pity  of  sorrows.  In  that  very  instance  which  the 
Evangelicals  are  so  fond  of  quoting — the  adultery  of  Pavid — • 
it  is  not  the  Passion  for  which  he  is  to  be  judged,  but  the- 
want  of  Passion, — the  want  of  Pity.  This  he  is  to  judge 
himself  for,  by  his  own  mouth  : — As  the  Lord  liveth,  the 


212 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


man  that  hath  done  this  thing  shall  surely  die, — because  ho 
hath  done  this  thing,  and  because  he  had  no  pity,'''* 

And  you  will  find,  alike  throughout  the  record  of  the  Law 
and  the  promises  of  the  Gospel,  that  there  is,  indeed,  for- 
giveness with  God,  and  Christ,  for  the  passing  sins  of  the 
hot  heart,  but  none  for  the  eternal  and  inherent  sin  of  the 
cold.  '  Blessed  are  the  merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain  mercy ' ; 
— find  it  you  written  anywhere  that  the  w/imerciful  shall  ? 
^  Her  sins,  which  are  many,  are  forgiven,  for  she  loved  much.' 
But  have  you  record  of  any  one's  sins  being  forgiven  who 
loved  not  at  all  ? 

I  opened  my  oldest  Bible  just  now,  to  look  for  the  accu- 
rate words  of  David  about  the  killed  lamb  ; — a  small,  closely, 
and  very  neatly  printed  volume  it  is,  printed  in  Edinburgh 
by  Sir  D.  Hunter  Blair  and  J.  Bruce,  Printers  to  the  King's 
Most  Excellent  Majesty  in  1816.  Yellow,  now,  with  age, 
and  flexible,  but  not  unclean  with  much  use,  except  that  the 
lower  corners  of  the  pages  at  8th  of  1st  Kings,  and  32nd 
Deuteronomy  are  worn  somewhat  thin  and  dark,  the  learn- 
ing of  those  two  chapters  having  cost  me  much  pains.  My 
mother's  list  of  the  chapters  with  which,  learned  every 
syllable  accurately,  she  established  my  soul  in  life,  has  just 
fallen  out  of  it.  And  as  probably  the  sagacious  reader  has 
already  perceived  that  these  letters  are  written  in  their 
irregular  way,  among  other  reasons  that  they  may  contain, 
as  the  relation  may  become  apposite,  so  much  of  autobiog- 
raphy as  it  seems  to  me  desirable  to  write,  I  will  take  what 
indulgence  the  sagacious  reader  will  give  me,  for  printing 
the  list  thus  accidentally  occurrent  : — 

Exodus,    chapters  15th  and  20th. 

2  Samuel,  chapter  1st,  from  17th  verse  to  the  end. 

1  Kings,        "  8th. 

Psalms,  23rd,  32nd,  90th,   91st,  103rd^ 

112th,  119th,  139th. 
Proverbs,  chapters  2nd,  3rd,  8th,  12th. 
Isaiah,       chapter  58th. 
Matthew,  chapters  5th,  6th,  7th, 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


213 


Acts,  chapter  26th. 

1  Corinthians,  chapters  13th,  15th. 
James,  chapter  4th. 

Revelations,     chapters  5th,  6th. 

And  truly,  though  I  have  picked  up  the  elements  of  a 
little  further  knowledge, — in  mathematics,  meteorology,  and 
the  like,  in  after  life, — and  owe  not  a  little  to  the  teaching 
of  many  people,  this  maternal  installation  of  my  mind  in 
that  property  of  chapters,  I  count  very  confidently  the  most 
precious,  and,  on  the  whole,  the  one  essential  part  of  all  my 
education. 

For  the  chapters  became,  indeed,  strictly  conclusive  and 
protective  to  me  in  all  modes  of  thought  ;  and  the  body  of 
divinity  they  contain  acceptable  through  all  fear  or  doubt : 
nor  through  any  fear  or  doubt  or  fault  have  I  ever  lost  my 
loyalty  to  them,  nor  betrayed  the  first  command  in  the  one 
I  was  made  to  repeat  oftenest,  "  Let  not  Mercy  and  Truth 
forsake  Thee." 

And  at  my  present  age  of  fifty-five,  in  spite  of  some  en- 
larged observations  of  what  modern  philosophers  call  the 
Reign  of  Law,  I  perceive  more  distinctly  than  ever  the 
Reign  of  a  Spirit  of  Mercy  and  Truth, — infinite  in  pardon 
and  purification  for  its  wandering  and  faultful  children,  who 
have  yet  Love  in  their  hearts  ;  and  altogether  adverse  and 
implacable  to  its  perverse  and  lying  enemies,  who  have 
resolute  hatred  in  their  hearts,  and  resolute  falsehood  on 
their  lips. 

This  assertion  of  the  existence  of  a  Spirit  of  Mercy  and 
Truth,  as  the  master  first  of  the  Law  of  Life,  and  then  of 
the  methods  of  knowledge  and  labour  by  which  it  is  sus- 
tained, and  which  the  Saturday  Hevieio  calls  the  effeminate 
sentimentality  of  Mr.  Ruskin's  political  economy,  is  accu- 
rately, you  will  observe,  reversed  by  the  assertion  of  the 
Predatory  and  Carnivorous — of,  in  plainer  English,  fiesh- 
eating  spirit  in  Man  himself,  as  the  regulator  of  modern 
civilization,  in  the  paper  read  by  the  Secretary  at  the  Social 
Science  meeting  in  Glasgow,  1860.    Out  of  which  the  fol- 


214 


FOEH  GLAVIGERA. 


lowing  fundamentaJ  passage  may  stand  for  sufficient  and 
permanent  example  of  the  existent,  practical,  and  unsenti- 
mental English  mind,  being  the  most  vile  sentence  which  I 
have  ever  seen  in  the  literature  of  any  country  or  time  : — 

"  As  no  one  will  deny  that  Man  possesses  carnivorous 
teeth,  or  that  all  animals  that  possess  them  are  more  or  less 
predatory,  it  is  unnecessary  to  argue,  h,  priori,  that  a  pred- 
atory instinct  naturally  follows  from  such  organization.  It 
is  our  intention  here  to  show  how  this  inevitable  result  oper- 
ates on  civilized  existence  by  its  being  one  of  the  conditions 
of  Man's  nature,  and,  consequently,  of  all  arrangements  of 
civilised  society." 

The  paper  proceeds,  and  is  entirely  constructed,  on  the 
assumption  that  the  predatory  spirit  is  not  only  one  of  the 
conditions  of  man's  nature,  but  the  particular  condition  on 
which  the  arrangements  of  Society  are  to  be  founded.  For 
^'Reason  would  immediately  suggest  to  one  of  superior 
strength,  that  however  desirable  it  might  be  to  take  posses 
sion  by  violence,  of  what  another  had  laboured  to  produce, 
he  might  be  treated  in  the  same  way  by  one  stronger  than 
liimself,  to  which  he,  of  course,  would  have  great  objection. 
In  order,  therefore,  to  prevent  or  put  a  stop  to  a  practice 
w^hich  each  would  object  to  in  his  own  case,"  etc.,  etc.  And 
so  the  Social  Science  interpreter  proceeds  to  sing  the  pres- 
ent non-sentimental  Proverbs  and  Psalms  of  England,— with 
trumpets  also  and  shaw^ms — and  steam  whistles.  And  there 
is  concert  of  voices  and  instruments  at  the  Hospital  of  the 
Incurabili,  and  Progress — indubitably — in  Chariots  of  the 
Night. 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA.  216 

NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


CORRIERE  DEI  BaGNI. 

M'lMBARCAi  sn  di  uu  vaporetto ;  era  elegante,  era  vasto,  ma  il  suo 
coutenuto  era  enorraemeute  Huperiore  al  contenente ;  il  vaporetto 
rigurgitava  di  uomini,  di  donne,  e  di  ragazzi. 

II  comaadante,  un  fiero  giovanotto,  gridava  :  Montdte !  Montate ! 
e  la  calca  si  faceva  sempre  piu  fitta,  ed  appena  si  poteva  espirare. 

Tutto  ad  ua  tratto  uu  sensale  di  piazza  si  senti  venir  male,  e  grido ; 
10  soffocol  II  comandante  si  accorse  che  si  soffocava  davvero,  ed 
ordmo  ;  basta  ! 

II  vapore  allora  si  aw  6  (stc)  ed  io  rimasi  stipato  fra  la  folia  per 
diciotto  miuuti,  iu  capo  ai  quali  ebbi  la  buona  ventura  di  sbarcare 
incolume  sul  pontile  dello  stabilimento  la  FaioriUi — II  pontile  e 
lunghissimo,  ma  elegaute  e  coperto.  II  sole  per  conseguenza  non  dd 
nessuna  noia. 

Una  strada  che,  fine  a  quando  non  sia  migliorata,  non  consi  glierei  di 
percorrere  a  chi  non  abbia  i  piedi  in  perfetto  stato,  conduce  al  parco 
della  Stabilimento  Bagni  del  nignor  Delahant. — E  qui  i  miei  occhi  si 
aprirono  per  la  nieraviglia.  E  diffati,  solo  una  rispettibile  forza  di 
volenti  ed  operosita  pot 3  riuscire  a  trasformare  quel  luogo,  pochi  meei 
fa  ancora  deserto  ed  incolto,  iu  un  sito  di  delisie. — Lunghi  viali,  tappeti 
erbosi,  montagnole,  banchine,  chalet,  strade  solitarie  e  misteriose,  lumi, 
Bpalti,  e  poi  un  interminabile  pergolato  che  conduce  alio  stabilimento 
bagni,  ed  in  questo  inservienti  restifi  alUi  marinara^  coraodiBsima  vasca, 
biancheria  finissima,  e  servizio  regolare  e  j)remuro80. 

Sorpreso  e  contento,  mi  tulfo  allegramente  nel  mare. 

Dopo  il  bagno  h  prescritta  una  passeggir.ta.  Os.sequiente  ai  dettami 
deir  igiene,  riprendo  la  via  e  lungo  la  piacevole  spiaggia  del  mare 
ritorno  alia  FavorUa. 

Un  chalet,  o  piuttosto  una  pala  immcnsa;  addobbata  con  originalita  e 
ricchezza,  e  divenuta  una  sala  di  concerto.  Diffatti  una  eccellente  or- 
chestra sta  eseguendo  pezzi  sceltissimi. 

GU  artisti  imlossano  tiitfi  It  inarsina  e  la  cravntta  bianca.  Ascolto  con 
delizia  un  potpoitrri  6e\  Favst  e  poi  torno  agirareper  il  vastissimo  parco 
e  visito  il  Restaurant 

Concludendo,  il  Lido  non  ha  piu  bisogno  di  diventare  un  luogo  di 
delizie;  esse  lo  e  in  verita  diggia  diventato,  e  fra  breve  i  comodi  bagni 
del  Lido  di  Venezia  saranno  fra  i  piu  famoai  d' Italia. 

Onore  ai  bravi  che  hanno  operata  la  meravigliosa  trasformazione  ! 

II  Hinrurcamento,  Gazetta  del  Popolo  di  Venezia  ;  (2nd  July,  1872). 

This  following  part  of  a  useful  letter,  dated  10th  March,  1873,  ought 
io  have  been  printed  before  now  :  — 


216 


FOBS  CLAVIOEEA. 


Sir, — Will  you  permit  me  to  respectfully  call  your  attention  to  a 
certain  circumstance  which  has,  not  unlikely,  something  to  do  with  the 
failure  (if  failure  it  is)  of  your  appeal  for  the  St.  George's  Fund  ? 

At  page  71  of  Fors  Clavigera  tor  May,  1871,  your  words  were,  *  Will 
any  such  give  a  tenth  of  what  they  have  and  of  what  they  earn  ?  '  But 
in  May  of  the  following  year,  at  page  228,  the  subject  is  referred  to  as  the 
giving  of  *  the  tenth  of  what  they  have,  or  make.'  The  two  passages 
are  open  to  widely  differing  interpretations.  Moreover,  none  of  the 
sums  received  appear  to  have  any  relation  to  *  tenths  '  either  of  earn- 
iags  or  possessions. 

Is  it  not  probable  that  the  majority  of  your  readers  understood  you 
either  to  mean  literally  what  you  said,  or  to  mean  nothing  but  jest  ? 
They  would  naturally  ask  themselves,  ^  Must  it  be  a  tenth  of  both,  or 
nothing  ? '  *  A  tenth  of  either  ?  '  Or,  '  After  all,  only  what  we  feel 
able  to  give  ?  '  Their  perplexity  would  load  to  the  giving  of  nothing. 
As  nobody  who  has  a  pecuniary  title  to  ask  for  an  explanation  appears 
to  have  called  your  attention  to  the  subject,  I,  who  have  no  such  title, 
do  so  now, — feeling  impelled  thereto  by  the  hint  in  this  month's  Fora 
of  the  possible  '  non-continuance  of  the  work.' 

"May  I  presume  to  add  one  word  more?  Last  Monday's  Times 
(March  17th)  gave  a  report  of  a  Working  Men's  Meeting  on  the  present 
political  crisis.  One  of  the  speakers  said  *  he  wanted  every  working  man 
to  be  free.'  And  his  idea  of  freedom  he  explained  to  be  that  all  workmen 
should  be  at  liberty  'to  leave  their  work  at  a  moment's  notice.'  This, 
as  I  have  reason  to  know,  is  one  of  the  things  which  working  men 
have  got  into  their  heads,  and  which  the  newspapers  '  get  their  living 
by  asserting. ' " 

Lastly,  the  present  English  notion  of  civilizing  China  by  inches,  may 
be  worth  keeping  record  of. 

' '  We  have  Philistines  out  here,  and  a  Philistine  in  the  East  is  a  per- 
fect Goliath.  When  he  imagines  that  anything  is  wrong,  he  says — let 
it  be  a  Coolie  or  an  Emperor — '  Give  him  a  thrashiLg. '  The  men  of 
this  class  here  propose  their  usual  remedy :  '  Let  us  have  a  war,  and 
give  the  Chinese  a  good  licking,  and  then  we  shall  have  the  audience 
question  granted,  and  everything  else  will  follow.'  This  includes  open- 
ing up  the  country  for  trade,  and  civilizing  the  people,  which  according 
to  their  theories  can  be  best  done  by  ^.hrashing  them.'  The  mission- 
aries are  working  to  civilize  the  people  here  in  another  way,  that  is  by 
the  usual  plan  of  tracts  and  preaching ;  but  their  system  is  not  much 
in  favour,  for  they  make  such  very  small  progress  among  the  860,000,000, 
the  conversion  of  which  is  their  problem.  The  man  of  business  wants 
the  country  opened  up  to  trade,  wants  manufactures  introduced,  the 
mineral  wealth  to  be  used,  and  generally  speaking  the  resources  of  the 
country  to  be  developed,  *  and  that  sort  of  thing  you  know — that's  the 
real  way  to  civilize  them. '  This,  of  course,  implies  a  multitudinous  breed 
of  Mr.  Ruskin's  demons,  or  machinery,  to  accomplish  all  this.  I  am 
here  giving  the  tone  of  the  ideas  I  hear  expressed  around  me.  It  was 
only  the  other  day  that  I  heard  some  of  these  various  points  talked 
over.  We  were  sailing  on  the  river  in  a  steam  launch,  which  was  mak- 
ing the  air  impure  with  its  smoke,  snorting  in  a  high-pressure  way,  and 
whistling  as  steam  launches  are  wont  to  do.   The  scene  was  appropriate 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


217 


to  the  conversation,  for  we  were  among  a  forest  of  great  junks — most 
quaint  and  picturesque  they  looked — so  old-fashioned  they  seemed, 
that  Noah's  Ark,  had  it  been  there,  would  have  had  a  much  more  mod- 
ern look  about  it.  My  friend,  to  whom  the  launch  belonged,  and  who 
is  in  the  machinery  line  himself,  gave  his  opinion.  He  began  by  giving 
a  significant  movement  of  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  uncouth- 
looking  junks,  and  then  pointing  to  his  own  craft  with  its  engine,  said 
*  he  did  not  believe  much  in  war,  and  the  missionaries  were  not  of  much 
account.  This  is  the  thing  to  do  it,*  he  added,  pointing  to  the  launch  ; 
'  let  us  get  at  them  with  this  sort  of  article,  and  steam  at  sixty  pounds 
on  the  square  inch  ;  that  would  soon  do  it ;  that's  the  thing  to  civilize 
them— sixty  pounds  on  the  square  inch.' " 


218 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


LETTER  XLIIL 

Rome,  Corpus- Domini^  1874. 

I  WROTE,  for  a  preface  to  the  index  at  the  end  of  the  sec 
ond  volume  of  Fors^  part  of  an  abstract  of  what  had  been 
then  stated  in  the  course  of  this  work.  Fate  would  not  let 
me  finish  it  ;  but  what  was  done  will  be  useful  now,  and 
shall  begin  my  letter  for  this  month.  Completing  three  and  a 
half  volumes  of  Fors,  it  may  contain  a  more  definite  statement 
of  its  purpose  than  any  given  hitherto  ;  though  I  have  no  in- 
tention of  explaining  that  purpose  entirely,  until  it  is  in  suffi- 
cient degree  accomplished.  I  have  a  house  to  build  ;  but 
none  shall  mock  me  by  saying  I  was  not  able  to  finish  it,  nor 
be  vexed  by  not  finding  in  it  the  rooms  they  expected.  But 
the  current  and  continual  purpose  of  Fors  Clavigera  is  to 
explain  the  powers  of  Chance,  or  Fortune,  (Fors),  as  she 
offers  to  men  the  conditions  of  prosperity  ;  and  as  these 
conditions  are  accepted  or  refused,  nails  down  and  fastens 
their  fate  for  ever,  being  thus  '  Clavigera,' — *  nail-bearing.' 
The  image  is  one  familiar  in  mythology  :  ray  own  concep- 
tion of  it  was  first  got  from  Horace,  and  developed  by  steady 
effort  to  read  history  with  impartiality,  and  to  observe  the 
lives  of  men  around  me  with  charity.  "  How  you  may  make 
your  fortune,  or  mar  it,"  is  the  expansion  of  the  title. 

Certain  authoritative  conditions  of  life,  of  its  happiness,  and 
its  honour,  are  therefore  stated,  in  this  book,  as  far  as  they 
may  be,  conclusively  and  indisputably,  at  present  known.  I 
do  not  enter  into  any  debates,  nor  advance  any  opinions. 
With  what  is  debatable  I  am  unconcerned  ;  and  when  I  only 
have  opinions  about  things,  I  do  not  talk  about  them.  I  at- 
tack only  what  cannot  on  any  possible  ground  be  defended  \ 
and  state  only  what  I  know  to  be  incontrovertibly  true. 

You  will  find,  as  you  read  Fors  more,  that  it  differs  curi- 
ously from  most  modern  books  in  this.    Modern  fashion  is, 


FOnS  CLAVIGERA. 


219 


that  the  moment  a  man  strikes  some  little  lucifer  match,  or 
is  hit  by  any  form  of  fancy,  he  begins  advertising  his  lucifer 
match,  and  fighting  for  his  fancy,  totally  ignoring  the  exist- 
inof  sunsiiine,  and  the  existin^:  substances  of  thino-s.  But  1 
have  no  matches  to  sell,  no  fancies  to  fight  for.  All  that  1 
have  to  say  is  that  the  day  is  in  heaven,  and  rock  and  wood 
on  earth,  and  that  you  must  see  by  the  one,  and  work  with 
the  other.  You  liave  heard  as  much  before,  perhaps.  J 
hope  you  have  ;  I  should  be  ashamed  if  there  were  anything 
in  Fors  which  had  not  been  said  before, — and  that  a  thou- 
sand times,  and  a  thousand  times  of  times, — there  is  nothing 
in  it,  nor  ever  will  be  in  it,  but  common  truths,  as  clear  to 
honest  mankind  as  their  daily  sunrise,  as  necessary  as  their 
daily  bread  ;  and  which  the  fools  who  deny  can  only  live, 
themselves,  because  other  men  know  and  obev. 

You  will  therefore  find  that  whatever  is  set  down  in  Fors 
for  you  is  assuredly  true, — inevitable, — trustworthy  to  the 
uttermost, — however  strange.*  Not  because  I  have  any 
power  of  knowing  more  than  other  people,  but  simply  be- 
cause I  have  taken  the  trouble  to  ascertain  what  they  also 
may  ascertain  if  they  choose.  Compare  on  this  point  Letter 
VI.,  page  74. 

The  followinof  rouo:h  abstract  of  the  contents  of  the  first 
Beven  letters  may  assist  the  reader  in  tiieir  use. 

Letter  L  Men's  prosperity  is  in  their  own  hands  ;  and 
no  forms  of  government  are,  in  themselves,  of  the  least 
use.  The  first  beginnings  of  prosperity  must  be  in 
getting  food,  clothes,  and  fuel.  These  cannot  be  got 
either  by  the  fine  arts,  or  the  military  arts.  Neither 
painting  nor  fighting  feed  men  ;  nor  can  capital,  in 
the  form  of  money  or  machinery,  feed  them.  All 
capital  is  iniaginary  or  unimportant,  except  the  quan- 

*  Observe,  this  is  only  asserted  of  its  main  principles ;  not  of  minor 
and  accessory  points.  I  may  be  entirely  wrong  in  the  explanation  of  a 
text,  or  mistake  the  parish  schools  of  St.  Mathias  for  St.  Matthew's  ; 
over  and  over  again.  I  have  so  large  a  field  to  work  in  that  this  cannot 
be  helped.  But  none  of  these  minor  errors  are  of  the  least  consequence 
to  the  business  in  band. 


220 


FOBS  CLA  VIGERA, 


tity  of  food  existing  in  the  world  at  any  given  mo 
ment.  Finally,  men  cannot  live  by  le"1iding  money  to 
each  other,  and  the  conditions  of  such  loan  at  present 
are  absurd  and  deadly.* 

Letter  11.  The  nature  of  Rent.  It  is  an  exaction,  by 
force  of  hand,  for  the  maintenance  of  Squires  :  but 
had  better  at  present  be  left  to  them.  The  nature  of 
useful  and  useless  employment.  When  employment 
is  given  by  capitalists,  it  is  sometimes  useful,  but 
oftener  useless  ;  sometimes  moralizing,  but  oftener 
demoralizing.  And  we  had  therefore  better  employ 
ourselves,  without  any  appeal  to  the  capitalists  (page 
24)  ;  and  to  do  this  successfully,  it  must  be  with  three 
resolutions  ;  namely,  to  be  personally  honest,  socially 
helpful,  and  conditionally  obedient  (page  29)  :  ex- 
plained in  Letter  VII.,  page  98  to  end. 

Letter  III.  The  power  of  Fate  is  independent  of  the 
Moral  Law,  but  never  supersedes  it.  Virtue  ceases 
to  be  such,  if  expecting  reward  :  it  is  therefore  never 
materially  rewarded.  (I  ought  to  have  said,  ex- 
cept as  one  of  the  appointed  means  of  physical  and 
mental  health.)  The  Fates  of  England,  and  proper 
mode  of  studying  them.  Stories  of  Henry  II.  and 
Richard  I. 

Letter  IV.  The  value  and  nature  of  Education.  It  may 
be  good,  bad, — or  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 
Knowledge  is  not  education,  and  can  neither  make  us 
happy  nor  rich.  Opening  discussion  of  the  nature 
and  use  of  riches.  Gold  and  diamonds  are  not  riches, 
and  the  reader  is  challenged  to  specify  their  use. 
Opening  discussion  of  the  origin  of  wealth.  It  does 
not  fall  from  heaven,  (compare  Letter  VII.,  page  97,) 
but  is  certainly  obtainable,  and  has  been  generally  ob- 
tained, by  pillage  of  the  poor.    Modes  in  which  edu- 

•  See  first  article  in  the  Notes  and  Correspondence  to  this  number. 


FOES  CLAVIOERA. 


221 


cation  in  virtue  has  been  made  costly  to  them,  and 
education  in  vice  cheap.  (Page  56.) 
Letter  V.  The  powers  of  Production.  Extremity  on 
modern  folly  in  supposing  there  can  be  over-produc» 
tion.  The  power  of  machines.  They  cannot  increase 
the  possibilities  of  life,  but  only  the  possibilities  of 
idleness.  (Page  G5.)  The  things  which  are  essential 
to  life  are  mainly  three  material  ones  and  three  spirit- 
ual ones.  First  sketch  of  the  ])roposed  action  of 
St.  George's  Company. 

Letter  VL  The  Elysium  of  modern  days.  This  letter, 
written  under  the  excitement  of  continual  news  of  the 
revolution  in  Paris,  is  desultory,  and  limits  itself  to 
noticing  some  of  the  causes  of  that  revolution  :  chiefly 
the  idleness,  disobedience,  and  covetousness  of  the 
richer  and  middle  classes. 

Letter  VII.  The  Elysium  of  ancient  days.  The  defini- 
tions of  true,  and  spurious,  Communism.  Explanation 
of  the  design  of  true  Communism,  in  Sir  Thomas  More's 
Utopia,  This  letter,  though  treating  of  matters 
necessary  to  the  whole  work,  yet  introduces  them  pre- 
maturely, being  written,  incidentally,  upon  the  ruin  of 
Paris. 

AsBisi,  mh  May,  1874. 
So  ended,  as  Fors  would  have  it,  my  abstraction,  which  I 
Bce  Fors  had  her  reasons  for  stopping  me  in  ;  else  the  ab- 
straction would  have  needed  farther  abstracting.  As  it  is, 
the  reader  may  find  in  it  the  real  gist  of  the  remaining  letters, 
and  discern  what  a  stiff  business  we  have  in  hand, — rent, 
capital,  and  interest,  all  to  be  attacked  at  once  !  and  a  method 
of  education  shown  to  be  possible  in  virtue,  as  cheaply  as  in 
vice  ! 

I  should  have  got  my  business,  stiff  though  it  may  bo,  far- 
ther forward  by  this  time,  but  for  that  same  revolution  in 
Paris,  and  burning  of  the  Tuileries,  which  greatly  confused 
my  plan  by  showing  me  how  much  baser  the  human  material 
I  had  to  deal  with,  was,  than  I  thought  in  beginning. 


222 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA, 


That  a  Christian  army  (or,  at  least,  one  which  Saracens 
would  have  ranked  with  that  they  attacked,  under  the  general 
name  of  Franks.)  should  fiercely  devastate  and  rob  an  entire 
kingdom  laid  at  their  mercy  by  the  worst  distress  ; — that  the 
first  use  made  by  this  distressed  country  of  the  defeat  of  its 
armies  would  be  to  overthrow  its  government  ;  and  that, 
when  its  metropolis  had  all  but  perished  in  conflagration  dur- 
ing the  contest  between  its  army  and  mob,  no  warning  should 
be  taken  by  other  civilized  societies,  but  all  go  trotting  on 
again,  next  week,  in  their  own  several  roads  to  ruin,  persist- 
ently as  they  had  trotted  before, — bells  jingling,  and  whips 
cracking, — these  things  greatly  appalled  me,  finding'  I  had 
only  slime  to  build  with  instead  of  mortar  ;  and  shook  my 
plan  partly  out  of  shape. 

The  friofhtfuUest  thin^'  of  all,  to  mv  mind,  vv^as  the  German 
temper,  in  its  naive  selfishness  ;  on  which  point,  having  been 
brought  round  again  to  it  in  my  last  letter,  I  have  now 
somewhat  more  to  say. 

In  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  of  7th  March,  this  year,  under 
the  head  of  '  This  Evening's  News,*  appeared  an  article  of 
which  I  here  reprint  the  opening  portion. 

The  well-known  Hungarian  author,  Maurus  Jokai,  is  at 
present  a  visitor  in  the  German  capital.  As  a  man  of  note 
he  easily  obtained  access  to  Prince  Bismarck's  study,  where 
an  interesting  conversation  took  place,  which  M.  Jokai  re- 
ports pretty  fully  to  the  Hungarian  journal  the  Hon: — 

The  Prince  was,  as  usual,  easy  in  his  manner,  and  com- 
municative, and  put  a  stop  at  the  very  outset  to  the  Hunga- 
rian's attempt  at  ceremony.  M.  Jokai  humorously  remarked 
upon  the  prevalence  of  'iron'  in  the  surroundings  of  the 
'iron  '  Prince.  Among  other  things,  there  is  an  iron  couch, 
and  an  iron  safe,  in  which  the  Chancellor  appears  to  keep  his 
cigars.  Prince  Bismarck  was  struck  by  the  youthful  appear- 
ance of  his  guest,  who  is  ten  years  his  junior,  but  whose 
writings  he  remembers  to  have  seen  reviewed  long  ago,  in  the 
Augsburg  Gazette  (at  that  time  still,  the  Chancellor  said,  a 
clever  paper)  when  he  bore  a  lieutenant's  commission.  In 
the  ensuing  conversatio!i.  Prince  Bismarck  pointed  out  the 
paramount  necessity  to  Europe  of  a  consolidated  state  in  the 
position  of  Austro-Hungary.    It  was  mainly  on  that  account 


FORS  CLAVIQERA. 


223 


that  he  concluded  peace  with  so  great  despatch  in  1866.  Small 
independent  States  in  the  East  would  be  a  misfortune  to 
Europe.  Austria  and  Hungary  must  realize  their  mutual  in- 
terdependence, and  the  necessity  of  being  one.  However, 
the  dualist  system  of  government  must  be  preserved,  because 
the  task  of  developing  the  State,  which  on  this  side  of  the 
Leitha  falls  to  the  Germans,  beyond  that  river  naturally  falls 
to  the  Magyars.  The  notion  that  Germany  has  an  inclination 
to  annex  more  land,  Prince  Bismarck  designated  as  a  myth. 
God  preserve  the  Germans  from  such  a  wish  !  Whatever 
more  territory  they  might  acquire  would  probably  be  under- 
mined by  Papal  influence,  and  they  have  enough  of  that 
already.  Should  the  Germans  of  Austria  want  to  be  annexed 
by  Germany,  the  Chancellor  would  feel  inclined  to  declare 
war  against  them  for  that  wish  alone.  A  German  Minister 
who  should  conceive  the  desire  to  annex  part  of  Austria 
would  deserve  to  be  hanged — a  punishment  the  Prince  indi- 
cated by  gesture.  He  does  not  wish  to  annex  even  a  square 
foot  of  fresh  territory,  not  as  much  as  two  pencils  he  kept  on 
playing  with  during  the  conversation  would  cover.  Those 
pencils,  however,  M.  Jokai  remarks,  were  big  enough  to  serve 
as  walking-sticks,  and  on  the  map  they  would  have  reached 
quite  from  Berlin  to  Trieste.  Prince  Bismarck  went  on  to 
justify  his  annexation  of  Alsace-Lorraine  by  geographical 
necessity.  Otherwise  he  would  rather  not  have  grafted  the 
French  twig  upon  the  German  tree.  The  French  are  enemies 
never  to  be  appeased.  Take  away  fro)n  tfie))i  the  cooky  t/ie 
tailor^  and  the  hairdresser,  and  what  remains  of  them  is  a 
coj^per-coloured  Indian.''^ 

Now  it  does  not  matter  whether  Prince  Bismarck  ever  said 
this,  or  not.  That  the  saying  should  be  attributed  to  him  in 
a  leading  journal,  without  indication  of  doubt  or  surprise,  is 
enough  to  show  what  the  German  temper  is  publicly  recog- 
nized to  be.  And  observe  what  a  sentence  it  is — thus  attrib- 
uted to  him.  The  French  are  only  copper-coloured  Indians, 
finely  dressed.  This  said,  of  the  nation  v/hich  gave  us  Charle- 
magne, St.  Louis,  St.  Bernard,  and  Joan  of  Arc  ;  which 
founded  the  central  type  of  chivalry  in  the  myth  of  Roland  ; 
which  showed  tiie  utmost  heicrht  of  valour  vet  recorded  in 
history,  in  the  literal  life  of  Guiscard  ;  and  which  built 
Chartres  Cathedral  I 


224 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


But  the  French  are  not  what  they  were  !  No ;  nor  tha 
English,  for  that  matter ;  probably  we  have  fallen  the 
farther  of  the  two  :  meantime  the  French  still  retain,  at  the 
root,  the  qualities  they  always  had  ;  and  of  one  of  these,  a 
highly  curious  and  commendable  one,  I  wish  you  to  take 
some  note  to-day. 

Among  the  minor  nursery  tales  with  which  my  mother 
allowed  me  to  relieve  the  study  of  the  great  nursery  tale  of 
Genesis,  mv  favourite  was  Miss  Edc^eworth's  Frank,  The 
authoress  chose  this  for  the  boy's  name,  because  she  meant 
him  to  be  a  type  of  Frankness,  or  openness  of  heart  : — truth 
of  heart,  that  is  to  say,  liking  to  lay  itself  open.  You  are  in 
the  habit,  I  believe,  some  of  you,  still,  of  speaking  occasion- 
ally of  English  Frankness  ; — not  recognizing,  through  the 
hard  clink  of  the  letter  K,  that  you  are  only  talking',  all  the 
while,  of  English  Frenchness.  Still  less  when  you  count 
your  cargoes  of  gold  from  San  Francisco,  do  you  pause  to 
reflect  what  San  means,  or  what  Francis  means,  without 
the  Co  ; — or  how  it  came  to  pass  that  the  power  of  this 
mountain  town  of  Assisi,  where  not  only  no  gold  can  be 
dug,  but  where  St.  Francis  forbade  his  Company  to  dig  it 
anywhere  else — came  to  give  names  to  Devil's  towns  far 
across  the  Atlantic — (and  by  the  way  you  may  note  how 
clumsy  the  Devil  is  at  christening ;  for  if  by  chance  he  gets 
a  fresh  York  all  to  himself,  he  never  has  any  cleverer  notion 
than  to  call  it  '  New  York'  ;  and  in  fact,  having  no  mother* 
wit  from  his  dam,  is  obliged  very  often  to  put  up  with  the  old 
names  which  were  given  by  Christians, — Nombre  di  Dios, 
Trinidad,  Vera  Cruz,  and  the  like,  even  when  he  has  all  his 
own  way  with  everything  else  in  the  places,  but  their 
names). 

But  to  return.  You  have  lately  had  a  fine  notion,  have 
you  not,  of  English  Liberty  as  opposed  to  French  Slavery  ? 

Well,  whatever  your  English  liberties  may  be,  the  French 
knew  what  the  word  meant,  before  you.  For  France,  if  you 
will  consider  of  it,  means  nothing  else  than  the  Country  of 
Franks  ; — the  country  of  a  race  so  intensely  Free  that  they 
for  evermore  gave  name  to  Freedom.    The  Greeks  some- 


:P'0RS  clavigera. 


225 


times  got  their  own  way,  as  a  mob  ;  but  nobody,  meaning  to 
talk  of  liberty,  calls  it  *Greekness.'  The  Romans  knew 
better  what  Libertas  meant,  and  their  word  for  it  has 
become  common  enough,  in  that  straitened  form,  on  your 
English  tongue  ;  but  nobody  calls  it  *Romanness.'  But  at 
last  comes  a  nation  called  the  Franks  ;  and  they  are  so 
inherently  free  and  noble  in  their  natures,  that  their  name 
becomes  the  word  for  the  virtue  ;  and  when  you  now  want 
to  talk  of  freedom  of  heart,  you  say  Frankness,  and  for  the 
last  political  privilege  which  you  have  it  so  much  in  your 
English  minds  to  get,  you  liaven't  so  much  as  an  English 
word,  but  must  call  it  by  the  French  one,  *  Franchise.'* 

"  Freedom  of  heart^'^  you  observe,  I  say.  Not  the  English 
freedom  of  Insolence,  according  to  Mr.  B.,  (see  above.  Let-* 
ter  XXIX,)  but  pure  French  openness  of  heart,  Fanchette's 
and  her  husband's  frankness,  the  source  of  joy,  and  courtesy 
and  civility,  and  passing  softness  of  human  meeting  of  kindly 
glance  with  glance.  Of  which  Franchise,  in  her  own  spirit 
Person,  here  is  the  picture  for  you,  from  the  French  Ro- 
mance of  the  Rose, — a  picture  which  English  Chaucer  was 
thankful  to  copy. 

And  after  all  those  others  came  Franchise, 

Who  was  not  brown,  nor  grey, 

But  she  was  white  as  snow. 

And  she  had  not  the  nose  of  an  Orleanois. 

Aussi  had  she  the  nose  long  and  straight. 

Eyes  green,  and  laughing — vaulted  eyebrows ; 

She  had  her  hair  blonde  and  long, 

And  she  was  simple  as  a  dove. 

The  body  she  had  sweet,  and  brightly  bred ; 

And  she  dared  not  do,  nor  say 

To  any  one,  anything  she  ought  not. 

And  if  she  knew  of  any  man 

Who  was  in  sorrow  for  love  of  her, 

So  soon  she  had  great  pity  for  him, 

For  she  had  the  heart  so  pitiful 

And  so  sweet  and  so  lovely, 

That  no  one  suffered  pain  about  hei; 

But  she  would  help  him  all  she  could. 

*  See  second  note  at  end  of  this  letter. 
Vol.  II. —15 


i!26 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


And  she  wore  a  surquanye 

Which  was  of  no  coarse  cloth ;  ^ 

There's  none  so  rich  as  far  as  Arras. 

And  it  was  so  gathered  up,  and  so  joined  together^ 

That  there  was  not  a  single  point  of  it 

Which  was  not  set  in  its  exact  place,  rightly. 

Much  well  was  dressed  Franchise, 

For  no  robe  is  so  pretty 

As  the  surquanye  for  a  demoiselle. 

A  girl  is  more  gentle  and  more  darling 

In  surquanye  than  in  coat, 

And  the  white  surquanye 

Signifies  that  sweet  and  frank 

Is  she  who  puts  it  on  her.** 

May  I  ask  you  now  to  take  to  heart  those  two  lines  of  this 
French  description  of  Frenchness  : 

"  And  she  dared  not  do,  nor  say 

To  any  one,  anything  she  ought  not." 

That  is  not  your  modern  notion  of  Frenchness,  or  fran- 
chise, or  libertas,  or  liberty — for  all  these  are  synonyms  for  the 
same  virtue.  And  yet  the  strange  thing  is  that  the  lowest 
types  of  the  modern  French  grisette  are  the  precise  corrup- 
tion of  this  beautiful  Franchise  :  and  still  retain,  at  their 
worst,  some  of  the  grand  old  qualities;  the  absolute  sources 
of  corruption  being  the  neglect  of  their  childhood  by  the 
upper  classes,  the  abandonment  to  their  own  resources,  and 
the  development  therefore  of  Libert}''  and  Independence," 
in  your  beautiful  English,  not  French,  sense. 

Livree  a  elle-meme  depuis  Page  de  treize  ans,  habituee 
a  ne  compter  que  sur  elle  seule,  elle  avait  de  la  vie  un  expe- 
rience dont  j'etais  confondue.  De  ce  Paris  oti  elle  etait  nee, 
elle  savait  tout,  elle  connaissait  tout. 

"Je  n'avais  pas  idee  d'une  si  complete  absence  de  sens 
moral,  d'une  si  inconsciente  depravation,  d'une  impudeur  si 
effrontement  naive. 

"La  regie  de  sa  conduite,  c'etait  sa  fantaisie,  son  instinct, 
le  caprice  du  moment. 

"  Elle  aimait  les  longues  stations  dans  les  caf6s,  les  m61o- 
drames  entremeies  de  chopes  et  d'orauges  pendant  les  en- 


FOBS  CLAVIGEUA. 


227 


tr*actes,  les  parties  de  caiiot  a  Asnieres,  et  surtout,  et  avant 
tout,  le  bal. 

"  Elle  etait  comme  chez  elle  a  TElysee — Montrnartre  et  au 
Chateau-Rouge  ;  elle  y  coiiiiaissait  tout  le  inoude,  le  cliec 
d'orchestre  la  saluait,  ce  dont  elle  etait  extraordinairement 
fiere,  et  quaiitite  de  gens  la  tutoyaient. 

Je  I'accompagnais  partout,  dans  les  comrnencenients,  et 
bien  que  je  n'etais  pas  preciseinent  naive,  ni  genee  par  les 
scrupules  de  mon  education,  je  fus  tellement  consternee  de 
Tincroyable  desordre  de  sa  vie,  que  je  ne  pus  m'einpecher  de 
lui  en  faire  quelques  representations. 

"  Elle  se  facha  tout  rouge. 

"  Tu  fais  ce  qui  te  plait,  me  dit-elle,  laisse-moi  faire  ce  qui 
me  convient. 

C'est  un  justice  que  je  lui  dois  :  jamais  elle  n'essaya  sur 
moi  son  influence,  jamais  elle  ne  m'engagea  a  suivre  son  ex- 
emple.    Ivre  de  liberte,  elle  respectait  la  liberie  des  autres." 

Such  is  the  form  which  Franchise  has  taken  under  repub- 
lican instruction.  But  of  the  true  Franchise  of  Charlemagne 
and  Roland,  there  were,  you  must  note  also,  two  distinct 
forms.  In  tlie  last  stanzas  of  the  Chant  de  Roland,  Nor- 
mandy and  France  have  two  distinct  epithets, — "  Normandie, 
la  franche  ;  France,  la  solue,"  (soluta).  I'^ank  Norman- 
dy ;  Loose  France."  Solute  ; — we,  adding  the  dis,  use  the 
words  loose  and  dissolute  only  in  evil  sense.  But  *  France 
la  solue  *  has  an  entirely  lovely  meaning.  The  frankness 
of  Normandy  is  the  soldier's  virtue  ;  but  the  unbinding, 
so  to  speak,  of  France,  is  the  peasant's. 

And  having  seen  that  lovely  maid. 

Why  should  I  fear  to  say 
That  she  is  rudd}^  fleet,  and  strong", 
And  down  the  rocks  can  leap  along 

Like  rivulets  in  May  ?  " 

It  is  curious  that  the  most  beautiful  descriptive  line  in  all 
Horace, 

*'inoDtibus  altis 
Levis  crepante  lynipha  desilit  pede," 

comes  in  the  midst  of  the  dream  of  the  blessed  islands  which 


228 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


are  to  be  won  by  following  the  founders  of — what  city,  think 
you  ?    The  city  that  first  sang  the  "  Marseillaise." 

*  *  Juppiter  ilia  piae  secrevit  litora  genti. " 

Recollect  that  line,  my  French  readers,  if  I  chance  to  find 
any,  this  month,  nor  less  the  description  of  those  '  arva  beata' 
as  if  of  your  own  South  France  ;  and  then  consider  also 
those  prophetic  lines,  true  of  Paris  as  of  Rome, — 

"  Nec  fera  coerulea  domuit  Germania  pube. 
Impia^  perdemus  devoti  sanguinis  aetas." 

Consider  them,  I  say,  and  deeply,  thinking  over  the  full  force 
of  those  words,  "devoti  sanguinis,"  and  of  the  ways  in  which 
the  pure  blood  of  Normandie  la  franche,  and  France  la  solue, 
has  corrupted  itself,  and  become  accursed.  Had  I  but  time 
to  go  into  the  history  of  that  word  '  devoveo,'  what  a  piece 
of  philology  it  would  lead  us  into  !  But,  for  another  kind 
of  opposition  to  the  sweet  Franchise  of  old  time,  take  this 
sentence  of  description  of  another  French  maiden,  by  the 
same  author  from  whom  I  have  just  quoted  the  sketch  of  the 
grisette  : 

"  C'etait  une  vielle  fille  d'une  cinquantaine  d'annees,  seche 
et  jaune,  avec  un  grand  nez  d'oiseau  de  proie,  tres  noble, 
encore  plus  devote,  joueuse  comme  la  dame  de  pique  en  per- 
sonne,  et  medisante  a  faire  battre  des  montagnes."  • 

You  see  what  accurate  opposition  that  gives  you  of  an- 
other kind,  to  Franchise.  You  even  have  the  '  nez  d*Or- 
leanois '  specified,  which  the  song  of  the  Rose  is  so  careful 
to  tell  you  Franchise  had  not. 

Here  is  another  illustrative  sentence  : 

"  La  colere,  a  la  fin,  une  de  ces  terribles  coleres  blanches 
de  devote,  chassait  des  flots  de  bile  au  cerveau  de  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Rochecardeau,  et  blemissait  ses  levres." 

These  three  sentences  I  have  taken  from  two  novels  of 
Emile  Gaboriau,  IJargent  des  autres,  and  La  Degringolade, 
They  are  average  specimens  of  modern  French  light  litera- 
ture, with  its  characteristic  qualities  and  defects,  and  are 
both  of  them  in  many  respects  worth  careful  study  ;  but 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA. 


229 


chiefly  in  the  representation  they  give,  partly  with  conscious 
blame,  and  partly  in  unconscious  corruption,  of  the  Devoti 
sanguinis  aetas  ;  with  which,  if  you  would  compare  old 
France  accurately,  read  first  Froude's  sketch  of  the  life  of 
Bishop  Hugo  of  Lincoln,  and  think  over  the  scene  between 
him  and  Coeur  de  Lion. 

You  have  there,  as  in  life  before  you,  two  typical  French- 
men of  the  twelfth  century — a  true  king,  and  a  true  priest, 
representing  the  powers  which  the  France  of  that  day  con- 
trived to  get  set  over  her,  and  did,  on  the  whole,  implicitly 
and  with  her  heart  obey. 

They  are  not  altogether — by  taking  the  dancing-master 
and  the  hairdresser  away  from  them — reduced  to  copper- 
coloured  Indians. 

If,  next,  you  will  take  the  pains — and  it  will  need  some 
pains,  for  the  book  is  long  and  occasionally  tiresome — to 
read  the  Degringoladey  you  will  find  it  nevertheless  worth 
your  while  ;  for  it  gives  you  a  modern  Frenchman's  account 
of  the  powers  which  France  in  the  nineteenth  century  con- 
trived to  get  set  over  her  ;  and  obeyed — not  with  her  heart, 
but  restively,  like  an  ill-bred  dog  or  mule,  which  have  no 
honour  in  their  obedience,  but  bear  the  chain  and  bit  all  the 
same. 

But  there  is  a  farther  and  much  more  important  reason 
for  my  wish  that  you  should  read  this  novel.  It  gives  you 
types  of  existent  Frenchmen  and  Frenchwomen  of  a  very 
different  class.  They  are,  indeed,  only  heroes  and  heroines 
in  a  quite  second-rate  piece  of  literary  work.  But  these 
stereotypes,  nevertheless,  have  living  originals.  There  is  to 
be  found  in  France,  as  truly  the  Commandant  Delorge,  as 
the  Comte  de  Combelaine.  And  as  truly  Mademoiselle  de 
Maillefert  as  the  Duchesse  de  Maumussy.  How  is  it,  then, 
that  the  Count  and  Duchess  command  everything  in  France, 
and  that  the  Commandant  and  Demoiselle  command  nothing? 
— that  the  best  they  can  do  is  to  get  leave  to  live — unknown, 
and  unthought-of  ?  The  question,  believe  me,  is  for  England 
also  ;  and  a  very  pressing  one. 

Of  the  frantic  hatred  of  all  religion  developed  in  the  French 


230 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


republican  mind,  the  sentences  I  have  quoted  are  interesting 
examples.  I  have  not  time  to  speak  of  them  in  this  letter, 
but  they  struck  me  sharply  as  I  corrected  the  press  to-day  ; 
for  I  had  been  standing  most  part  of  the  morning  by  St. 
Paul's  grave,  thinking  over  his  work  in  the  world.  A  be- 
wildered peasant,  from  some  green  dingle  of  Campagna,  who 
had  seen  me  kneel  when  the  Host  passed,  and  took  me  there- 
fore to  he  a  human  creature  and  a  friend,  asked  me  '  where 
St.  Paul  was  '  ? 

*  There,  underneath,'  I  answered. 

*  There  ?  '  he  repeated,  doubtfully, — as  dissatisfied. 

*  Yes,'  I  answered  ;  '  his  body  at  least  ; — his  head  is  at  the 
Lateran.' 

^  II  suo  corpo,'  again  he  repeated,  still  as  in  discontent. 
Then,  after  a  pause,  '  E  la  sua  statua  ? ' 

Such  a  wicked  thing  to  ask  for  that  !  wasn't  it,  my  Evan- 
gelical friends  ?  You  would  so  much  rather  have  had  him 
ask  for  Hudson's  1 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


231 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


I  HAVE  had  by  me,  some  time,  three  eager  little  fragments  from  one 
of  Mr.  Sillar's  letters : — too  eager,  always,  in  thinking  this  one  sin  of  re- 
ceiving interest  on  money  means  every  other.  I  know  many  excellent 
people,  happily,  whose  natures  have  not  been  spoiled  by  it :  the  more 
as  it  has  been  done  absolutely  without  knowledge  of  being  wrong.  I 
did  not  find  out  the  wrong  of  it  myself,  till  Mr.  Sillar  showed  me  the 
way  to  judge  of  ifc. 

The  passage  which  I  have  italicized,  from  Mr.  Lecky,  is  a  very  pre- 
cious statement  of  his  sagacious  creed.  The  chief  jest  of  it  is  his  having 
imagined  himself  to  he  of  Aristotle's  *  species' ! 

*'  To  get  profit  without  responsibility  has  been  a  fond  scheme  as  im- 
possible of  honest  attainment  as  the  phiiosof>her's  stone  or  perpetual 
motion.  Visionaries  have  imagined  such  things  to  exist,  but  it  has 
been  reserved  for  this  mammon-worshipping  generation  to  find  it 
in  that  arrangement  by  which  a  man,  without  labour,  can  secure  a 
permanent  income  with  perfect  security,  and  without  diminution  of  the 
capital. 

A  view  of  it  is  evidently  taken  by  Lord  Bacon  when  he  says  that 
usury  bringeth  the  treasure  of  a  realm  into  few  hands  ;  for  the  usurer 
trading  ou  a  certainty,  and  other  men  on  uncertainties,  at  the  end  of 
the  game  all  the  money  will  be  in  the  box. 

We  have  had  now  an  oi)portunity  of  practically  testing  this  theory ; 
not  more  than  seventeen  years  have  elapsed  since  all  restraint  was  re- 
moved from  the  growth  of  what  Lord  Coke  calls  this  '  pestilent  weed,* 
and  we  see  Bacon's  words  verified,  the  rich  becoming  richer,  and  the  poor 
poorer,  is  the  cry  throughout  the  whole  civilized  world.  Rollin  in  his 
Ancient  History  speaking  of  the  Roman  Empire,  tells  us  that  it  has 
been  the  ruin  of  every  state  where  it  was  tolerated.  It  is  in  a  fair  way 
to  ruin  Ihis  of  ours,  and  ruin  it  it  will,  unless  England's  sons  calmly  and 
candidly  investigate  the  question  for  themselves,  and  resolutely  act 
upon  the  conr^lusions  to  which  the  investigation  must  lead  them. 

*'  There  is  such  a  thing  as  unlimited  liability;  of  tho  justice  of  such 
laws  I  do  not  now  spoak,  but  the  law  exists,  and  ns  it  wns  made  by 
moneyed  men  in  the  interest  of  mone3'ed  men  they  cannot  refuse  to  be 
judged  by  it.  The  adn)ission,  therefore,  of  the  fact  that  interest  is  a 
share  of  the  profit,  would  throw  upon  the  money-lender  the  burden  of 
unlimited  liability  ;  this  he  certainly  refuses  to  admit,  consequently  he 
has  no  alternative  but  to  confess  that  interest  has  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  profit,  but  that  it  is  a  certain  inherent  property  of  money,  viz., 
that  of  producing  money,  and  that  interest  is  as  legitimately  the  offspring 
of  money  as  a  Calf  is  that  of  a  Cow.    That  this  is  really  the  stand  now 


232 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


taken,  may  be  shown  from  the  literature  and  practice  of  the  present 
day.  Mr.  Leck3\  one  of  the  latest  champions  of  interest,  boldly  admita 
it.  In  his  history  of  the  rise  and  influence  of  rationalism  in  Europe, 
p.  284,  after  quoting  Aristotle's  saying,  thab  all  money  is  sterile  by  na- 
ture, he  says,  *  This  is  an  absurdity  of  Aristotle  s.  and  the  ntimber  of  cen- 
turies during  which  it  was  incessantly  asserted  without  being  {so  far  as  los 
know)  once  questioned^  is  a  carious  illustration  of  ihe  longevity  of  a  sopliism 
ichen  expressed  in  a  terse  form^  and  sheltered  by  a  great  name.  It  is 
enough  to  make  one  ashamed  of  his  species  to  think  that  Bentham  teas  the 
first  to  bring  into  notice  the  simple  considtration  that  if  the  borrower  em- 
ploys the  borrowed  money  in  buying  bidls  and  coirs,  and  if  these  produce 
calves  to  ten  times  the  value  of  the  interest,  the  money  borrowed  can 
scarcely  be  said  to  be  sterile.'* 

And  now  to  remedy  all  this.  Were  there  no  remedy,  to  parade  it, 
in  our  view,  would  be  cruel ;  but  there  is  one,  so  simple,  that,  like 
those  of  divine  making,  it  may  be  despised  for  its  simplicity.  It  con- 
sists in  the  recognition  of  the  supreme  wisdom  which  forbade  the  tak- 
ing of  usury.  We  should  not  reimpose  the  usury  laws,  which  were  in 
themselves  a  blunder  and  a  snare,  nor  would  we  advocate  the  forcible 
repression  of  the  vice  any  more  than  we  do  that  of  other  vices,  such  as 
gambling  or  prostitution,  but  we  would  put  them,  on  precisely  the  same 
footing,  and  enact  thus — 

Whereas,  usury  is  a  sin  detestable  and  abominable, 
the  law  will  refuse  to  recognize  any  contract 
in  which  it  is  an  element. 

The  first  effect  of  this  would  be,  that  all  those  who  had  lent,  taking  se- 
curity into  their  hands,  would  have  no  power  of  oppression  beyond 
keeping  the  pledge, — the  balance  of  their  debts  being  on  a  similar  foot- 
ing to  those  of  the  men  who  had  lent  without  security. 

**  To  these  their  chance  of  repayment  would  depend  on  their  previous 
conduct.  If  they  had  lent  their  money  to  honourable  men,  they  would 
surely  be  repaid ;  if  to  rogues,  they  surely  would  not ;  and  serve  them 
right.  Those,  and  those  only,  who  have  lent  without  interest  would 
have  the  power  of  an  action  at  law  to  recover ;  and  as  such  men  must 
have  possessed  philanthropy,  they  could  safely  be  trusted  with  that 
power. 

"  Regarding  the  future  employment  of  money,  a  usurer  who  intended 
to  continue  his  unholy  trade,  would  lend  only  to  such  men  as  would 
repay  without  legal  pressure,  and  from  such  men  trade  would  not  have 
to  fear  competition.  But  to  disreputable  characters  the  money-market 
would  be  hermetically  sealed ;  and  then  as  commerce,  freed  from  the 
competition  of  these  scoundrels,  began  again  to  be  remunerative,  we 
should  find  it  more  to  our  advantage  to  take  an  interest  in  commerce 
than  usury /r^wz  it,  and  so  gradually  would  equity  supersede  iniquity, 
and  peace  and  prosperity  be  found  where  now  abound  corruption, 
riot,  and  rebellion,  with  all  the  host  of  evils  inseparable  from  a  con- 
dition of  plethoric  wealth  on  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  hopeless  and 
despairing  poverty. 

II.  I  intended  in  this  note  to  have  given  some  references  to  the  first 
use  of  the  word  Franc,  as  an  adjective.  But  the  best  dictionary-mak- 
ers seem  to  have  been  foiled  by  it.    "I  recollect,  (an  Oxford  friend 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


233 


writes  to  me,)  Clovis  called  his  axe  '  Francisca*  when  he  threw  it  to 
determine  by  its  fall  where  he  should  build  a  church,"  and  in  Littre's 
dictionary  a  root  is  suggested,  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  Franca,  '  javelin,' 
But  I  think  these  are  all  collateral,  not  original  uses.  I  am  not  sure 
even  when  the  word  came  to  be  used  for  the  current  silver  coin  of 
France:  that,  at  least,  must  be  ascertainable.  It  is  curious  that  in  no 
fit  of  Liberty  and  Equality,  the  anti  Imperalists  have  thought  of  calling 
their  golden  coins  *  Citizens  '  instead  of  '  Napoleons* ;  nor  even  their 
sous,  Sansculottes. 

III.  Some  of  my  correspondents  ask  me  what  has  become  of  my 
promised  additional  Fors  on  the  glaciers.  Well,  it  got  crevassed,  and 
split  itself  into  three  ;  and  then  regelated  itself  into  a  somewhat  com- 
pact essay  on  glaciers  ;  and  then  got  jammed  up  altogether,  because  I 
found  that  the  extremely  scientific  Professor  Tyndall  had  never  dis- 
tinguished the  quality  of  viscosity  from  plasticity,  (or  the  consistence 
of  honey  from  that  of  butter,)  still  less  the  gradations  of  character  in  the 
approach  of  metals,  glass,  or  stone,  to  their  freezing-points ;  and  that  I 
wasn't  as  clear  as  could  be  wished  on  some  of  these  matters  myself  ; 
and,  in  fact,  that  I  had  better  deal  with  the  subject  seriously  in  my 
Oxford  lectures  than  in  Fors^  which  I  hope  to  do  this  next  autumn, 
after  looking  again  at  the  riband  structure  of  the  Brenva.  Meantime, 
here— out  of  I  don't  know  what  paper,  (I  wish  my  correppondents 
would  always  cross  the  slips  they  cut  out  with  the  paper's  name  and  date, ) 
— is  a  lively  account  of  the  present  state  of  affairs,  with  a  compliment  to 
Professor  Tyndall  on  his  style  of  debate,  which  I  beg  humbly  to 
endorse. 

An  awful  battle,  we  regret  to  say,  is  now  raging  between  some  of 
the  most  distinguished  men  of  Science,  Literature,  and  Art,  for  all 
those  three  fair  sisters  have  hurtled  into  the  Homeric  fray.  The  com- 
batants on  one  side  are  Professors  G.  Forbes,  Tait,  and  Ruskin,  with 
Mr.  Alfred  Wills,  and  on  the  other — alone,  but  fearless  and  undismayed 
— the  great  name  of  Tyndall.  The  cama  teterrima  IxUi  is  in  itself  a 
cold  and  unlikely  one — namely,  the  glaciers  of  Switzerland  ;  but  fiercer 
the  fight  could  not  be,  we  grieve  to  state,  if  the  question  of  eternal 
punishment,  with  all  its  fiery  accessory  scenery,  were  under  discussion. 
We  have  no  rash  intention  of  venturing  into  that  terrible  battle-ground 
where  Professor  Ruskin  is  laying  about  him  with  his  Fars  C'avigern^ 
and  where  Professor  Tait,  like  another  Titan,  hurls  wiMly  into  the 
affrighted  air  such  epithets  as  *  contemptible,'  'miserable,'  *  disgusting,' 
'  pernicious,*  *  pestilent.'  These  adjectives,  for  anything  that  ignorant 
journalists  can  know,  may  mean,  in  Scotch  scientific  parlance,  everything 
that  is  fair,  chivalrous,  becoming,  and  measured  in  argument.  Bub, 
merely  from  the  British  instinct  of  fair  play  which  does  not  like  to  see 
four  against  one,  and  without  venturing  a  single  word  about  the  glaciers, 
we  cannot  help  remarking  how  much  more  consistent  with  the  dignity 
of  science  appears  Professor  Tyndall  s  answer  in  the  last  number  of  the 


23^ 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


Contemporary  Review.  If  it  be  true  that  the  man  who  keeps  his  tem- 
per is  generally  in  the  right,  we  shall  decidedly  back  Mr.  Tyndall  and 
the  late  lamented  Agassiz  in  the  present  dreadful  conflict.  Speaking-, 
for  instance,  of  those  same  furious  adjectives  which  we  have  culled 
from  the  literary  parterre  of  Professor  Tait,  Dr.  Tyndall  sweetly  says, 
'  The  spirit  which  prompts  them  may,  after  all,  be  but  a  local  distortion 
of  that  noble  force  of  heart  which  answered  the  Cameron*s  Gathering 
at  Waterloo  ;  carried  the  Black  Watch  to  Coomassie ;  and  which  has 
furnished  Scotland  with  the  materials  of  an  immortal  history.  Still, 
rudeness  is  not  independence,  bluster  is  not  strength,  nor  is  coarseness 
courage.  We  have  won  the  human  understanding  from  the  barbarism 
of  the  past ;  but  we  have  won  along  with  it  the  dignity,  courtesy,  and 
truth  of  civilized  life.  And  the  man  who  on  the  platform  or  in  the 
press  does  violence  to  this  ethical  side  of  human  nature  discharges  but 
an  imperfect  duty  to  the  public,  whatever  the  qualities  of  his  under- 
standing may  be. '  This,  we  humbly  think,  is  how  men  of  science  ought 
to  talk  when  they  quarrel — if  they  quarrel  at  all." 

I  hope  much  to  profit  by  this  lesson.  I  have  not  my  School  for 
Scandal  by  me — but  I  know  where  to  find  it  the  minute  I  get  home; 
and  I'll  do  my  best.  The  man  who,"  etc.  etc.; — yes,  I  think  I  can 
manage  it. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


235 


LETTER  XLIV. 

Rome,  (Sth  June^  1874. 
The  poor  Campagna  herdsman,  whose  seeking  for  St. 
Paul's  statue  the  Professor  of  Fine  Art  in  the  University  of 
Oxford  so  disgracefully  failed  to  assist  him  in,  had  been 
kneeling  nearer  the  line  of  procession  of  the  Corpus  Domini 
than  I  ; — in  fact,  quite  among  the  rose-leaves  which  had 
been  strewed  for  a  carpet  round  the  aisles  of  the  Basilica 
I  grieve  to  say  that  I  was  shy  of  the  rose-bestrewn  path, 
myself  ;  for  the  crowd  waiting  at  the  side  of  it  had  mixed 
up  the  rose-leaves  with  spittle  so  richly  as  to  make  quite  a 
pink  pomatum  of  them.  And,  indeed,  the  living  temples  of 
the  Holy  Ghost  which  in  any  manner  bestir  them.selves  here 
among  the  temples, — whether  of  Roman  gods  or  Christian 
saints, — have  merely  and  simply  the  two  great  operations 
upon  them  of  filling  their  innermost  adyta  with  dung,  and 
making  their  pavements  slippery  with  spittle  :  the  Pope's 
new  tobacco  manufactory  under  the  Palatine, — an  infinitely 
more  important  object  now,  in  all  views  of  Rome  from  the 
west,  than  either  the  Palatine  or  the  Capitol, — greatly  aiding 
and  encouraging  this  especial  form  of  lustration  :  while  the 
still  more  ancient  documents  of  Egyptian  religion — the  obe- 
lisks of  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  and  of  the  portico  of  St. 
Peter's — are  entirely  eclipsed  by  the  obelisks  of  our  English 
religion,  lately  elevated,  in  full  view  from  the  Pincian  and 
the  Montorio,  with  smoke  coming  out  of  the  top  of  them. 
And  farther,  the  entire  eastern  district  of  Rome,  between 
the  two  Basilicas  of  the  Lateran  and  St.  Lorenzo,  is  now  one 
mass  of  volcanic  ruin  ; — a  desert  of  dust  and  ashes,  the  lust 
of  wealth  exploding  there,  out  of  a  crater  deeper  than  Etna's, 
and  raging,  as  far  as  it  can  reach,  in  one  frantic  desolation 
of  whatever  is  lovely,  or  holy,  or  memorable,  in  the  central 
citv  of  the  world. 


236 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


For  there  is  one  fixed  idea  in  the  mind  of  every  European 
progressive  politician,  at  this  time  ;  namely,  that  by  a  certain 
application  of  Financial  Art,  and  by  the  erection  of  a  certain 
quantity  of  nev^  buildings  on  a  colossal  scale,  it  will  be  pos- 
sible for  society  hereafter  to  pass  its  entire  life  in  eating, 
smoking,  harlotry,  and  talk  ;  without  doing  anything  what- 
ever with  its  hands  or  feet  of  a  laborious  character.  And  a« 
these  new  buildings,  whose  edification  is  a  main  article  of 
this  modern  political  faith  and  hope, — (being  required  for 
gambling  and  dining  in  on  a  large  scale), — cannot  be  raised 
without  severely  increased  taxation  of  the  poorer  classes, 
(here  in  Italy  direct,  and  in  all  countries  consisting  in  the 
rise  of  price  in  all  articles  of  food — wine  alone  in  Italy  cost- 
ing just  ten  times  what  it  did  ten  years  ago,)  and  this  in- 
creased taxation  and  distress  are  beginning  to  be  felt  too 
grievously  to  be  denied  ;  nor  only  so,  but — which  is  still  less 
agreeable  to  modern  politicians — with  slowly  dawning  per- 
ception of  their  true  causes, — one  finds  also  the  popular 
journalists,  for  some  time  back  addressing  themselves  to  the 
defence  of  Taxation,  and  Theft  in  general,  after  this  fashion. 

"The  wealth  in  the  world  may  practically  be  regarded  as 
infinitely  great.  It  is  not  true  that  what  one  man  appro- 
priates becomes  thereupon  useless  to  others,  and  it  is  also  un- 
true that  force  or  fraud,  direct  or  indirect,  are  the  principal, 
or,  indeed,  that  they  are  at  all  common  or  important,  modes 
of  acquiring  wealth." — Pall  Mall  Gazette,  Jan.  14th,  18G9.  * 

*  The  passage  continues  thus,  curiously  enough, — for  the  parallel  of 
the  boat  at  sea  is  precisely  that  which  I  have  given,  in  true  explanation 
of  social  phenomena: — 

The  notion  that  when  one  man  becomes  rich  he  makes  others  poor, 
will  be  found  upon  examination  to  depend  upon  the  assumption  that 
there  is  in  the  world  a  fixed  quantity  of  wealth  ;  that  when  one  man  ap- 
propriates to  himself  a  large  amount  of  it,  he  excludes  all  others  from 
any  benefit  arising  from  it,  and  that  at  the  same  time  he  forces  some 
one  else  to  be  content  with  less  than  he  would  otherwise  have  had. 
Society,  in  short,  must  be  compared  to  a  boat  at  sea,  in  which  there  is 
a  certain  quantity  of  fresh  water,  and  a  certain  number  of  shipwrecked 
passengers.  In  that  case,  no  doubt,  the  water  drunk  by  one  is  of  no  use 
to  the  rest,  and  if  one  drinks  more,  others  must  drink  less,  as  the  water 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA, 


237 


The  philosophical  journalist,  after  some  farther  contemptu- 
ous statement  of  the  vulgar  views  on  this  subject,  conven- 
iently dispenses  (as  will  be  seen  by  reference  to  the  end  of 
the  clause  in  the  note)  with  the  defence  of  his  own.  I  will 
undertake  the  explanation  of  what  was,  perhaps,  even  to 
himself,  not  altogether  clear  in  his  impressions.  If  a  burglar 
ever  carries  off  the  Editor's  plate-basket,  the  bereaved  Editor 
will  console  himself  bv  reflectiiiof  tliat  it  is  not  true  that 
what  one  man  appropriates  becomes  thereupon  useless  to 
others  :  " — for  truly,  (lie  will  thus  proceed  to  finer  investi- 
gations,) this  plate  of  mine,  melted  down,  after  being  tran- 
sitionally  serviceable  to  the  burglar,  will  enter  again  into  the 
same  functions  among  the  silver  of  the  world  which  it  had  in 
my  own  possession  :  so  that  the  intermediate  benefit  to  the 
burglar  may  be  regarded  as  entirely  a  form  of  trade  profit, 
and  a  kind  of  turning  over  of  capital.  And  "  it  is  also  untrue 
that  force  or  fraud,  direct  or  indirect,  are  the  principal,  or  in- 
deed that  they  are  at  all  common  or  important,  modes  of  ac- 
quiring wealth," — for  this  poor  thief,  with  his  crow-bar  and 
jimmy,  does  but  disfurnish  my  table  for  a  day  ;  while  I,  with 
my  fluent  pen,  can  replenish  it  any  number  of  times  over,  by 
the  beautiful  expression  of  my  opinions  for  the  public  bene- 
fit. But  what  manner  of  fraud,  or  force,  there  may  be  in 
living  by  the  sale  of  one's  opinions,  instead  of  knowledges  ; 
and  what  quantity  of  true  knowledge  on  any  subject  whatso- 
ever—  moral,  political,  scientific,  or  artistic — forms  at  pres- 
ent the  total  stock  in  trade  of  the  Editors  of  the  European 
Press,  our  Pall  Mall  Editor  has  very  certainly  not  considered. 

"The  wealth  in  the  w^orld  practically  infinite," — is  it? 
Then  it  seems  to  me,  the  poor  may  ask,  with  more  reason  than 
ever  before,  Why  have  we  not  our  share  of  infinity  ?  Wo 
thought,  poor  ignorants,  that  we  were  only  the  last  in  the 
scramble  ;  we  submitted,  believing  that  somebody  must  be 

itself  is  a  fixed  quantity.  Moreover,  no  one  man  would  be  able  to  get 
more  than  a  rateable  share,  except  by  superior  force,  or  by  some  form 
of  deceit,  because  the  others  would  ])revent  him.  The  mere  statement 
of  this  view  ought  lo  be  a  sufficient  exposure  of  the  fundamental  ep 
ror  of  the  commonplacea  which  we  are  considering. 


238 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


last,  and  somebody  first.  But  if  the  mass  of  good  things  be 
inexhaustible,  and  there  are  horses  for  everybody, — why  is 
not  every  beggar  on  horseback  ?  And,  for  my  own  part, 
why  should  the  question  be  put  to  me  so  often, — which  I  am 
sick  of  answering  and  answering  again, — "  How,  with  our 
increasing  population,  are  we  to  live  without  Machinery  ?  " 
For  if  the  wealth  be  already  infinite,  what  need  of  machinery 
to  make  more  ?  Alas  !  if  it  could  make  more,  what  a  differ- 
ent world  this  might  be.  Arkwright  and  Stevenson  would 
deserve  statues,  indeed, — as  much  as  St.  Paul.  If  all  the 
steam  engines  in  England,  and  all  the  coal  in  it,  with  all 
their  horse  and  ass  power  put  together,  could  produce — so 
much  as  one  grain  of  corn  !  The  last  time  this  perpetually 
recurring  question  about  machinery  was  asked  me,  it  was 
very  earnestly  and  candidly  pressed,  by  a  master  manu- 
facturer, who  honestly  desired  to  do  in  his  place  what  was 
serviceable  to  England,  and  honourable  to  himself.  I  an- 
swered at  some  length,  in  private  letters,  of  which  I  asked 
and  obtained  his  leave  to  print  some  parts  in  Fors,  They 
may  as  well  find  their  place  in  this  number  ;  and  for  preface 
to  them,  here  is  a  piece,  long  kept  by  me,  concerning  rail- 
roads, which  may  advisably  now  be  read. 

Of  modern  machinery  for  locomotion,  my  readers,  I  sup- 
pose, thought  me  writing  in  ill-temper,  when  I  said,  in  one 
of  the  letters  on  the  childhood  of  Scott,  infernal  means  of 
locomotion  "  ?  Indeed,  I  am  ahvays,  compelled  to  write,  as 
always  compelled  to  live,  in  ill-temper.  But  I  never  set  down 
a  single  word  but  with  the  serenest  purpose.  I  meant  "  in- 
fernal "  in  the  most  perfect  sense  the  word  will  bear. 

For  instance.  The  town  of  Ulverstone  is  twelve  miles  from 
me,  by  four  miles  of  mountain  road  beside  Coniston  lake, 
three  through  a  pastoral  valley,  five  by  the  seaside.  A 
healthier  or  lovelier  walk  would  be  difficult  to  find. 

In  old  times,  if  a  Coniston  peasant  had'  any  business  at 
Ulverstone,  he  walked  to  Ulverstone  ;  spent  nothing  but 
shoe-leather  on  the  road,  drank  at  the  streams,  and  if  he 
spent  a  couple  of  batz  when  he  got  to  Ulverstone,  ''it  was  the 
end  of  the  world."    But  now,  he  would  never  think  of  doing 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


239 


Buch  a  thing  !  He  first  walks  three  miles  in  a  contrary  direc- 
tion, to  a  railroad  station,  and  then  travels  by  railroad  twenty- 
four  miles  to  Uiverstone,  paying  two  shillings  fare.  During 
the  twenty-four  miles  transit,  he  is  idle,  dusty,  stupid  ;  and 
either  more  hot  or  cold  than  is  pleasant  to  him.  In  either 
case  he  drinks  beer  at  two  or  three  of  the  stations,  passes 
his  time,  between  them,  with  anybody  he  can  find,  in  talking 
without  having  anything  to  talk  of  ;  and  such  talk  always 
becomes  vicious.  He  arrives  at  Uiverstone,  jaded,  half  drunk, 
and  otherwise  demoralized,  and  three  shillings,  at  least, 
poorer  than  in  the  morning.  Of  that  sum,  a  shilling  has  gone 
for  beer,  threepence  to  a  railway  shareholder,  threepence  in 
coals,  and  eighteenpence  has  been  spent  in  employing  strong 
men  in  the  vile  mechanical  work  of  making  and  driving  a 
machine,  instead  of  his  own  legs,  to  carry  the  drunken  lout. 
The  results,  absolute  loss  and  demoralization  to  the  poor,  on 
all  sides,  and  iniquitous  gain  to  the  rich.  Fancy,  if  you  saw 
the  railway  officials  actually  employed  in  carrying  the  country- 
man bodily  on  their  backs  to  Uiverstone,  what  you  would 
think  of  the  business  !  And  because  they  waste  ever  so 
much  iron  and  fuel  besides  to  do  it,  you  think  it  a  profitable 
one  ! 

And  for  comparison  of  the  advantages  of  old  times  aifd 
new,  for  travellers  of  higher  order,  hear  how  Scott's  excur- 
sions used  to  be  made. 

Accordingly,  during  seven  successive  years,  Scott  made 
a  raid,  as  he  called  it,  into  Liddesdale,  with  Mr.  Shortreed 
for  his  guide,  exploring  every  rivulet  to  its  source,  and  every 
ruined  peel  from  foundation  to  battlement.  At  this  time 
no  wheeled  carriage  had  ever  been  seen  in  the  district  ;  the 
first,  indeed,  that  ever  appeared  there  was  a  gig,  driven  by 
Scott  himself  for  a  part  of  his  way,  when  on  the  last  of  these 
seven  excursions.  There  was  no  inn  nor  public-house  of 
any  kind  in  the  whole  valley  ;  the  travellers  passed  from  the 
shepherd's  hut  to  the  minister's  manse,  and  again  from 
the  cheerful  hospitality  of  the  manse  to  the  rough  and  jolly 
welcome  of  the  homestead  ;  gathering,  wherever  they  went, 
songs  and  tunes,  and  occasionally  more  tangible  relics  of 


240 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


antiquity— even  such  '  a  rowth  of  auld  nicknackets '  as  Burna 
ascribes  to  Captain  Grose.  To  these  rambles  Scott  owed 
much  of  the  materials  of  his  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border ;  and  not  less  of  that  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  living  manners  of  these  unsophisticated  regions,  which 
constitutes  the  chief  charm  of  the  most  charming  of  his 
prose  works.  But  how  soon  he  had  any  definite  object  be- 
fore him  in  his  researches  seems  very  doubtful.  *He  was 
makin*  himsel*  a'  the  time/  said  Mr.  Shortreed  ;  '  but  he  didna 
ken  maybe  what  he  was  about,  till  years  had  passed.  At 
first  he  thought  o'  little,  I  dare  say,  but  the  queerness  and 
the  fun.' 

" '  It  was  that  same  season,  I  think,'  says  Mr.  Shortreed, 
Hhat  Sir  Walter  got  from  Dr.  Elliot  the  large  old  border 
war  horn,  which  ye  may  still  see  hanging  in  the  armoury  at 
Abbotsford.  How  great  he  was  when  he  was  made  master 
o'  that  !  I  believe  it  had  been  found  in  Hermitage  Castle — • 
and  one  of  the  doctor's  servants  had  used  it  many  a  day  as 
a  grease-horn  for  his  scythe  before  they  had  discovered  its 
history.  When  cleaned  out,  it  was  never  a  hair  tlie  worse  ; 
the  original  chain,  hoop,  and  mouthpiece  of  steel  were  all 
entire,  just  as  you  now  see  them.  Sir  Walter  carried  it 
home  all  the  way  from  Liddesdale  to  Jedburgh  slung  about 
his  neck  like  Johnny  Gilpin's  bottle,  while  I  was  entrusted 
with  an  ancient  bridle-bit,  which  we  had  likewise  picked  up. 

"  The  feint  o'  pride — nae  pride  had  he,  .  .  . 
A  lang  kail-gully  hung  down  by  his  side, 
And  a  great  meikle  nowt-hom  to  rout  on  had  he." 

And  meikle  and  sair  we  routed  on't,  and  botched  and  blew 
vvi'  micht  and  main."  O  wliat  pleasant  days  !  and  then  «' 
the  no7isense  toe  had  cost  us  Jiothing,  We  never  put  hand  in 
pocket  for  a  week  on  end.  Toll-bars  there  were  none,  and 
indeed  I  think  our  haill  charsres  v/ere  a  feed  o'  corn  to  our 
horses  in  the  gangin'  and  comin'  at  Riccartoun  mill.'" 

This  absolute  economy,  *  of  course,  could  only  exist  when 

*  The  reader  might  at  first  fancy  that  the  economy  was  not  *abso» 
lut«,'  but  that  the  expenses  of  the'  traveller  were  simply  borne  by  his 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


241 


travelling  was  so  rare  that  patriarchal  hospitality  could  still 
be  trusted  for  its  lodging.  But  the  hospitality  of  the  inn 
need  not  be  less  considerate  or  true  because  the  inn*s  master 
lives  in  his  occupation.  Even  in  these  days,  I  have  had  no 
more  true  or  kind  friend  than  the  now  dead  Mrs.  Eisenkrae- 
mer  of  the  old  Union  Inn  at  Chamouni  ;  and  an  innkeeper's 
daughter  in  the  Oberland  taught  me  that  it  was  still  possible 
for  a  Swiss  girl  to  be  refined,  imaginative,  and  pure-hearted, 
though  she  waited  on  her  father's  guests,  and  though  these 
guests  were  often  vulgar  and  insolent  English  travellers. 
For  she  had  been  bred  in  the  rural  districts  of  happy  olden 
days, — to  which,  as  it  chances,  my  thoughts  first  turned,  in 
the  following  answer  to  my  English  manufacturing  friend. 

On  any  given  farm  in  Switzerland  or  Bavaria,  fifty  years 
ago,  the  master  and  his  servants  lived,  in  abundance,  on  the 
produce  of  their  ground,  without  machinery,  and  exchanged 
some  of  its  surplus  produce  for  Lyons  velvet  and  Hartz  sil- 
ver, (produced  by  the  unhappy  mechanists  and  miners  of 
those  localities,)  whereof  the  happy  peasant  made  jackets 
and  bodices,  and  richly  adorned  the  same  with  precious 
chain-work.  It  is  not  more  than  ten  years  since  I  saw  in 
a  farm-shed  near  Thun,  three  handsome  youths  and  three 
comely  girls,  all  in  well-fitting,  pretty,  and  snow-white  shirt 
and  chemisette,  threshing  corn  with  a  steady  shower  of 
timed  blows,  as  skilful  in  their — cadence,  shall  we,  literally, 
say  ? — as  the  most  exquisitely  performed  music,  and  as 
rapid  as  its  swiftest  notes.  There  was  no  question  for  any 
of  them,  whether  they  should  have  their  dinner  when  they 
had  earned  it,  nor  the  sliglitest  chance  of  any  of  them  going 
in  rafjs  throuoh  the  winter. 

That  is  entirely  healthy,  happy,  and  wise  human  life.  Not 
a  theoretical  or  Utopian  state  at  all  ;  but  one  which  over  large 
districts  of  the  world  has  long  existed,  and  must,  thank  God, 

host.  Not  so ;  the  host  only  gave  what  he  in  his  turn  received,  when 
he  also  travelled.  Every  man  thus  carried  his  home  with  him,  and  to 
travel,  was  merely  to  walk  or  ride  from  place  to  place,  instead  of  round 
one's  own  house.  (See  Saunders  Fairford's  expostulation  with  Alan 
on  the  charg:e8  incurred  at  Noble  House.) 
Vol.  II.— 16 


242 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


in  spite  of  British  commerce  and  its  consequences,  for  ever, 
somewhere,  exist. 

But  the  farm,  we  will  say,  gets  over-populous,  (it  always 
does,  of  course,  under  ordinary  circumstances  ;)  that  is  to  say, 
the  ground  no  longer  affords  corn  and  milk  enough  for  the 
people  on  it.  Do  you  suppose  you  will  make  more  of  tlie 
corn,  because  vou  now  thresh  it  with  a  machine  ?  So  far 
from  needing  to  do  so,  you  have  more  hands  to  employ  than 
you  had — can  have  twelve  flails  going  instead  of  six.  You 
liiake  your  twelve  human  creatures  stand  aside,  and  thresh 
your  corn  with  a  steam  engine.  You  gain  time,  do  you  ? 
What's  the  use  of  time  to  you  ?  did  it  not  hang  heavy 
eiiough  on  your  hands  before  ?  You  thresh  your  entire  farm 
produce,  let  us  say,  in  twelve  minutes.  Will  that  make  it 
one  grain  more,  to  feed  the  twelve  mouths  ?  Most  assuredly, 
the  soot  and  stench  of  your  steam  engine  will  make  your  crop 
less  next  year,  but  not  one  grain  more  can  you  have,  to-day.* 
But  you  don't  mean  to  use  your  engines  to  thresh  with  or 
plough  with  ?  Well,  that  is  one  point  of  common  sense 
gained.  What  will  you  do  with  them,  then  ? — spin  and  weave 
cotton,  sell  the  articles  you  manufacture,  and  buy  food  ?  Very 
good  ;  then  somewhere  there  must  be  people  still  living  as 
you  once  did, — that  is  to  say,  producing  more  corn  and  milk 
than  they  want,  and  able  to  give  it  to  you  in  exchange  for 
your  cotton,  or  velvet,  or  what  not,  which  you  weave  with 
your  steam.  Well,  those  people,  wherever  they  are,  and  who- 
ever they  may  be,  are  your  lords  and  masters  thenceforth. 
They  are  living  happy  and  wise  human  lives,  and  are  served 
by  you,  their  mechanics  and  slaves.  Day  after  day  your  souls 
will  become  more  mechanical,  more  servile  :  also  you  will  go 
on  multiplying,  wanting  more  food,  and  more  ;  you  will  have 
to  sell  cheaper  and  cheaper,  work  longer  and  longer,  to  buy 
your  food.  At  last,  do  what  you  can,  you  can  make  no  more, 
or  the  people  who  have  the  corn  will  not  want  any  more  ;  and 

*  But  what  is  to  be  done,  then  ?  Emigrate,  of  course ;  but  under 
different  laws  from  those  of  modern  emigration.  Don't  emigrate  to 
China,  poison  Chinamen,  and  teach  them  to  make  steam  engines,  and 
then  import  Chinamen,  to  dig  iron  here.    But  see  next  Fors, 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


243 


your  increasing  population  will  necessarily  come  to  a  quite 
imperative  stop — by  starvation,  preceded  necessarily  by  revo- 
lution and  massacre. 

And  now  examine  the  facts  about  England  in  this  broad 
light. 

She  has  a  vast  quantity  of  ground  still  food-producing,  in 
corn,  grass,  cattle,  or  game.  With  that  territory  slie  educates 
her  squire,  or  typical  gentleman,  and  iiis  tenantry,  to  whom, 
together,  she  owes  all  her  power  in  the  world.  With  another 
large  portion  of  territory, — now  continually  on  the  increase, 
— she  educates  a  mercenary  population,  i-eady  to  produce  any 
quantity  of  bad  articles  to  anybody's  order  ;  population  which 
every  hour  that  passes  over  them  makes  acceleratingly  ava- 
ricious, immoral,  and  insane.  In  the  increase  of  that  kind  of 
territory  and  its  people,  her  ruin  is  just  as  certain  as  if  she 
were  deliberately  exchanging  her  corn-growing  land,  and  lier 
heaven  above  it,  for  a  soil  of  arsenic,  and  rain  of  nitric  acid. 

"  Have  the  Arkwrights  and  Stevensons,  then,  done  nothing 
but  harm  ?  "  Nothing  ;  but  the  root  of  all  the  mischief  is  not 
in  Arkwrights  or  Stevensons  ;  nor  in  rogues  or  mechanics. 
The  real  root  of  it  is  the  crime  of  the  squire  himself.  And 
the  method  of  that  crime  is  thus.  A  certain  quantity  of  the 
food  produced  by  the  country  is  paid  annually  by  it  into  the 
squire's  hand,  in  the  form  of  rent,  privately,  and  taxes,  pub- 
licly. If  he  uses  this  food  to  support  a  food-producing  popu- 
lation, he  increases  daily  the  strength  of  the  country  and  his 
own  ;  but  if  he  uses  it  to  support  an  idle  population,  or  one 
producing  merely  trinkets  in  iron,  or  gold,  or  other  rubbish, 
he  steadily  weakens  the  country,  and  debases  himself. 

Now  the  action  of  the  squire  for  the  last  fifty  years  has 
been,  broadly,  to  take  the  food  from  the  ground  of  his  estate, 
and  carry  it  to  London,  where  he  feeds  with  it  *  a  vast  num- 

*  The  writings  of  our  vulgar  political  economists,  calling  money  only 
a  *  medium  of  exchange,*  blind  the  foolish  public  conveniently  to  all  the 
practical  actions  of  the  machinery  of  the  currency.  Money  is  not  a 
medium  of  exchange,  but  a  token  of  right.  I  have,  suppose,  at  this 
moment,  ten,  twenty,  or  thirty  thousand  pounds.  That  signifies  that, 
as  compared  with  a  man  who  has  only  ten  pounds,  I  can  claim  posses- 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


ber  of  builders,  upholsterers,  (one  of  them  charged  me  five 
pounds  for  a  footstool  the  other  day,)  carriage  and  harness 
makers,  dress-makers,  grooms,  footmen,  bad  musicians,  bad 
painters,  gamblers,  and  harlots,  and  in  supply  of  the  wants  of 
these  main  classes,  a  vast  number  of  shopkeepers  of  minor 
useless  articles.  The  muscles  and  the  time  of  this  enormous 
population  being  wholly  unproductive — (for  of  course  time 
spent  in  the  mere  process  of  sale  is  unproductive,  and  much 
more  that  of  the  footman  and  groom,  while  that  of  the  vulgar 
upholsterer,  jeweller,  fiddler,  and  painter,  etc.,  etc.,  is  not 
only  unproductive,  but  mischievous,) — the  entire  mass  of  this 
London  population  do  nothing  whatever  either  to  feed  or 
clothe  themselves  ;  and  their  vile  life  preventing  them  from 
all  rational  entertainment,  they  are  compelled  to  seek  some 
pastime  in  a  vile  literature,  the  demand  for  which  again  oc- 
cupies another  enormous  class,  who  do  nothing  to  feed  or 
dress  themselves  ;  finally,  the  vain  disputes  of  this  vicious 
population  give  employment  to  the  vast  industry  of  the  law- 
yers and  their  clerks,*  who  similarly  do  nothing  to  feed  or 
dress  themselves. 

Now  the  peasants  might  still  be  able  to  supply  this  enor- 
mous town  population  with  food,  (in  the  form  of  the  squire's 
rent,)  but  it  cannot,  without  machinery,  supply  the  flimsy 
dresses,  toys,  metal  work,  and  other  rubbish  belonging  to  their 
accursed  life.  Hence  over  the  whole  country  the  sky  is  black- 
ened and  the  air  made  pestilent,  to  supply  London  and  other 
such  towns  "I*  with  their  iron  railings,  vulgar  upholstery, 

sion  of,  call  for,  and  do  what  I  like  with  a  thousand,  or  two  thousand, 
or  three  thousand  times  as  much  of  the  valuable  things  existing  in  the 
country.  The  peasant  accordingly  gives  the  squire  a  certain  number  of 
these  tokens  or  counters,  which  give  the  possessor  a  right  to  claim  so 
much  corn  or  meat.  The  squire  gives  these  tokens  to  the  various  per- 
sons in  town,  enumerated  in  the  text,  who  then  claim  the  corn  and  meat 
from  the  peasant,  returning  him  the  counters,  which  he  calls  '  price,* 
and  gives  to  the  squire  again  next  year. 

*  Of  the  industry  of  the  Magistrate  against  crime,  I  say  nothing ;  foi 
it  now  scarcely  exists,  but  to  do  evil.  See  first  article  in  Correspond- 
ence, at  end  of  letter. 

f  Compare,  especially,  Letter  XXIX. ,  p.  418. 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA.  245 


jewels,  toys,  liveries,  lace,  and  other  means  of  dissipation 
and  dishonour  of  life.  Gradually  the  country  people  cannot 
even  supply  food  to  the  voracity  of  the  vicious  centre  ;  and 
it  is  necessary  to  import  food  from  other  countries,  giv- 
ing in  exchange  any  kind  of  commodity  we  can  attract  their 
itching  desires  for,  and  produce  by  machinery.  The  ten- 
dency of  the  entire  national  energy  is  therefore  to  approxi- 
mate more  and  more  to  the  state  of  a  squirrel  in  a  cage,  or 
a  turnspit  in  a  wheel,  fed  by  foreign  masters  with  nuts  and 
dog's-meat.  And  indeed  when  we  rightly  conceive  the  re- 
lation of  London  to  the  country,  the  sight  of  it  becomes 
more  fantastic  and  wonderful  than  any  dream,  Hyde  Park, 
in  the  season,  is  the  great  rotatory  form  of  the  vast  squirrel- 
cage  ;  round  and  round  it  go  the  idle  company,  in  their  re- 
versed streams,  urging  themselves  to  their  necessary  exer- 
cise. They  cannot  with  safety  even  eat  their  nuts,  without 
so  much  *  revolution'  as  shall,  in  Venetian  language,  *  com- 
ply with  the  demands  of  hygiene.'  Then  they  retire  into 
their  boxes,  with  due  quantity  of  straw  ;  the  Belgravian 
and  Piccadillian  streets  outside  the  railings  being,  when  one 
sees  clearly,  nothing  but  the  squirrel's  box  at  the  side  of 
his  wires.  And  then  think  of  all  the  rest  of  the  metropolis 
as  the  creation  and  ordinance  of  these  squirrels,  that  they 
may  squeak  and  whirl  to  their  satisfaction,  and  yet  be  fed. 
Measure  the  space  of  its  entirely  miserable  life.  Begin  with 
that  diagonal  which  I  struck  from  Kegent  Circus  to  Drury 
Lane  ;  examine  it,  house  by  house  ;  then  go  up  from  Drury 
Lane  to  St.  Giles'  Church,  look  into  Church  Lane  there,  and 
explore  your  Seven  Dials  and  Warwick  Street  ;  and  remem- 
ber this  is  the  very  centre  of  the  mother  city, — precisely 
between  its  Parks,  its  great  Library  and  Museum,  its  princi- 
pal Theatres,  and  its  Bank.  Then  conceive  the  East-end  ; 
and  the  melancholy  Islington  and  Pentonville  districts  ; 
then  the  ghastly  spaces  of  southern  suburb — Vauxhall, 
Lambeth,  the  Borough,  Wapping,  and  Bermondsey.  All 
this  is  the  nidification  of  those  Park  Squirrels.  This  is 
the  thing  they  have  produced  round  themselves  ;  this  their 
work  in  the  world.    When  they  rest  from  their  squirrellian 


246 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


revolutions,  and  die  in  the  Lord,  and  their  works  do  follo\^ 
them,  these  are  what  will  follow  them.  Lugubrious  march 
of  the  Waterloo  Road,  and  the  Borough,  and  St.  Giles's  ; 
the  shadows  of  all  the  Seven  Dials  having  fetched  their  last 
compass.  New  Jerusalem,  prepared  as  a  bride,  of  course, 
opening  her  gates  to  them  ; — but,  pertinaciously  attendant, 
Old  Jewry  outside.       Their  works  do  follow  them." 

For  these  streets  are  indeed  what  they  have  built  ; 
their  inhabitants  the  people  they  have  chosen  to  educate. 
They  took  the  bread  and  milk  and  meat  from  the  people  of 
their  fields  ;  they  gave  it  to  feed,  and  retain  here  in  their 
service,  this  fermenting  mass  of  unhappy  human  beings, 
— news-mongers,  novel-mongers,  picture-mongers,  poison- 
drink-mongers,  lust  and  death-mongers  ;  the  whole  smoking 
mass  of  it  one  vast  dead-marine  storeshop, — accumulation  of 
wreck  of  the  Dead  Sea,  with  every  activity  in  it,  a  form  of 
putrefaction. 

Some  personal  matters  were  touched  upon  in  my  friend's 
reply  to  this  letter,  and  I  find  nothing  more  printable  of  the 
correspondence  but  this  following  fragment  or  two. 

"  But  what  are  you  to  do,  having  got  into  this  mechanical 
line  of  life?" 

You  must  persevere  in  it,  and  do  the  best  you  can  for  the 
present,  but  resolve  to  get  out  of  it  as  soon  as  may  be.  The 
one  essential  point  is  to  know  thoroughly  that  it  is  wrong  ; 
how  to  get  out  of  it,  you  can  decide  afterwards,  at  your  lei- 
sure. 

But  somebody  must  weave  by  machinery,  and  dig  in 
mines  :  else  how  could  one  have  one's  velvet  and  silver 
chains  ?  " 

Whatever  machinery  is  needful  for  human  purposes  can 
be  driven  by  wind  or  water  ;  the  Thames  alone  could  drive 
mills  enough  to  weave  velvet  and  silk  for  all  England.  But 
even  mechanical  occupation  not  involving  pollution  of  the 
atmosphere  must  be  as  limited  as  possible  ;  for  it  invariably 
degrades.  You  may  use  your  slave  in  your  silver  mine,  or 
at  your  loom,  to  avoid  such  labour  yourself,  if  you  honestly 
believe  you  have  brains  to  be  better  employed  ; — or  you 


FORS  GLAVIGEEA. 


247 


may  yourself,  for  the  service  of  others,  honourably  become 
tlieir  slav^e  ;  and,  in  benevolent  degradation,  dig  silver  or 
weave  silk,  making  yourself  semi-spade,  or  semi-worm.  But 
you  must  eventually,  for  no  purpose  or  motive  whatsoever, 
live  amidst  smoke  and  filth,  nor  allow  others  to  do  so  ;  you 
must  see  that  your  slaves  are  as  comfortable  and  safe  as 
their  employment  permits,  and  that  they  are  paid  wages 
high  enough  to  allow  them  to  leave  it  often  for  redemption 
and  rest. 

Eventually,  I  say  ; — how  fast  events  may  move,  none  of  us 
know  ;  in  our  compliance  with  them,  let  us  at  least  be  intel- 
ligently patient — if  at  all  ;  not  blindly  patient. 

For  instance,  there  is  nothing  really  more  monstrous  in 
any  recorded  savagery  or  absurdity  of  mankind,  than  that 
governments  should  be  able  to  get  money  for  any  folly  they 
choose  to  commit,  by  selling  to  capitalists  the  right  of  tax- 
ing future  generations  to  the  end  of  time.  All  tlie  cruellest 
wars  inflicted,  all  the  basest  luxuries  grasped  by  the  idle 
classes,  are  thus  paid  for  by  the  poor  a  hundred  times  over. 
And  yet  I  am  obliged  to  keep  my  money  in  the  funds  or  the 
bank,  because  I  know  no  other  mode  of  keeping  it  safe  ; 
and  if  I  refused  to  take  the  interest,  1  should  only  throw  it 
into  the  hands  of  the  very  people  who  would  use  it  for  these 
evil  purposes,  or,  at  all  events,  for  less  good  than  I  can. 
Nevertheless  it  is  daily  becoming  a  more  grave  question 
with  me  what  it  may  presently  be  right  to  do.  It  may  be 
better  to  diminish  private  charities,  and  much  more,  my  own 
luxury  of  life,  than  to  comply  in  any  sort  with  a  national  sin. 
But  I  am  not  agitated  or  anxious  in  the  matter  :  content  to 
know  my  principle,  and  to  work  steadily  towards  better  ful- 
filment of  it. 

And  this  is  all  that  I  would  ask  of  my  correspondent,  or 
of  any  other  man, — that  he  should  know  what  he  is  about, 
and  be  steady  in  his  line  of  advance  or  retreat.  I  know  my- 
self to  be  a  usurer  as  long  as  I  take  interest  on  any  money 
whatsoever.  I  confess  myself  such,  and  abide  whatever 
shame  or  penalty  may  attach  to  usury,  nntil  I  can  withdraw 
myself  from  the  system.    So  my  correspondent  says  he  must 


248 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


abide  by  his  post.  I  think  so  too.  A  naval  captain,  though 
I  should  succeed  in  persuading  him  of  the  wickedness  of 
war,  would  in  like  manner,  if  he  were  wise,  abide  at  his  post ; 
nay,  would  be  entirely  traitorous  and  criminal  if  he  at  once 
deserted  it.  Only  let  us  all  be  sure  what  our  positions  are ; 
and  if,  as  it  is  said,  the  not  living  by  interest  and  the  reso- 
lutely making  everything  as  good  as  can  be,  are  incompatible 
with  the  present  state  of  society,  let  us,  though  compelled  to 
remain  usurers  and  makers  of  bad  things,  at  least  not  deceive 
ourselves  as  to  the  nature  of  our  acts  and  life. 

Leaving  thus  the  personal  question,  how  the  great  courses 
of  life  are  to  be  checked  or  changed,  to  each  man's  conscience 
and  discretion, — this  following  answer  I  w^ould  make  in  all 
cases  to  the  inquiry,  *  What  can  I  do?"* 

If  the  present  state  of  this  so-called  rich  England  is  so 
essentially  miserable  and  poverty-stricken  that  honest  men 
must  always  live  from  hand  to  mouth,  while  speculators  make 
fortunes  by  cheating  them  out  of  their  labour,  and  if,  there- 
fore, no  sum  can  be  set  aside  for  charity, — the  paralyzed 
honest  men  can  certainly  do  little  for  the  present.  But, 
with  what  can  be  spared  for  charity,  if  a/^ything,  do  this  ; 
buy  ever  so  small  a  bit  of  ground,  in  the  midst  of  the  worst 
back  deserts  of  our  manufacturing  towns  ;  six  feet  square, 
if  no  more  can  be  had, — nay,  the  size  of  a  grave,  if  you  will, 
but  buy  \t  freehold^  and  make  a  garden  of  it,  by  hand-labour  ; 
a  garden  visible  to  all  men,  and  cultivated  for  all  men  of 
that  place.  If  absolutely  nothing  will  grow  in  it,  then  have 
herbs  carried  there  in  pots.  Force  the  bit  of  ground  into 
order,  cleanliness,  green  or  coloured  aspect.  What  difficulties 
you  have  in  doing  this  are  your  best  subjects  of  thought  ; 
the  good  you  will  do  in  doing  this,  the  best  in  your  present 
power. 

What  the  best  in  your  ultimate  power  may  be,  will  depend 
on  the  action  of  the  English  landlord  ;  for  observe,  we  have 
only  to  separate  the  facts  of  the  Swiss  farm  to  ascertain  what 
they  are  with  respect  to  any  state.  We  have  only  to  ask 
what  quantity  of  food  it  produces,  how  much  it  exports  in 
exchange  for  other  articles,  and  how  much  it  imports  in  ex* 


F0R8  GLAVIGERA.  249 


change  for  other  articles.  The  food-producing  countries 
have  the  power  of  educating  gentlemen  and  gentlewomen  if 
they  please, — they  are  the  lordly  and  masterful  countries. 
Those  which  exchange  mechanical  or  artistic  productions  for 
food  are  servile,  and  necessarily  in  process  of  time  will  be 
ruined.  Next  I^ors,  therefore,  will  be  written  for  any  Land- 
lords who  wish  to  be  true  Workmen  in  their  vocation  ;  and, 
according  to  the  first  law  of  the  St.  George's  Company,  'to 
do  good  work,  whether  they  die  or  live.' 


250 


FOBS  CLAVIGEUA. 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


I  COMMEND  the  whole  of  the  following  letter  to  the  readers  most 
serious  consideration  : — 

Broxbourn,  Herts,  11th  June,  1874. 

My  dear  Sir, — You  are  so  tolerant  of  correspondents  with  grievances, 
that  I  venture  to  say  a  few  more  words,  in  reply  to  your  note  about  Law 
Reform.  In  November  next  the  Judicature  Bill  will  come  into  operation. 
The  preamble  recites  this  incontestable  fact,  ''that  it  is  expedient  to 
make  provision  for  the  better  administration  of  justice  in  England." 
Now,  the  two  salient  features  of  the  incessant  clamour  for  Law  lleform 
are  these — 1st,  an  increased  conviction  of  the  sanctity  of  property  ;  2nd^ 
a  proportionate  decrease  in  the  estimate  of  human  life.  For  years  past 
the  English  people  have  spent  incalculable  money  and  talk  in  trying  to 
induce  Parliament  to  give  them  safe  titles  to  their  land,  and  sharp  and 
instant  means  of  getting  in  their  debts :  the  Land  Transfer  Bill  is  in 
answer  to  this  first  demand,  and  the  Judicature  Bill  to  the  second. 
Meanwhile  the  Criminal  Code  may  shift  for  itself ;  and  here  we  have, 
as  the  outcome  of  centuries  of  vulgar  national  flourish  about  Magna 
Charta,  Habeas  Corpus,  and  much  else,  the  present  infamous  system  of 
punishing  crime  by  pecuniary  penalties.  Now  the  spirit  of  this  evil 
system  is  simply  this :  "A  crime  is  an  offence  against  society.  Making 
the  criminal,  suffer  pain  won't  materially  benefit  society,  but  making 
him  suffer  in  his  pocket  will ; ''  and  so  society  elects  to  be  battered 
about,  and  variously  maltreated,  on  a  sliding  scale  of  charges,  adjusted 
more  on  medical  than  moral  principles.  No  doubt  it  is  very  desirable 
to  have  a  title-deed  to  your  thousand  acres,  no  bigger  than  the  palm  of 
your  hand,  to  be  able  to  put  it  in  a  box,  and  sit  upon  it,  and  defy  all 
the  lawyers  in  the  land  to  pick  a  flaw  in  your  title  ;  quite  a  millenium- 
like  state  of  things,  but  liable  to  be  somewhat  marred  if  your  next-door 
neighbour  may  knock  you  off  your  box,  stab  you  with  a  small  pocket- 
knife,  and  jump  on  your  stomach,  all  with  grievous  damage  to  you,  but 
comparative  immunity  to  himself.  We  are  one  day  to  have  cheap  law, 
meanwhile  we  have  such  cheap  crime  that  injuries  to  the  person  are 
now  within  the  reach  of  all.  I  may  be  a  villain  of  the  first  water,  if  I 
have  a  few  spare  pounds  in  my  pocket.  From  a  careful  survey  of  lately 
reported  cases,  I  find  I  can  run  away  with  my  neighbour's  wife,  seduce 
his  daughter,  half  poison  his  household  with  adulterated  food,  and 
finally  stab  him  with  a  pocket-knife  for  rather  less  than  £1000.  Stab- 
bing is  so  ridiculously  cheap  that  I  can  indulge  in  it  for  a  trifling  pen- 
alty of  £1.  (See  Southall's  case,)  But  woe  be  to  me  if  I  dare  to  en- 
croach on  my  neighbour's  land,  prejudice  his  trade,  or  touch  his  pocket ; 
then  the  law  has  remedies,  vast  and  many,  and  I  shall  not  only  incur 
pecuniary  penalties  that  are  to  all  effects  and  purpose  limitless,  but  I 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


251 


shall  be  mac^e  to  suffer  in  person  also.  These  two  things  are  exactly 
indicative  of  the  gradual  decay  of  the  national  mind  under  the  influ- 
ence of  two  schools.  The  first  teaches  that  man's  primary  object  in  life 
is  to  get  on  in  the  world  ;  ^*  hence  we  have  this  exaggerated  estimate 
of  the  value  and  sanctity  of  property.  The  second  school  teaches  that 
love  can  exist  without  reverence,  mercy  without  justice,  and  liberty 
without  obedience ;  and  as  the  logical  result  of  such  teaching,  we  have 
lost  all  clear  and  healthy  knowledge  of  what  justice  really  is,  and  in- 
vent a  system  of  punishments  which  is  not  even  reUly  punitive,  and 
without  any  element  of  retribution  at  all.  Let  us  have  instead  a  jus- 
tice that  not  only  condones  the  crime,  but  also  makes  a  profit  out  of 
the  criminal.  And  we  get  her;  but  note  the  irony  of  Fate:  when  our 
modern  goddess  doe-'i  pluck  up  heart  to  be  angry,  she  seems  doomed  to 
be  angry  in  th^  wrong  way,  and  with  the  wrong  people.  Here  is  a  late 
instance  (the  printed  report  of  which  1  send  you):  — 

William  Ilawkes^  a  blind  man  and  very  infirm,  was  brought  up,  hav- 
ing been  committed  from  Marlborough  Street,  to  be  dealt  with  as  a 
rogue  and  vagabond. 

On  being  placed  in  the  dock, 

Mr.  Montaa^u  Williams,  as  amicus  curice^  said  he  had  known  the  pris- 
oner for  years,  from  seeing  him  sitiing  on  Waterloo  liridge  tracing  his 
fingers  over  a  book  designed  for  the  blind  to  read,  and  in  no  instance 
had  he  seen  him  beg  from  those  who  passed  by.  so  that  lie  was  practi- 
cally doing  no  harm,  and  some  time  ago  the  late  Sir  William  Bodkin 
had  dealt  very  mercifully  with  him.  Something  ought  to  be  done  for 
him. 

Mr.  Harris  said  he  could  corroborate  all  that  his  learned  friend  had 
stated. 

The  Assistant-Judge  said  he  had  been  convicted  by  the  magistrate, 
and  was  sent  here  to  be  sentenced  as  a  rogue  and  vagabond,  bfit  the 
Court  iDould  not  deal  hardly  iclth  him. 

Horsford,  chief  officer  of  the  Mendicity  Society,  said  the  prisoner 
had  been  frequently  convicted  for  begging. 

The  Assistant- Judge  sentenced  hiui  to  be  imprisoned  for  four  months. 
—May,  1874. 

The  other  day  I  was  reading  a  beautiful  Eastern  story  of  a  certain 
blind  man  who  sat  by  the  wayside  begging;  clearly  a  very  importunate 
and  troublesome  blind  man,  who  would  by  no  means  hold  his  peace, 
but  who,  nevertheless,  had  his  heart's  desire  granted  unto  him  at  last. 
And  yesterday  I  was  also  reading  a  very  unlovely  Western  story  of  an- 
other blind  man,  who  was  very  infirm,"  not  at  all  importunate,  did 
not  even  beg;  only  sat  there  by  the  roadside  and  read  out  of  a  certain 
Book  that  has  a  great  deal  to  say  about  justice  and  mercy.  The  sequel 
of  the  two  stories  varies  considerably  :  in  this  latter  one  our  civilized 
English  Law  clutches  the  old  blind  man  by  the  throat,  tells  him  he  is 
a  rogue  and  a  vagabond,  and  flings  him  into  prison  for  four  months  ! 

But  our  enlightened  British  Public  is  too  busy  clamouring  for  short 
deeds  and  cheap  means  of  litigation,  ever  to  give  thought  or  time  to 
mere  sentimental  grievances."  Have  you  seen  the  strange  comment 
on  Carlyle's  letter  oi'  some  months  ngo,  in  which  he  prophesied  evil 
things  to  come,  if  England  still  persisted  in  doing  her  work  '*  ill,  swiftly, 


252 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


and  mendaciously "  ?  Our  export  trade,  for  the  first  five  months  of 
this  year,  shows  a  decrease  of  just  eight  millions !  The  newspapers 
note,  with  a  horrified  amazement,  that  the  continental  nations  decline 
dealing  any  longer  at  the  old  shop,"  and  fall  back  on  home  products, 
and  try  to  explain  it  by  reference  to  the  Capital  and  Labour  question. 
Carlyle  forCvSaw  Germany's  future,  and  told  us  plainly  of  it ;  he  foresees^ 
England's  decadence,  and  warns  us  just  as  plainly  of  that ;  and  the 
price  we  have  aiready  paid,  in  this  3'ear  of  grace  1874,  for  telling  him 
to  hold  his  tongue,  is  just  eight  millions. 

Yours  sincerely. 

Next,  or  next  but  one,  to  the  Vors  for  the  squires,  will  come  that  for 
the  lawyers.  In  the  meantime,  can  any  correspondent  inform  me,  ap- 
proximately, what  the  income  and  earnings  of  the  legal  profession  are 
annually  in  England,  and  what  sum  is  spent  in  collateral  expenses  for 
juries,  witnesses,  etc.  ?  The  Times  for  May  18th  of  this  year  gives  the 
following  estimate  of  the  cost  of  the  Tichborne  trial,  which  seems  to 
me  very  moderate  : — 

The  Trial  of  the  Tichborne  Claimant.  —On  Saturday  a  return 
to  the  House  of  Commons,  obtained  by  Mr.  W.  H.  Smith,  was  printed, 
showing  the  amount  expended  upon  the  prosecution  in  the  case  of  Ee- 
ginav.  Castro,  otherwise  Orton,  otherwise  Tichborne,"  and  the  probable 
amount  still  remaining  to  be  paid  out  of  the  vote  of  Parliament  for 

this  service."  The  probable  cost  of  the  trial  is  stated  at  £55,315  17«. 
Id,  of  which  £49,815  Vis.  \d.  had  been  paid  up  to  the  11th  ult.,  and 
on  the  11th  of  May  inst.  £5,500  remained  unpaid.  In  1873-3  counsels' 
fees  were  £1,146  I6.9.  M.,  and  in  1873-4  counsels'  fees  were  £22,495 
18s.  ^cL  The  jury  were  paid  £3,780,  and  the  shorthand  writers  £3,493 
3c?.  The  other  expenses  were  witnesses,  agents,  etc.,  and  law  station- 
ers and  printing.  Of  the  sum  to  be  paid,  £4,000  is  for  the  Australian 
and  Chilian  witnesses. — Times ^  May  18,  1874. 

II.  I  reprint  the  following  letter  as  it  was  originally  published.  I 
meant  to  have  inquired  into  the  facts  a  little  farther,  but  have  not  had 
time. 

21,  Mincing  Lane,  London,  E.  C, 
19^A  March,  1874. 
Dear  Sirs, — On  the  27th  March,  1872,  we  directed  your  attention  to 
the  subject  of  Usury  in  a  paper  headed  "  Choose  you  this  day  whom 
YE  WILL  SERVE."  We  have  since  published  our  correspondence  with 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Gumming,  and  we  take  his  silence  as  an  acknowledg- 
ment of  his  inability  to  justify  his  teaching  upon  this  subject.  We 
have  also  publicly  protested  against  the  apathy  of  the  Bishops  and 
Clergy  of  the  Established  Church  regarding  this  national  sin.  We  now 
append  an  extract  from  the  Hampshire  Inde'pendent  of  the  lltb  instant, 
which  has  been  forwarded  to  us : — 

"  The  Church  of  England  in  South  Australia  is  in  active  competition 
with  the  money  changers  and  those  who  sell  doves.  The  Church 
Office,  Leigh  Street,  Adelaide,  advertises  that  '  it  is  prepared  to  lend 


FOBS  GLAVIOERA. 


263 


money  at  current  rates — no  commission  or  brokerage  charged,*  which 
is  really  liberal  on  the  part  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  may  serve 
to  distinguish  it  as  a  lender  from  the  frequenters  of  the  synagogues.* 
It  has  been  suggested  that  the  Church  Office  should  hang  out 
the  triple  symbol  of  the  Lombards,  and  that  at  the  next  examination 
of  candidates  for  holy  orders  a  few  apposite  questions  might  be 
asked,  such  as —  State  concisely  the  best  method  of  obtaining  the 
highest  rate  of  interest  for  Church  moneys.  Demonstrate  how  a  sys- 
tem of  Church  money-lending  was  approved  by  the  founder  of 
Christianity.'  " 

As  such  perverseness  can  only  end  in  sudden  and  overwhelming 
calamity,  we  make  no  apology  for  again  urging  you  to  assist  as  in  our 
endeavours  to  banish  the  accursed  element  at  least  from  our  own 
trade. 

Your  obedient  servants, 

J.  C.  SiLLAR  AND  CO. 

I  put  in  large  print — it  would  be  almost  worth  capital  letters — the 
following  statement  of  the  principle  of  interest  as  ''necessary  to  the 
existence  of  money."  I  suppose  it  is  impossible  to  embody  the  modern 
view  more  distinctly  : — 

"  Money,  the  representation  and  measure  of  value,  has  also 
the  power  to  accumulate  value  by  interest  (italics  not  mine). 
This  accumulative  power  is  essential  to  the  existence  of 
money,  for  no  one  will  exchange  productive  property  for 
money  that  does  not  represent  production.  The  laws  making 
gold  and  silver  a  public  tender  impart  to  dead  masses  of 
metal,  as  it  were,  life  and  animation.  They  give  them 
powers  which  without  legal  enactment  they  could  not  possess, 
and  which  enable  their  owner  to  obtain  for  their  use  what 
other  men  must  earn  by  their  labour.  One  piece  of  gold 
receives  a  legal  capability  to  earn  for  its  owner,  in  a  givcfi 
time,  another  piece  of  gold  as  large  as  itself  ;  or,  in  other 
words,  the  legal  power  of  money  to  accumulate  by  interest 
compel  the  borrower  in  a  given  period,  accordirjg  to  the  rate 
of  interest,  to  mine  and  coin,  or  to  procure  by  the  sale  of  his 
labour  or  products,  another  lump  of  gold  as  large  as  the  first, 
and  give  it,  together  with  the  first,  to  the  lender." — Kellogg 
on  Labour  and  Capital^  New  York^  1840. 

♦  It  iM  possible  that  this  londinf^  office  may  have  been  organized  as  a  nieth(>d  of  charity, 
corrcapondiiip:  to  the  original  Monte  di  Pietii,  the  mtHiern  clergymen  having  imagined, 
in  conBcqaencc  of  tiie  commcin  error  about  interest,  that  tlicy  could  improve  the  system 
of  Venice  by  ignoring  its  main  couditiou— the  lending  gratis,— and  benefit  themselvefi  at 
the  same  time. 


254 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


LETTER  XLV. 

Lucca,  2nd  August^  1874. 

The  other  day,  in  the  Sacristan's  cell  at  Assisi,  I  got  into 
a  great  argument  with  the  Sacristan  himself,  about  the 
prophet  Isaiah.  It  had  struck  me  that  I  should  like  to 
know  what  sort  of  a  person  his  wife  was  :  and  I  asked  my 
good  host,  over  our  morning's  coffee,  whether  the  Church 
knew  anything  about  her.  Brother  Antonio,  however,  in- 
stantly and  energetically  denied  that  he  ever  had  a  wife. 
He  was  a  '  Castissimo  profeta,' — how  could  I  fancy  anything 
so  horrible  of  him  !  Yainly  I  insisted  that,  since  he  had 
children,  he  must  either  have  been  married,  or  been  under 
special  orders,  like  the  prophet  Hosea.  But  my  Protestant 
Bible  was  good  for  nothing,  said  the  Sacristaii.  Nay,  I 
answered,  I  never  read,  usually,  in  anything  later  than 
a  thirteenth  century  text  ;  let  him  produce  me  one  out  of 
the  convent  library,  and  see  if  I  couldn't  find  Shearjashub  in 
it.  The  discussion  dropped  upon  this, — because  the  library 
was  inaccessible  at  the  moment  ;  and  no  printed  Vulgate  to 
be  found.  But  I  think  of  it  again  to-day,  because  1  have 
just  got  into  another  puzzle  about  Isaiah, — to  wit,  what  he 
means  by  calling  himself  a  "  man  of  unclean  lips."  *  And 
that  is  a  vital  question,  surely,  to  all  persons  venturing  to 
rise  up,  as  teachers  ; — vital,  at  all  events,  to  me,  here,  and 
now,  for  these  following  reasons. 

Thirty  years  ago,  I  began  my  true  study  of  Italian,  and 
all  other  art, — here,  beside  the  statue  of  Ilaria  di  Caretto, 
recumbent  on  her  tomb.  It  turned  me  from  the  study  of 
landscape  to  that  of  life,  being  then  myself  in  the  fullest 
strength  of  labour,  and  joy  of  hope. 

And  I  was  thinking,  last  night,  that  the  drawing  which  I 
am  now  trying  to  make  of  it,  in  the  weakness  and  despair  of 

*  Read  Isaiah  vi.  through,  carefully. 


FORS  CLAVIGEHA. 


255 


declining  age,  might  possibly  be  the  last  I  should  make  be- 
fore quitting  the  study  of  Italian,  and  even  all  other,  art,  for 
ever. 

I  have  no  intent  of  doing  so  :  quite  the  reverse  of  that. 
But  I  feel  the  separation  between  me  and  the  people  round 
me,  so  bitterly,  in  the  world  of  my  own  which  tliey  cannot 
enter;  and  1  see  their  entrance  lo  it  now  barred  so  abso- 
lutely by  their  own  resolves,  (they  liaving  deliberately  and 
self-congratulatingly  chosen  for  themselves  the  Manchester 
Cotton  Mill  instead  of  the  Titian,)  that  it  becomes  every 
hour  more  urged  upon  me  that  I  shall  have  to  leave, — not 
father  and  mother,  for  they  have  left  me  ;  nor  children,  nor 
lands,  for  I  have  none, — but  at  least  this  spiritual  land  and 
fair  domain  of  human  art  and  natural  peace, — because  I  am 
a  man  of  unclean  lips,  and  dwell  in  the  midst  of  a  people  of 
unclean  lips,  and  therefore  am  undone,  because  mine  eyes 
have  seen  the  King,  the  Lord  of  llosts. 

I  say  it,  and  boldly.  Who  else  is  there  of  you  who  can 
stand  with  me,  and  say  the  same  ?  It  is  an  age  of  progress, 
you  tell  me.  Is  your  progress  chiefly  in  this,  that  you  can- 
not see  the  King,  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  but  only  Baal,  instead 
of  him  ? 

"The  Sun  is  God,"  said  Turner,  a  few  weeks  before  he 
died  with  the  setting  rays  of  it  on  his  face. 

He  meant  it,  as  Zoroaster  meant  it  ;  and  was  a  Sun- 
worshipper  of  the  old  breed.  But  the  unheard-of  foulness 
of  your  modern  faith  in  Baal  is  its  being  faith  without 
worship.  The  Sun  is — )iot  God, — you  say.  Not  by  any  man- 
ner of  means.  A  gigantic  railroad  accident,  perhaps, — a  cor- 
uscant  Stvos, — put  on  the  throne  of  God  like  a  limelight ;  and 
able  to  serve  you,  eventually,  much  better  than  ever  God  did. 

I  repeat  my  challenge.  Yon, — Te-Deum-singing  princes, 
colonels,  bishops,  choristers,  and  what  else, — do  any  of  you 
know  what  Te  means?  or  what  Deum  ?  or  what  Laudamus  ? 
Have  any  of  your  eyes  seen  the  King,  or  His  Sabaoth  ?  Will 
any  of  you  say,  with  your  hearts,  'Heaven  and  earth  aro 
full  of  His  glory  ;  and  in  His  name  we  will  set  up  ouf 
banners,  and  do  good  work,  whether  we  live  or  die'? 


256 


FOBS  GLAVIGEBA. 


You,  in  especial.  Squires  of  England,  whose  fathers  were 
England's  bravest  and  best, — by  how  much  better  and 
braver  you  are  than  your  fathers,  in  this  Age  of  Progress,  I 
challenge  you  :  Have  any  of  your  eyes  seen  the  King  ? 
Are  any  of  your  hands  ready  for  His  work,  and  for  His 
weapons, — even  though  they  should  chance  to  be  pruning- 
hooks  instead  of  spears  ? 

Who  am  I,  that  should  challenge  you — do  you  ask  ?  My 
mother  was  a  sailor's  daughter,  so  please  you  ;  one  of  my  aunts 
was  a  baker's  wife — the  other,  a  tanner's  ;  and  I  don't  know 
much  more  about  my  family,  except  that  there  used  to  be  a 
greengrocer  of  the  name  in  a  small  shop  near  the  Crystal 
Palace.  Something  of  my  early  and  vulgar  life,  if  it  in- 
terests you,  I  will  tell  in  next  Fors  :  in  this  one,  it  is  indeed 
my  business,  poor  gipsy  herald  as  I  am,  to  bring  you  such 
challenge,  though  you  should  hunt  and  hang  me  for  it. 

Squires,  are  you,  and  not  Workmen,  nor  Labourers,  do 
you  answer  next  ? 

Yet,  I  have  certainly  sometimes  seen  engraved  over  your 
family  vaults,  and  especially  on  the  more  modern  tablets, 
those  comfortf ul  words,  "  Blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  in 
the  Lord."  But  I  observe  that  you  are  usually  content, 
with  the  help  of  the  village  stone-mason,  to  say  only  this 
concerning  your  dead  ;  and  that  you  but  rarely  venture  to 
add  the  "yea"  of  the  Spirit,  "that  they  may  rest  from  their 
Labours,  and  their  Works  do  follow  them."  Nay,  I  am  not 
even  sure  that  many  of  you  clearly  apprehend  the  meaning 
of  such  followers  and  following  ;  nor,  in  the  most  pathetic 
funeral  sermons,  have  I  heard  the  matter  made  strictly  in  - 
telligible to  your  hope.  For  indeed,  though  you  have  always 
graciously  considered  your  church  no  less  essential  a  part  of 
your  establishment  than  your  stable,  you  have  only  been 
solicitous  that  there  should  be  no  broken-winded  steeds  in 
the  one,  without  collateral  endeavour  to  find  clerks  for  the 
other  in  w4iom  the  breath  of  the  Spirit  should  be  unbroken 
also. 

And  yet  it  is  a  text  which,  seeing  liow  often  we  would 
fain  take  the  comfort  of  it,  surely  invites  explanation.  The 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


implied  difference  between  those  who  die  in  the  Lord,  and 
die — otherwise  ;  the  essential  distinction  between  the  labour 
from  which  these  blessed  ones  rest,  and  the  work  which  in 
some  mysterious  way  follows  them  ;  and  the  doubt — which 
must  sometimes  surely  occur  painfully  to  a  sick  or  bereaved 
squire — whether  the  labours  of  ills  race  are  always  severe 
enough  to  make  rest  sweet,  or  the  works  of  his  race  always 
distinguished  enough  to  make  their  following  superb, — ought, 
it  seems  to  me,  to  cause  the  verse  to  glow  on  your  ( lately,  I 
observe,  more  artistic)  tombstones,  like  the  letters  on  Bel- 
shazzar's  wall  ;  and  with  the  more  lurid  and  alarming  light, 
that  this  "  following "  of  the  works  is  distinctly  connected, 
in  the  parallel  passage  of  Timothy,  with  "  judgment  "  upon 
the  works  ;  and  that  the  kinds  of  them  which  can  securely 
front  such  judgment,  are  there  said  to  be,  in  some  cases, 
"manifest  beforehand,"  and,  in  no  case,  ultimately  obscure. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  I  say,  as  if  such  questions  should  occur  to 
the  squire  during  sickness,  or  funeral  pomp.  But  the  seem- 
ing is  far  from  the  fact.  For  I  suppose  the  last  idea  which  is 
likely  ever  to  enter  the  mind  of  a  representative  squire,  in  any 
vivid  or  tenable  manner,  would  be  that  anything  he  had  ever 
done,  or  said,  was  liable  to  a  judgment  from  superior  pow- 
ers ;  or  that  any  other  law  than  his  own  will,  or  the  fashion 
of  his  society,  stronger  than  his  will,  existed  in  relation 
to  the  management  of  his  estate.  Whereas,  according  to 
any  rational  interpretation  of  our  Church's  doctrine,  as  by 
law  established  ;  if  there  be  one  person-  in  the  world  rather 
than  another  to  whom  it  makes  a  serious  difference  whetlier 
he  dies  in  the  Lord  or  out  of  Ilim  ;  and  if  there  be  one  rather 
than  another  who  will  have  strict  scrutiny  made  into  his  use 
of  every  instant  of  his  time,  every  syllable  of  liis  speech,  and 
every  action  of  his  hand  and  foot, — on  peril  of  having  hand 
and  foot  bound,  and  tongue  scorched,  in  Tophet, — that  re- 
sponsible person  is  the  British  Squire. 

Verv  stranjie,  the  unconsciousness  of  this,  in  his  own 
mind,  and  in  the  minds  of  all  belonging  to  him.     Even  the 
greatest  painter  of  him — the  Reynolds  who  has  filled  Eng- 
land with  the  ghosts  of  her  noble  squires  and  dames, — tliough 
V^OL.  II.— 17 


258 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


he  ends  his  last  lecture  in  the  Academy  with  "  the  name  of 
Michael  Angelo,"  never  for  an  instant  thouglit  of  following 
out  the  purposes  of  Michael  Angelo,  and  painting  a  Last 
Judgment  upon  Squires,  with  the  scene  of  it  laid  in  Leicester- 
shire. Appealing  lords  and  ladies  on  either  hand  ;~Behold, 
Lord,  here  is  Thy  land  ;  which  I  have — as  far  as  my  dis- 
tressed circumstances  would  permit — laid  up  in  a  napkin. 
Perhaps  there  may  be  a  cottage  or  so  less  upon  it  than  when 
I  came  into  the  estate, — a  tree  cut  down  here  and  there  im« 
prudently  ; — but  the  grouse  and  foxes  are  undiminished. 
Behold,  there  Thou  hast  that  is  Thine."  And  what  capac- 
ities of  dramatic  effect  in  the  cases  of  less  prudent  owners, 
— those  who  had  said  in  their  hearts,  My  Lord  delayeth 
His  comins:."  Michael  Ansrelo's  St.  Bartholomew,  exhibit- 
ing  his  oion  skin  flayed  off  him,  awakes  but  a  minor  interest 
in  that  classic  picture.  How  many  an  English  squire  might 
not  we,  with  more  pictorial  advantag-e,  see  represented  as 
adorned  with  the  flayed  skins  of  other  people  ?  Micah  the 
Morasthite,  throned  above  them  on  the  rocks  of  the  mountain 
of  the  Lord,  while  his  Master  now  takes  up  His  parable, 
*^  Hear,  I  pray  you,  ye  heads  of  Jacob,  and  ye  princes  of  the 
house  of  Israel  ;  Is  it  not  for  you  to  know  judgment,  who 
also  eat  the  flesh  of  my  people,  and  flay  their  skin  from  off 
them,  and  they  break  their  bones,  and  chop  them  in  pieces  as 
for  the  pot." 

And  how  of  the  appeals  on  the  other  side?  ^*Lord,  Thou 
gavest  me  one  land  ;  behold,  I  have  gained  beside  it  ten  lands 
more."  You  think  that  an  exceptionally  economical  landlord 
might  indeed  be  able  to  say  so  much  for  himself;  and  that 
the  increasing  of  their  estates  has  at  least  been  held  a  de- 
sirable thing  by  all  of  them,  however  Fortune,  and  the  sweet 
thyme-scented  Turf  of  England,  might  thwart  their  best  in- 
tentions. Indeed  it  is  well  to  have  coveted — much  more  to 
have  gained — increase  of  estate,  in  a  certain  manner.  But 
neither  the  Morasthite  nor  his  Master  have  any  word  of  praise 
for  you  in  appropriating  surreptitiously,  portions,  say,  of 
Hampstead  Heath,  or  Hayes  Common,  or  even  any  bit  of 
gipsy-pot-boiling  land  at  the  roadside.    Far  the  contrary  ; 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


259 


Tn  that  day  of  successful  appropriation,  there  is  one  that  shall 
take  up  a  parable  against  you,  and  say,  "  We  be  utterly 
spoiled.  He  hath  changed  the  portion  of  iny  people  ;  turning 
away,  he  hath  divided  our  fields.  Therefore  thou  shalt  have 
none  that  shall  cast  a  cord  by  lot  in  the  congregation  of  the 
Lord."  In  modern  words,  you  shall  have  quite  unexpected 
difficulties  in  getting  your  legal  documents  drawn  up  to  your 
satisfaction  ;  and  truly,  as  you  have  divided  the  fields  of  the 
poor,  the  poor,  in  their  time,  shall  divide  yours. 

Nevertheless,  in  their  deepest  sense,  tliose  triumphant 
words,  "Behold,  I  have  gained  {reside  it  ten  lands  more," 
must  be  on  the  lips  of  every  landlord  who  honourably  enters 
into  his  rest  ;  whereas  there  will  soon  be  considerable  diffi- 
culty, as  I  think  you  are  beginning  to  perceive,  not  only 
in  gaining  more,  but  even  in  keeping  wliat  you  have  got. 

For  the  gipsy  hunt  is  up  also,  as  w^ell  as  Harry  our  King's  ; 
and  the  hue  and  cry  loud  against  your  land  and  you  ;  your 
tenure  of  it  is  in  dispute  before  a  multiplying  mob,  deaf  and 
blind  as  you, — frantic  for  the  spoiling  of  you.  The  British 
Constitution  is  breaking  fast.  It  neverwas,  in  its  best  days, 
entirely  what  its  stout  owner  flattered  himself.  Neither 
British  Constitution,  nor  British  law,  though  it  blanch  every 
acre  with  an  acre  of  parchment,  sealed  with  as  many  seals  as 
the  meadow  liad  buttercups,  can  keep  your  landlordsliips 
safe,  henceforward,  for  an  hour.  You  will  have  to  fight 
for  them,  as  your  fathers  did,  if  you  mean  to  keep  them. 

That  is  your  only  sound  and  divine  right  to  them  ;  and  of 
late  you  seem  doubtful  of  appeal  to  it.  You  think  political 
economy  and  peace  societies  will  contrive  some  arithmetical 
evangel  of  possession.  You  will  not  find  it  so.  If  a  man  is 
not  ready  to  fight  for  his  land,  and  for  his  wife,  no  legal 
forms  can  secure  them  to  him.  They  can  affirm  his  posses- 
sion ;  but  neither  grant,  sanction,  nor  protect  it.  Toliisown 
love,  to  his  own  resolution,  the  lordship  is  granted  ;  and  to 
those  only. 

That  is  the  first  'labour'  of  landlords,  then.  Fierce  exer- 
cise  of  body  and  mind,  in  so  much  pugnacity  as  shall  super- 
sede all  office  of  legal  documents.    Whatever  labour  you 


260 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA. 


mean  to  put  on  your  land,  your  first  entirely  Divine  labour 
is  to  keep  hold  of  it.  And  are  you  ready  for  that  toil  to-day  ? 
It  will  soon  be  called  for.  Sooner  or  later,  within  the  next 
few  years,  you  will  find  yourselves  in  Parliament  in  front  of 
a  majority  resolved  on  the  establishment  of  a  Republic,  and 
the  division  of  lands.  Vainly  the  landed  millowners  will 
shriek  for  the  "  operation  of  natural  laws  of  political  econ- 
omy." The  vast  natural  law  of  carnivorous  rapine  which 
they  have  declared  their  Baal-God,  in  so  many  words,  will  be 
in  equitable  operation  then  ;  and  not,  as  they  fondly  hoped 
to  keep  it,  all  on  their  own  side.  Vain,  then,  your  arith- 
metical or  sophistical  defence.  You  may  pathetically  plead 
to  the  people's  majority,  that  the  divided  lands  will  not  give 
much  more  than  the  length  and  breadth  of  his  grave  to  each 
mob-proprietor.  They  will  answer,  We  will  have  what  we 
can  get  ; — at  all  events,  you  shall  keep  it  no  longer."  And 
what  will  you  do  ?  Send  for  the  Life  Guards  and  clear  the 
House,  and  then,  with  all  the  respectable  members  of  society 
as  special  constables,  guard  the  streets  ?  That  answered  well 
against  the  Chartist  meeting  on  Kennington  Common  in 
1848.  Yes  ;  but  in  1880  it  will  not  be  a  Chartist  meeting 
at  Kennington,  but  a  magna-and-maxima-Chartist  Ecclesia 
at  Westminster,  that  you  must  deal  with.  You  will  find  a 
difference,  and  to  purpose.  Are  you  prepared  to  clear  the 
streets  with  the  Woolwich  infant, — thinking  that  out  of  the 
mouth  of  that  suckling*,  God  will  perfect  your  praise,  and 
ordain  your  strength  ?  Be  it  so  ;  but  every  grocer's  and 
chandler's  shop  in  the  thoroughfares  of  London  is  a  maga- 
zine of  petroleum  and  percussion  powder  ;  and  there  are 
those  who  will  use  both,  among  the  Republicans.  And  you 
will  see  your  father  the  Devil's  will  done  on  earth,  as  it  is  in 
hell. 

I  call  him  your  father,  for  you  have  denied  your  mor- 
tal fathers,  and  their  Heavenly  One.  You  have  declared, 
in  act  and  thought,  the  ways  and  laws  of  your  sires — 
obsolete,  and  of  your  God — ridiculous  ;  above  all,  the  habits 
of  obedience,  and  the  elements  of  justice.  You  were  made 
lords  over  God's  heritage.    You  thought  to  make  it  your 


FOBS  CLAYIOERA. 


261 


own  heritage  ;  to  be  lords  of  your  own  land,  not  of  God's 
land.    And  to  this  issue  of  ownership  you  are  come. 

And  what  a  heritage  it  was,  you  had  the  lordship  over ! 
A  land  of  fruitful  vales  and  pastoral  mountains  ;  and  a 
heaven  of  pleasant  sunshine  and  kindly  rain  ;  and  times  of 
sweet  prolonged  summer,  and  cheerful  transient  winter  ;  and 
a  race  of  pure  heart,  iron  sinew,  splendid  fame,  and  constant 
faith. 

All  this  was  yours  !  the  earth  with  its  fair  fruits  and  inno- 
cent creatures  ; — the  firmament  witli  its  eternal  lights  and 
dutiful  seasons  ; — the  men,  souls  and  bodies,  your  fathers' 
true  servants  for  a  thousand  years, — their  lives,  and  their 
children's  children's  lives  given  into  your  hands,  to  save  or 
to  destroy  ; — their  food  yours, — as  the  grazing  of  the  sheep 
is  the  shepherd's  ;  their  thoughts  yours, — priest  and  tutor 
chosen  for  them  by  you  ;  their  hearts  yours, — if  you  would 
but  so  much  as  know  them  by  sight  and  name,  and  give  them 
the  passing  grace  of  your  own  glance,  as  you  dwelt  among 
them,  tlieir  king.  And  all  this  monarchy  and  glory,  all  this 
power  and  love,  all  this  land  and  its  people,  you  pitifullest, 
foulest  of  Iscariots,  sopped  to  choking  with  the  best  of 
the  feast  from  Christ's  own  fincrers,  vou  have  deliberatelv 
sold  to  the  highest  bidder  ; — Christ,  and  His  Poor,  and  His 
Paradise  together  ;  and  instead  of  sinning  only,  like  poor 
natural  Adam,  gathering  of  the  fruit  of  the  Tree  of  Knowl- 
edge, you,  who  don't  want  to  gather  it,  touch  it  with  a 
vengeance, — cut  it  down,  and  sell  the  timber. 

Judases  with  the  big  bag — game-bag  to  wit  ! — to  think 
how  many  of  your  dull  Sunday  mornings  have  been  spent, 
for  propriety's  sake,  looking  chiefly  at  those  carved  angels 
blowing  trumpets  above  your  family  vaults  ;  and  never  one 
of  you  has  had  Christianity  enough  in  him  to  think  that  he 
might  as  easily  have  his  moors  full  of  angels  as  of  grouse. 
And  now,  if  ever  you  did  see  a  real  angel  before  the  Day 
of  Judgment,  your  first  thought  would  be, — to  shoot  it. 

And  for  your  ^family'  vaults,  what  will  be  the  use  of 
them  to  you  ?  Does  not  Mr.  Darwin  sliow  you  that  you 
can't  wash  the  slugs  out  of  a  lettuce  without  disrespect  to 


262 


JPOIiS  CLAVIOERA. 


your  ancestors  ?  Nay,  the  ancestors  of  the  modern  politica. 
economist  cannot  have  been  so  pure  ; — they  were  not — he 
tells  you  himself — vegetarian  slugs,  but  carnivorous  ones — • 
those,  to  wit,  that  you  see  also  carved  on  your  tombstones 
going  in  and  out  at  the  eyes  of  skulls.  And  truly,  I  don't 
know  what  else  the  holes  in  the  heads  of  modern  political 
economists  were  made  for. 

If  there  are  any  brighter  windows  in  yours, — if  any 
audience  chambers — if  any  council  chambers — if  any  crown 
of  walls  that  the  pin  of  Death  has  not  yet  pierced, — it  is 
time  for  you  to  rise  to  your  work,  whether  you  live  or  die. 

Whar  are  you  to  do,  then  ?  First, — the  act  which  will  be 
the  foundation  of  all  bettering  and  strength  in  your  own 
lives,  as  in  that  of  your  tenants, — fix  their  rent ;  under  legal 
assurance  that  it  shall  not  be  raised  ;  and  under  moral  assur- 
ance that,  if  you  see  they  treat  your  land  well,  and  are  likely 
to  leave  it  to  you,  if  they  die,  raised  in  value,  the  said  rent 
shall  be  diminished  in  proportion  to  the  improvement  ;  that 
is  to  say^  providing  they  pay  you  the  fixed  rent  during  the 
time  of  lease,  you  are  to  leave  to  them  the  entire  benefit  of 
whatever  increase  they  can  give  to  the  value  of  the  land. 
Put  the  bargain  in  a  simple  instance.  You  lease  them  an 
orchard  of  crab-trees  for  so  much  a  year  ;  they  leave  you  at 
the  end  of  the  lease,  an  orchard  of  golden  pippins.  Suppos- 
ing they  have  paid  you  their  rent  regularly,  you  have  no 
right  to  anything  more  than  what  you  lent  them — crab-trees, 
to  wit.  You  must  pay  them  for  the  better  trees  which  by 
their  good  industry  they  give  you  back,  or,  which  is  the 
same  thing,  previously  reduce  their  rent  in  proportion  to  the 
improvement  in  apples.  '^The  exact  contrary,"  j^ou  observe, 
^*  of  your  present  modes  of  proceeding."  Just  so,  gentlemen  ; 
and  it  is  not  improbable  that  the  exact  contrary  in  many 
other  cases  of  your  present  modes  of  proceeding  will  be 
found  by  you,  eventually,  the  proper  one,  and  more  than 
that,  the  necessary  one.  Then  the  second  thing  you  have  to  . 
do  is  to  determine  the  income  necessary  for  your  own  noble 
and  peaceful  country  life  ;  and  setting  that  aside  out  of  the 
rents,  for  a  constant  sum,  to  be  habitually  livW  well  withii; 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


263 


limits  of,  put  your  heart  and  strength  into  the  right  employ- 
ment of  the  rest  for  the  betternig  of  your  estates,  in  ways 
which  the  farmers  for  their  own  advantage  could  not  or 
would  not  ;  for  the  growth  of  more  various  plants  ;  the 
cherishing,  not  killing,  of  beautiful  living  creatures — birds, 
beast,  and  fish  ;  and  the  establishment  of  such  schools  of 
History,  Natural  History,  and  Art,  as  may  enable  your  farm- 
ers' children,  with  your  own,  to  know  the  meaning  of  the 
words  Beauty,  Courtesy,  Compassion,  Gladness,  and  Religion. 
Which  last  word,  primarily,  (you  have  not  always  forgotten 
to  teach  this  one  truth,  because  it  chanced  to  suit  your  ends, 
and  even  the  teaching  of  this  one  truth  has  been  beneficent ;) 
— Religion,  primarily,  means  'Obedience' — binding  to  some- 
thing, or  some  one.  To  be  bound,  or  in  bonds,  as  apprentice  ; 
to  be  bound,  or  in  bonds,  by  military  oath  ;  to  be  bound,  or 
in  bonds,  as  a  servant  to  man  ;  to  be  bound,  or  in  bonds, 
under  the  yoke  of  God.  These  are  all  divinely  instituted, 
eternally  necessary,  conditions  of  Religion  ;  beautiful,  in- 
violable, captivity  and  submission  of  soul  in  life  and  death. 
This  essential  meaning  of  Religion  it  was  your  office  mainly 
to  teach, — each  of  you  captain  and  king,  leader  and  lawgiver, 
to  his  people  ; — vicegerents  of  your  Captain,  Christ.  And 
now — you  miserable  jockeys  and  gamesters — you  can't  get 
a  seat  in  Parliament  for  those  all  but  worn-out  buckskin 
breeches  of  yours,  but  by  taking  off  your  hats  to  the  potboy. 
Pretty  classical  statues  you  will  make,  Coriolanuses  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  humbly  promising,  not  to  your  people 
gifts  of  corn,  but  to  your  potboys,  stealthy  sale  of  adulterated 
beer  ! 

Obedience  ! — you  dare  not  so  much  as  utter  the  word, 
whether  to  potboy,  or  any  other  sort  of  boy,  it  seems,  lately  ; 
and  the  half  of  you  still  calling  themselves  Lords,  Marquises, 
Sirs,  and  other  such  ancient  names,  which — though  omniscient 
Mr.  Buckle  says  they  and  their  heraldry  are  nought — some 
little  prestige  lingers  about  still.  You  yourselves,  what  do 
you  yet  moan  by  them — Lords  of  what  ? — Herrs,  Signors, 
Dukes  of  what  ? — of  whom  ?  Do  you  mean  merely,  when 
you  go  to  the  root  of  the  matter,  that  you  sponge  ou  the 


264 


^0B8  CLAVIGEBA 


British  farmer  for  your  living,  and  are  strong-bodied  paupers 
compelling  your  dole  ? 

To  that  extent,  there  is  still,  it  seems,  some  force  in  you. 
Heaven  keep  it  in  you  ;  for,  as  I  have  said,  it  will  be  tried, 
and  soon  ;  and  you  would  even  yourselves  see  what  was 
coming,  but  that  in  your  hearts — not  from  cowardice,  but 
from  shame, — you  are  not  sure  w^hether  you  will  be  ready  to 
fight  for  your  dole  ;  and  would  fain  persuade  yourselves  it 
will  still  be  given  you  for  form's  sake,  or  pity's. 

No,  my  lords  and  gentlemen, — ^''ou  won  it  at  the  lance's 
point,  and  must  so  hold  it,  against  the  clubs  of  Sempach,  if 
still  you  may.  No  otherwise.  You  won  ^  ^^,'  I  say, — your 
dole, — as  matters  now  stand.  But  perhaps,  as  matters  used, 
to  stand,  something  else.  As  receivers  of  alms,  you  will  find 
there  is  no  fight  in  you.  No  beggar,  nor  herd  of  beggars, 
can  fortify  so  very  wide  circumference  of  dish.  And  the 
real  secret  of  those  strange  breakings  of  the  lance  by  the 
clubs  of  Sempach,  is — "  that  villanous  saltpetre  " — you 
think  ?  No,  Shakespearian  lord  ;  nor  even  the  sheaf -binding 
of  Arnold,  which  so  stopped  the  shaking  of  the  fruitless 
spiculse.  The  utter  and  inmost  secret  is,  that  you  have  been 
fighting  these  three  hundred  years  for  what  you  could  get^ 
instead  of  what  you  could  give.  You  were  ravenous  enough 
in  rapine  in  the  olden  times  ;  *  but  you  lived  fearlessly  and 
innocently  by  it,  because,  essentially,  you  wanted  money  and 
food  to  give, — not  to  consume  ;  to  maintain  your  followers 
with,  not  to  swallow  yourselves.  Your  chivalry  was  founded, 
invariably,  by  knights  who  were  content  all  their  lives  with 
their  horse  and  armour,  and  daily  bread.  Your  kings,  of 
true  power,  never  desired  for  themselves  more, — down  to  the 
last  of  them,  Friedrich.  What  they  did  desire  was  strength 
of  manhood  round  them,  and,  in  their  own  hands,  the  power 
of  largesse. 

'  Largesse.'  The  French  word  is  obsolete ;  one  Latin 
equivalent,  Liberalitas,  is  fast  receiving  another,  and  not 

*  The  reader  will  perhaps  now  begin  to  see  the  true  bearing  of  the 
earlier  letters  in  Fors.    Re-read,  with  this  letter,  that  on  the  campaign 
Crecy. 


F0R8  CLAVIOERA, 


265 


altogether  similar  significance,  among  English  Liberals. 
The  other  Latin  equivalent,  Generosity,  has  become  doubly 
meaningless,  since  modern  political  economy  and  politics 
neither  require  virtue,  nor  breeding.  The  Greek,  or  Greek- 
descended,  equivalents — Charity,  Grace,  and  the  like,  your 
Grace  the  Duke  of  can  perhaps  tell  me  what  has  be- 
come of  thein.  Meantime,  of  all  the  words,  ^Largesse,'  the 
entirely  obsolete  one,  is  the  perfectly  chivalric  one  ;  and 
therefore,  next  to  the  French  description  of  Franchise,  we 
will  now  read  the  French  description  of  Largesse, — putting 
first,  for  comparison  with  it,  a  few  more  sentences  *  from 
the  secretary's  speech  at  the  meeting  of  Social  Science  in 
Glasgow  :  and  rememberino:  also  the  Pall  Mall  Gazettes 
exposition  of  the  perfection  of  Lord  Derby's  idea  of  agricul- 
ture, in  the  hands  of  the  landowner — "Cultivating"  (by 
machinery)  ''large  farms  for  himself,'''' 

"  Exchange  is  the  result,  put  into  action,  of  the  desire  to 
possess  that  which  belongs  to  another,  controlled  by  reason 
and  conscientiousness.  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  any 
human  transaction  that  cannot  be  resolved,  in  some  form  or 
other,  into  the  idea  of  an  exchange.  All  that  is  essential  in 
production  (sic,  only  italics  mine,)     directly  evolved 

from  this  source." 

jjc  3^  5^  3^ 

"  Man  has  therefore  been  defined  to  be  an  animal  that 
exchanges.  It  will  be  seen,  however,  that  lie  not  only  ex- 
changes, but  from  the  fact  of  his  belonging,  in  part,  to  the 
order  carnivora,  that  he  also  inherits,  to  a  considerable  de- 
gree, the  desire  to  possess  without  exchanging  ;  or,  in  other 
words,  by  fraud  and  violence,  when  such  can  be  used  for  his 
own  advantage,  without  danger  to  himself." 

*  *  *  *  :f: 

*' Reason  would  immediately  suggest  to  one  of  superior 
strength,  that,  however  desirable  it  might  be  to  take  posses- 
sion, by  violence,  of  what  another  had  laboured  to  produce, 

*  I  wish  I  could  find  room  also  for  the  short  passages  I  omit;  but  one 
1  quoted  before,  As  no  one  will  deny  that  man  possesses  carnivorous 
teeth,'*  etc.,  and  the  others  introduce  collateral  statements  equally 
absurd,  but  with  which  at  present  we  are  not  concerned. 


266 


FOES  CLAVIGERA, 


he  might  be  treated  in  the  same  way  by  one  stronger  than 
himself;  to  which  he,  of  course,  would  have  great  objec- 
tion." 

***** 

"  In  order,  therefore,  to  prevent,  or  put  a  stop  to,  a  prac- 
tice which  each  would  object  to  in  his  own  case,  and  which, 
besides,  would  put  a  stop  to  production  altogether,  both 
reason  and  a  sense  of  justice  would  suggest  the  act  of  ex- 
change, as  the  only  proper  mode  of  obtaining  things  from 
one  another." 

***** 

To  anybody  who  had  either  reason  or  a  sense  of  justice, 
it  might  possibly  have  suggested  itself  that,  except  for  the 
novelty  of  the  thing,  mei'e  exchange  profits  nobodv,  and 
presupposes  a  coincidence,  or  rather  a  harmonious  dissent, 
of  opinion  not  always  attainable. 

Mr.  K.  has  a  kettle,  and  Mr.  P.  has  a  pot.  Mr.  P.  says  to 
Mr.  K.,  *  I  would  rather  have  your  kettle  than  my  pot  ;  '  and 
if,  coincidently,  Mr.  K.  is  also  in  a  discontented  humour,  and 
can  say  to  Mr.  P.,  'I  would  rather  have  your  pot  than  my 
kettle,'  why — both  Ilanses  are  in  luck,  and  all  is  well  ;  but 
is  their  carnivorous  instinct  thus  to  be  satisfied?  Carnivo- 
rous instinct  says,  in  both  cases,  'I  want  both  pot  and  kettle 
myself,  and  you  to  have  neither,'  and  is  entirely  unsatisfi- 
able  on  the  principle  of  exchange.  The  ineffable  blockhead 
who  wrote  the  paper  forgot  that  the  principle  of  division  of 
labour  underlies  that  of  exchange,  and  does  not  arise  out  of 
it,  but  is  the  only  reason  for  it.  If  Mr.  P.  can  make  two 
pots,  and  Mr.  K.  two  kettles,  and  so,  by  exchange,  both  be- 
come possessed  of  a  pot  and  a  kettle,  all  is  well.  But  the 
profit  of  the  business  is  in  the  additional  production,  and 
only  the  convenience  in  the  subsequent  exchange.  For,  in- 
deed, there  are  in  the  main  two  great  fallacies  which  the 
rascals  of  the  world  rejoice  in  making  its  fools  proclaim  : 
the  first,  that  by  continually  exchanging,  and  cheating  each 
other  on  exchange,  two  exchanging  persons,  out  of  one  pot, 
alternating  with  one  kettle,  can  make  their  two  fortunes. 
That  is  the  principle  of  Trade,  The  second,  that  Judas^ 
bag  has  become  a  juggler's,  in  which,  if  Mr.  P.  deposits  hia 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


267 


pot,  and  waits  awhile,  there  will  come  out  two  pots,  both 
full  of  broth  ;  and  if  Mr.  K.  deposits  his  kettle,  and  waits 
awhile,  there  will  come  out  two  kettles,  both  full  of  fish  ! 
That  is  the  principle  of  Interest, 

However,  for  the  present,  observe  simply  the  conclusion 
of  our  social  science  expositor,  that  the  art  of  exchange  is 
the  only  proper  mode  of  obtaining  things  from  one  another  ;" 
and  now  compare  with  this  theory  that  of  old  chivalry,  name-* 
ly,  that  gift  was  also  a  good  way,  both  of  losing  and  gaining. 

*'  And  after,  in  the  dance,  went 
Largesse,  that  set  all  her  intent 
For  to  be  honourablf;  and  free. 
Of  Alexander's  kin  was  she  ; 
Her  mostc  joy  was,  I  wis, 
When  that  she  gave,  and  said,  *  Have  this.'* 
Not  Avarice,  the  foul  caitiff,  f 
Was  half,  to  gripe,  so  ententive, 
As  Largesse  is  to  give,  and  spend. 
And  God  always  euough  her  send,  (sent) 
So  that  the  more  she  g^ave  away, 
The  more,  I  wis,  she  had  alway. 
4i  ♦  *  « 

Largesse  had  on  a  robe  fresh 
Of  rich  purpure,  sarlinish  ;  % 

*  I  must  warn  you  against  the  false  reading  of  the  original,  in  many 
editions.  Fournier's  live  volume  one  is  altogether  a  later  text,  in  some 
cases  with  interesting  intentional  modifications,  prv)bably  of  the  fif- 
teenth century  ;  but  oftener  with  destniction  of  the  older  meaning.  It 
gives  this  couplet,  for  instance, — 

"  Si  n'avoit  el  plaisir  de  rien 
Qnc  quant  clle  donnoit  du  sien.** 

The  old  reading  is, 

Si  n'avoit  elle  joic  de  rien 

Fore  quant  elle  povoit  dire,  'ticn.* 

Didot's  edition,  Paris,  1814,  is  founded  on  very  early  and  valuable 
texts  ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  read.  Chaucer  has  translated  a  text  some 
twenty  or  thirty  years  later  in  style ;  and  his  English  is  quite  trust- 
worthy as  far  as  it  is  carried.  For  the  rest  of  the  Romance,  Fournier's 
text  is  practically  good  enough,  and  easily  readable. 

f  Fr.  'chetive,"  rhyming  accurately  to  *  ententive.' 

X  Fr.  Sarrasinesse. 


268 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


Well  formed  was  her  face,  and  clear, 

And  open  had  she  her  colere,  (collar) 

For  she  right  then  had  in  present 

Unto  a  lady  made  present 

Of  a  gold  brooch,  full  well  wrought ; 

And  certes  it  mis-set  her  nought, 

For  through  her  smocke,  wrought  with  silk, 

The  flesh  was  seen  as  white  as  milke." 

Think  over  that,  ladies,  and  gentlemen  who  love  them,  for 
a  pretty  way  of  being  decolletee.  Even  though  the  flesh 
should  be  a  little  sunburnt  sometimes, — so  that  it  be  the  Sun 
of  Righteousness,  and  not  Baal,  who  shines  on  it — though  it 
darken  from  tlie  milk-like  flesh  to  the  colour  of  the  Madonna 
of  Chartres, — in  this  world  you  shall  be  able  to  say,  I  am 
black,  but  comely  ;  and,  dying,  shine  as  the  brightness  of  the 
firmament — as  the  stars  for  ever  and  ever.  They  do  not  re- 
ceive their  glories, — however  one  differeth  in  glory  from  an- 
other,— either  by,  or  on.  Exchange. 

Lucca.    {Assumption  of  the  Virgin,) 

*  As  the  stars,  for  everJ^  Perhaps  we  had  better  not  say 
that, — modern  science  looking  pleasantly  forward  to  the  ex- 
tinction of  a  good  many  of  them.  But  it  will  be  well  to 
shine  like  them,  if  but  for  a  little  v/hile. 

You  probably  did  not  understand  why,  in  a  former  letter,, 
the  Squire's  special  duty  towards  the  peasant  was  said  to  be 
"presenting  a  celestial  appearance  to  him." 

That  is,  indeed,  his  appointed  missionary  work  ;  and  still 
more  definitely,  his  wife's. 

The  giving  of  loaves  is  indeed  the  lady's  first  duty  ;  the 
first,  but  the  least. 

Next,  comes  the  giving  of  brooches  ; — seeing  that  her  peo- 
are  dressed  charmingly  and  neatly,  as  well  as  herself,  and 
have  pretty  furniture,  like  herself.* 

*  Even  after  eighteen  hundred  years  of  sermons,  the  Christian 
public  do  not  clearly  understand  that  Hwo  coats,'  in  the  brief  sermon 
of  the  Baptist  to  repentance,  mean  also,  two  petticoats,  and  the  like. 

I  am  glad  that  Fors  obliges  me  to  finish  this  letter  at  Lucca,  undei 
the  special  protection  of  St.  Martin. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


269 


But  her  chief  duty  of  all — is  to  be,  Herself,  lovely. 

That  through  her  smocke,  wrought  with  silk, 
The  flesh  be  seen  as  white  as  milke."  * 

Flesh,  ladies  mine,  you  observe  ;  and  not  any  merely  illumi- 
nated resemblance  of  it,  after  the  fashion  of  the  daughter  of 
Ethbaal.  It  is  your  duty  to  be  lovely,  not  by  candlelight, 
but  sunshine  ;  not  out  of  a  window  or  opera-box,  but  on  the 
bare  ground. 

Which  that  you  may  be, — if  through  the  smocke  the  flesh, 
then,  much  more,  through  the  flesh,  the  spirit,  must  be  seen 
as  white  as  milke." 

I  have  just  been  drawing,  or  trying  to  draw,  Giotto's 
*  Poverty '  (Sancta  Paupertas)  at  Assisi.  You  may  very 
likely  know  the  chief  symbolism  of  the  picture:  that  Poverty  is 
being  married  to  St.  Francis,  and  that  Christ  marries  them, 
while  her  bare  feet  are  entangled  in  thorns,  but  behind  her 
head  is  a  thicket  of  rose  and  lily.  It  is  less  likely  you  should 
be  acquainted  with  the  farther  details  of  the  group. 

The  thorns  are  of  the  acacia,  which,  according  to  tradition, 
was  used  to  weave  Christ's  crown.  The  roses  are  in  two 
clusters, — palest  red,f  and  deep  crimson  ;  the  one  on  her 
right,  the  other  on  her  left  ;  above  her  head,  pure 
white  on  the  golden  ground,  rise  the  Annunciation  Lilies. 
She  is  not  crowned  with  them,  observe  ;  they  are  be- 
hind her  :  she  is  crowned  only  with  her  own  hair,  wreathed 
in  a  tress  with  which  she  has  bound  her  short  bridal 
veil.  For  dress,  she  has — her  smocke,  only  ;  and  that 
torn,  and  torn  again,  and  patched,  diligently  ;  except  just  at 
the  shoulders,  and  a  little  below  the  throat,  where  Giotto  has 
torn  it,  too  late  for  her  to  mend  ;  and  the  fair  flesh  is  seen 
through, — so  white  that  one  cannot  tell  where  the  rents  are, 
except  when  quite  close. 

*  Fr. ,  *'  Si  que  par  oula  la  chemise 

Lui  blancheoit  la  char  alise." 

Look  out  '  Alice  '  in  Miss  Yonge*s  Dictionary  of  Christicm  Names  ;  and 
retiiember  Alioe  of  Salisbury. 

t  I  believe  the  pale  roses  are  meant  to  be  white,  but  are  tinged  wiili 
red  that  they  may  not  contend  with  the  symbolic  brightness  of  th« 
lilies. 


270 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


For  girdle,  she  has  the  Franciscan's  cord  ;  but  that  also  is 
white,  as  if  spun  of  silk  ;  her  whole  figure,  like  a  statue  of 
snow,  seen  against  the  shade  of  her  purple  wings  :  for  she  is 
already  one  of  the  angels.  A  crowd  of  them,  on  each  side, 
attend  her  ;  two,  her  sisters,  are  her  bridesmaids  also. 
Giotto  has  written  their  names  above  them — Spes  ;  Karitas  ; 
— their  sister's  Christian  name  he  has  written  in  the  lilies, 
for  those  of  us  who  have  truly  learned  to  read.  Charity  is 
crowned  with  white  roses,  which  burst,  as  they  open,  into 
flames  ;  and  she  gives  the  bride  a  marriage  gift. 

"  An  apple,"  say  the  interpreters. 

Not  so.  It  was  some  one  else  than  Charity  wlio  gave  the 
first  bride  that  gift.    It  is  a  heart. 

Hope  only  points  upwards  ;  and  while  Charity  has  the 
golden  nimbus  round  her  head  circular  (infinite),  like  that  of 
Christ  and  the  eternal  angels,  she  has  her  glory  set  within 
the  lines  that  limit  the  cell  of  the  bee, — hexagonal. 

And  the  bride  has  hers,  also,  so  restricted  :  nor,  though  she 
and  her  bridesmaids  are  sisters,  are  they  dressed  alike  ;  but 
one  in  red  ;  and  one  in  green  ;  and  one,  robe,  flesh  and 
spirit,  a  statue  of  Snow. 

La  terza  parea  neve,  teste  mossa." 

Do  you  know  now,  any  of  you,  ladies  mine,  what  Giotto's 
lilies  mean  between  the  roses  ?  or  how  they  may  also  grow 
among  the  Sesame  of  knightly  spears  ? 

Not  one  of  you,  maid  or  mother,  though  I  have  besought 
you  these  four  years,  (except  only  one  or  two  of  my  personal 
friends,)  has  joined  St.  George's  Company.  You  probably 
think  St.  George  may  advise  some  different  arrangements  in 
Hanover  Square  ?  It  is  possible  ;  for  his  own  knight's  cloak 
is  white,  and  he  may  wish  you  to  bear  such  celestial  appear- 
ance constantlv.  You  talk  often  of  bearinsj"  Christ's  cross  ; 
do  you  never  think  of  putting  on  Christ's  robes, — those  that 
He  wore  on  Tabor  ?  nor  know  what  lamps  they  were  which 
the  wise  virgins  trimmed  for  the  marriage  feast  ?  You  think, 
perhaps,  you  can  go  in  to  that  feast  in  gowns  made  half  of 
silk,  and  half  of  cotton,  spun  in  your  Lancashire  cotton- 


FOnS  CLAVIGERA. 


271 


mills  ;  and  that  the  Americans  have  struck  oil  enough — 
(lately,  I  observe  also,  native  gas,) — to  supply  any  number 
of  belated  virgins? 

It  is  not  by  any  means  so,  fair  ladies.  It  is  only  your 
newly  adopted  Father  who  tells  you  so.  Suppose,  learning 
what  it  is  to  be  generous,  you  recover  your  descent  from 
God,  and  then  weave  your  household  dresses  white  with 
your  own  fingers  ?  For  as  no  fuller  on  earth  can  white 
them,  but  the  light  of  a  living  faith, — so  no  demon  under 
the  earth  can  darken  them  like  the  shadow  of  a  dead  one. 
And  your  modern  English  *  faith  without  works  *  is  dead  ; 
and  would  to  God  she  were  buried  too,  for  the  stench  of 
her  goes  up  to  His  throne  from  a  thousand  fields  of  blood. 
Weave,  I  say, — you  have  trusted  far  too  much  lately  to  the 
washing — your  household  raiment  white  ;  go  out  in  the 
morning  to  Ruth's  field,  to  sow  as  well  as  to  glean  ;  sing 
your  Te  Deum,  at  evening,  thankfully,  as  God's  daughters, 
— and  there  shall  be  no  night  there,  for  your  light  shall  so 
shine  before  men  that  they  may  see  your  good  works,  and 
glorify — not  Baal  the  railroad  accident — but 

L'Amor  che  muove  il  Sole,  e  Taltre  stelle/' 


272 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


I  HAVE  had  by  me  for  some  time  a  small  pamphlet,  The  Agricultural 
Labourer^  by  a  Farmer's  Son,*  kindly  sent  me  by  the  author.  The 
matter  of  it  is  excellent  as  far  as  it  reaches ;  but  the  writer  speaks  as 
if  the  existing  arrangements  between  landlord,  farmer,  and  labourer 
must  last  for  ever.  If  he  will  look  at  the  article  on  Peasant  Farm- 
ing "  in  the  Spectator  of  July  4th  of  this  year,  he  may  see  grounds  for 
a  better  hope.  That  article  is  a  review  of  Mr.  W.  T.  Thornton's  Flea 
for  Feasant  Froprietors ;  and  the  following  paragraph  from  it  may 
interest,  and  perhaps  surprise,  other  readers  besides  my  correspondent. 
Its  first  sentence  considerably  surprises  me,  to  begin  with  ;  so  I  have 
italicized  it : — 

"  77ds  country  is  only  just  beginning  to  be  seriously  roused  to  the  fact 
that  it  has  an  agricultural  question  at  all ;  and  some  of  those  most 
directly  interested  therein  are,  in  their  pain  and  surprise  at  the  dis- 
covery, hurrying  so  fast  the  wrong  way,  that  it  will  probably  take  a 
longtime  to  bring  them  round  again  to  sensible  thoughts,  after  most 
of  the  rest  of  the  community  are  ready  with  an  answer. 

The  primary  object  of  this  book  is  to  combat  the  pernicious  error 
of  a  large  school  of  English  economists  with  reference  to  the  hurtful 

character  of  small  farms  and  small  landed  properties  One 

would  think  that  the  evidence  daily  before  a  rural  economist,  in  the 
marvellous  extra  production  of  a  market  garden,  or  even  a  peasant's 
allotment,  over  an  ordinary  farm,  might  suffice  to  raise  doubts  whether 
vast  fields  tilled  by  steam,  weeded  by  patent  grubbers,  and  left  other- 
wise to  produce  in  rather  a  happy-go-lucky  fashion,  were  likely  to  be 
the  most  advanced  and  profitable  of  all  cultivated  lands.  On  this 
single  point  of  production,  Mr.  Thornton  conclusively  proves  the  small 
farmer  to  have  the  advantage. 

* '  The  extreme  yields  of  the  very  highest  English  farming  are  even 
exceeded  in  Guernsey,  and  in  that  respect  the  evidence  of  the  greater 
productiveness  of  small  farming  over  large  is  overwhelming.  The 
Channel  Islands  not  only  feed  their  own  population,  but  are  large  ex- 
porters of  provisions  as  well. 

Small  farms  being  thus  found  to  be  more  advantageous,  it  is  but 
an  easy  step  to  peasant  proprietors." 

Stop  a  moment,  Mr.  Spectator.  The  step  is  easy,  indeed; — so  is  a 
Btep  into  a  well,  or  out  of  a  window.    There  is  no  question  whatever,  in 

*  Macintosh,  24,  Paternoster  Row. 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA, 


273 


aay  country,  or  at  any  time,  respecting  the  expediency  of  Bmall  farm- 
ing ;  but  whether  the  small  farmer  should  be  the  proprietor  of  his  land, 
is  a  very  awkward  question  indeed  in  some  countries.  Are  you  aware, 
Mr.  Spectator,  that  your  *easy  step,'  tak«n  in  two  lines  and  a  breath, 
means  what  I,  with  all  my  Utopian  zeal,  have  been  fourteen  years  writ- 
ing on  Political  Economy,  without  venturing  to  hint  at,  except  under 
my  breath ; — some  considerable  modification,  namely,  in  the  position 
of  the  existing  British  landlord  ? — nothing  less,  indeed,  if  your  '  step  ' 
were  to  be  completely  taken,  than  the  reduction  of  him  to  a  '  small 
peasant  proprietor'?  And  unless  he  can  show  some  reason  against  it, 
the  *  easy  step '  will  most  assuredly  be  taken  with  him. 

Yet  I  have  assumed,  in  this  Fors,  that  it  is  not  to  be  taken.  That 
under  certain  modifications  of  his  system  of  Rent,  he  may  still  remain 
lord  of  his  land, — may,  and  ought,  provided  always  he  knows  what  it 
is  to  be  lord  of  anything.  Of  which  I  hope  to  reason  farther  in  the 
For 8  for  November  of  this  year. 

Vol.  IL— 18 


2T4 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


LETTER  XLVI. 

Florence,  2^th  August^  1874. 

I  INTENDED  this  letter  to  have  been  published  on  my 
mother's  birthday,  the  second  of  next  month.  Fors,  how- 
ever, has  entirely  declared  herself  against  that  arrangement, 
having  given  me  a  most  unexpected  piece  of  vrork  here,  in 
drawing  the  Emperor,  King,  and  Baron,  who,  throned  by 
Simone  Memmi  beneath  the  Duomo  of  Florence,  beside  a 
Pope,  Cardinal,  and  Bishop,  represented,  to  the  Florentine 
mind  of  the  fourteenth  century,  the  sacred  powers  of  the 
State  in  their  fixed  relation  to  those  of  the  Church.  The 
Pope  lifts  his  right  hand  to  bless,  and  holds  the  crosier  in  his 
left  ;  having  no  powers  but  of  benediction  and  protection. 
The  Emperor  holds  his  sword  upright  in  his  right  hand,  and 
a  skull  in  his  left,  having  alone  the  power  of  death.  Both 
have  triple  crowns  ;  but  the  Emperor  alone  has  a  nimbus. 
The  King  has  the  diadem  of  fleur-de-lys,  and  the  ball  and 
globe  ;  the  Cardinal,  a  book.  The  Baron  has  his  warrior's 
sword  ;  the  Bishop,  a  pastoral  staff.  And  the  whole  scene 
is  very  beautifully  expressive  of  what  have  been  by  learned 
authors  supposed  the  Republican  or  Liberal  opinions  of  Flor- 
ence, in  her  day  of  pride. 

The  picture  (fresco),  in  which  this  scene  occurs,  is  the  most 
complete  piece  of  theological  and  political  teaching  given  to 
us  by  the  elder  arts  of  Italy  ;  and  this  particular  portion  of 
it  is  of  especial  interest  to  me,  not  only  as  exponent  of  the 
truly  liberal  and  communist  principles  which  I  am  endeavour- 
ing to  enforce  in  these  letters  for  the  future  laws  of  the  St. 
George's  Company  ;  but  also  because  my  maternal  grand- 
mother was  the  landlady  of  the  Old  King's  Head  in  Market 
Street,  Croydon  ;  and  I  wish  she  were  alive  again,  and  I  could 
paint  her  Simone  Memmi*s  King's  head,  for  a  sign. 

My  maternal  grandfather  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  sailor,  who 


FOnS  CLAVIGERA, 


275 


used  to  embark,  like  Robinson  Crusoe,  at  Yarmouth,  and 
come  back  at  rare  intervals,  making  himself  very  delightful 
at  home.  I  liave  an  idea  he  had  somethingr  to  do  with  the 
herring  business,  but  am  not  clear  on  that  point  ;  my  mother 
never  being  much  communicative  concerning  it.  He  spoiled 
her,  and  her  (younger)  sister,  with  all  his  heart,  when  he  was 
at  home  ;  unless  there  appeared  any  tendency  to  equivoca- 
tion, or  imaginative  statements,  on  the  part  of  the  children, 
which  were  always  unforgiveable.  My  mother  being  once 
perceived  by  him  to  have  distinctly  told  him  a  lie,  he  sent  the 
servant  out  forthwith  to  buy  an  entire  bundle  of  new  broom 
twigs  to  whip  her  with.  "  They  did  not  hurt  me  so  much  as 
one  would  have  done,"  said  my  mother,  but  I  thought  a  good 
deal  of  it." 

My  grandfather  was  killed  at  two-and-thirty,  by  trying  to 
ride,  instead  of  walk,  into  Croydon  ;  he  got  his  leg  crushed 
by  his  horse  against  the  wall  ;  and  died  of  tlje  hurt's  morti- 
fying. My  mother  was  then  seven  or  eight  years  old,  and, 
with  her  sister,  was  sent  to  quite  a  fashionable  (for  Croydon) 
day-school,  (Mrs.  Rice's),  where  my  mother  was  taught  evan- 
gelical principles,  and  became  the  pattern  girl  and  best  sewer 
in  the  school  ;  and  where  my  aunt  absolutely  refused  evan- 
gelical principles,  and  became  tiie  plague  and  pet  of  it. 

My  mother,  being  a  girl  of  great  power,  with  not  a  little 
pride,  grew  more  and  more  exemplary  in  her  entirely  consci- 
entious career,  much  laughed  at,  though  much  beloved,  by 
her  sister  ;  who  had  more  wit,  less  pride,  and  no  conscience. 
At  last  my  mother,  being  a  consummate  housewife,  was  sent 
for  to  Scotland  to  take  care  of  my  paternal  grandfather's 
house  ;  who  was  gradually  ruining  himself  ;  and  who  at  last 
effectually  ruined,  and  killed,  himself.  My  father  came  up  to 
Ijondon  ;  was  a  clerk  in  a  merchant's  house  for  nine  years,  with- 
out a  holiday  ;  then  began  business  on  his  own  account ;  paid 
his  father's  debts  ;  and  married  his  exemplary  Croydon  cousin. 

Meantime  my  aunt  had  remained  in  Croydon,  and  married 
a  baker.  By  the  time  I  was  four  years  old,  and  beginning 
to  recollect  things, — my  father  rapidly  taking  higher  com- 
mercial position  in  London, — there  was  traceable — though  to 


276 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


me,  as  a  child,  wholly  incomprehensible — just  the  least  pos- 
sible shade  of  shyness  on  the  part  of  Hunter  Street,  Brunswick 
Square,  towards  Market  Street,  Croydon.  But  whenever  my 
father  was  ill, — and  hard  work  and  sorrow  had  already  set 
their  mark  on  him, — we  all  went  down  to  Croydon  to  be 
petted  by  my  homely  aunt ;  and  walk  on  Duppas  Hill,  and 
on  the  heather  of  Addington. 

(And  now  I  go  on  with  the  piece  of  this  letter  written  last 
month  at  Assisi.) 

My  aunt  lived  in  the  little  house  still  standing — or  which 
was  so  four  months  ago — the  fashionablest  in  Market  Street, 
having  actually  two  windows  over  the  shop,  in  the  second 
story  ;  but  I  never  troubled  myself  about  that  superior  part 
of  the  mansion,  unless  my  father  happened  to  be  making 
drawings  in  Indian  ink,  when  I  would  sit  reverently  by  and 
watch  ;  my  chosen  domains  being,  at  all  other  times,  the 
shop,  the  bake-house,  and  the  stones  round  the  spring  of 
crystal  water  at  the  back  door  (long  since  let  down  into  the 
modern  sewer)  ;  and  my  chief  companion,  my  aunt's  dog, 
Towzer,  whom  she  had  taken  pity  on  when  he  was  a  snappish, 
starved  vagrant  ;  and  made  a  brave  and  affectionate  dog  of  : 
which  was  the  kind  of  thing  she  did  for  every  living  creature 
that  came  in  her  way,  all  her  life  long. 

I  am  sitting  now  in  the  Sacristan's  cell  at  Assisi.  Its  roof 
is  supported  by  three  massive  beams, — not  squared  beams, 
but  tree  trunks  barked,  with  the  grand  knots  left  in  them, 
answering  all  the  purpose  of  sculpture.  The  walls  are  of 
rude  white  plaster,  though  there  is  a  Crucifixion  by  Giottino 
on  the  back  of  one,  outside  the  door  ;  the  floor,  brick  ;  the 
table,  olive  wood  ;  the  windows  two,  and  only  about  four 
feet  by  two  in  the  opening,  (but  giving  plenty  of  light  in 
the  sunny  morning,  aided  by  the  white  walls,)  looking  out 
on  the  valley  of  the  Tescio.  Under  one  of  them,  a  small 
arched  stove  for  cooking  ;  in  a  square  niche  beside  the  other, 
an  iron  wash-hand  stand, — that  is  to  say,  a  tripod  of  good 
fourteenth-century  work,  carrying  a  grand  brown  porringer, 
two  feet  across,  and  half  a  foot  deep.  Between  the  windows 
is  the  fireplace,  the  wall  above  it  rich  brown  with  the  smoke* 


FOIiS  C'LAVTGBRA. 


277 


Hung  against  the  wall  behind  me  are  a  saucepan,  gridiron, 
and  toasting-fork  ;  and  in  the  wall  a  little  door,  closed  only 
by  a  brown  canvas  curtain,  opening  to  an  inner  cell  nearly 
filled  by  the  bedstead  ;  and  at  the  side  of  the  room  a  dresser, 
with  cupboard  below,  and  two  wine  flasks,  and  three  pots  of 
Raphael  ware  on  the  top  of  it,  together  with  the  first  volume 
of  the  '  Maraviglie  di  Dio  neW  anime  del  Pargatorio^  del 
padre  Carlo  Gregorio  Rosignoli,  della  Compagnia  de  Gesu,' 
(Roma,  1841).  There  is  a  bird  singing  outside  ;  a  constant 
low  hum  of  flies,  making  the  ear  sure  it  is  summer  ;  a  dove 
cooing,  very  low  ;  and  absolutely  nothing  else  to  be  heard, 
I  find,  after  listening  with  great  care.  And  I  feel  entirely 
at  home,  because  the  room — except  in  the  one  point  of  being 
extremely  dirty — is  just  the  kind  of  thing  I  used  to  see  in 
my  aunt's  bake-house  ;  and  the  country  and  the  sweet  valley 
outside  still  rest  in  peace,  such  as  used  to  be  on  the  Surrey 
hills  in  olden  days. 

And  now  I  am  really  going  to  begin  my  steady  explana- 
tion of  what  the  St.  George's  Company  have  to  do. 

1.  You  are  to  do  good  work,  whether  you  live  or  die. 
'What  is  good  work?'  you  ask.  Well  you  may  !  For  your 
wise  pastors  and  teachers,  though  they  have  been  very  care- 
ful to  assure  you  that  good  works  are  the  fruits  of  faith,  and 
follow  after  justification,  have  been  so  certain  of  that  fact 
that  they  never  have  been  the  least  solicitous  to  explain  to 
you,  and  still  less  to  discover  for  themselves,  what  good 
works  were  ;  content  if  they  perceived  a  general  impression 
on  the  minds  of  their  conorrenrations  that  tjood  works  meant 
going  to  church  and  admiring  the  sermon  on  Sundays,  and 
making  as  much  money  as  possible  in  the  rest  of  the  week. 

It  is  true,  one  used  to  hear  almsgiving  and  prayer  some- 
times recommended  by  old-fashioned  country  ministers.  But 
*^the  poor  are  now  to  be  raised  without  gifts,"  says  my  very 
hard-and-well-working  friend  Miss  Octavia  Hill  ;  and  prayer 
is  entirely  inconsistent  with  the  laws  of  hydro  (and  other) 
statics,  says  the  Duke  of  Argyll. 

It  may  be  so,  for  aught  I  care,  just  now.  Largesse  and 
supplication  may  or  may  not  be  still  necessary  in  the  world's 


278 


FORS  CLAVIGEBA. 


economy.  They  are  not,  and  never  were,  part  of  the  world's 
work.  For  no  man  can  give  till  he  has  been  paid  his  own 
wages  ;  and  still  less  can  he  ask  his  Father  for  the  said  wages 
till  he  has  done  his  day's  duty  for  them. 

Neither  almsgiving  nor  praying,  therefore,  nor  psalm-sing- 
ing, nor  even — as  poor  Livingstone  thought,  to  his  own 
death,  and  our  bitter  loss, — discovering  the  mountains  of  the 
Moon,  have  anything  to  do  with  "  good  work,"  or  God's 
work.  But  it  is  not  so  very  difficult  to  discover  what  that 
work  is.  You  keep  the  Sabbath,  in  imitation  of  God's  rest. 
Do,  by  all  manner  of  means,  if  you  like  ;  and  keep  also  the 
rest  of  the  week  in  imitation  of  God's  work. 

It  is  true  that,  according  to  tradition,  that  work  was  done 
a  long  time  ago,  "  before  the  chimneys  in  Zion  were  hot, 
and  ere  the  present  years  were  sought*  out,  and  or  ever  the 
inventions  of  them  that  now  sin,  were  turned  ;  and  before 
tliey  were  sealed  that  have  gathered  faith  for  a  treasure.*'  * 
But  the  established  processes  of  it  continue,  as  his  Grace  of 
Argyll  has  argutely  observed  ; — and  your  own  work  will  be 
good,  if  it  is  in  harmony  with  them,  and  duly  sequent  of 
them.  Nor  are  even  the  first  main  facts  or  operations  by 
any  means  inimitable,  on  a  duly  subordinate  scale,  for  if  Man 
be  made  in  God's  image,  much  more  is  Man's  work  made  to 
be  the  image  of  God's  work.  So  therefore  look  to  your  model, 
very  simply  stated  for  you  in  the  nursery  tale  of  Genesis. 

Day  First. — The  Making,  or  letting  in,  of  Light. 

Day  Second, — The  Discipline  and  Firmament  of  Waters. 

Day  Third. — The  Separation  of  earth  from  water,  and 
planting  the  secure  earth  with  trees. 

Day  Fourth. — The  Establishment  of  times  and  seasons, 
and  of  the  authority  of  the  stars. 

Day  Fifth, — Filling  the  water  and  air  with  fish  and  birds. 

Day  Sixth, — Filling  the  land  with  beasts  ;  and  putting 
divine  life  into  the  clay  of  one  of  these, 
that  it  may  have  authority  over  the  others, 
and  over  the  rest  of  the  Creation. 


♦    Esdrae  iv.  4. 


FOliS  CLAVIOEUA, 


279 


Here  is  your  nursery  story, — very  brief,  and  in  some  sort 
unsatisfactory ;  not  altogether  intelligible,  (I  don't  know 
anything  very  good  that  is,)  nor  wholly  indisputable,  (I  don't 
know  anything  ever  spoken  usefully  on  so  wide  a  subject 
that  is)  ;  but  substantially  vital  and  sufficient.  So  the  good 
human  work  may  properly  divide  itself  into  the  same  six 
branches  ;  and  will  be  a  perfectly  literal  and  practical  fol- 
lowing out  of  the  Divine  ;  and  will  hav^e  opposed  to  it  a  cor« 
respondent  Diabolic  force  of  eternally  bad  work — as  mucb 
worse  than  idleness  or  death,  as  good  work  is  better  thao 
idleness  or  death. 

Good  work,  then,  will  be, — 

A.  Letting  in  light  where  there  was  darkness  ;  as  especially 
into  poor  rooms  and  back  streets  ;  and  generally  guiding  and 
administering  the  sunshine  wherever  we  can,  by  all  the  means 
in  our  power. 

And  the  correspondent  Diabolic  work  is  putting  a  tax  on 
windows,  and  blocking  out  the  sun's  light  with  smoke. 

B.  Disciplining  the  falling  waters.  In  the  Divine  work, 
this  is  the  ordinance  of  clouds  ;  *  in  the  human,  it  is  prop- 
erly putting  the  clouds  to  service  ;  and  first  stopping  the  rain 
where  they  carry  it  from  the  sea,  and  then  keeping  it  pure 
as  it  goes  back  to  the  sea  again. 

And  the  correspondent  Diabolic  work  is  the  arrangement 
of  land  so  as  to  throw  all  the  water  back  to  the  sea  as  fast 
as  we  can  jf  and  putting  every  sort  of  filth  into  the  stream 
as  it  runs. 

c.  The  separation  of  earth  from  water,  and  planting  it  with 
trees.  The  correspondent  human  work  is  especially  clearing 
morasses,  and  planting  desert  ground. 

The  Dutch,  in  a  small  way,  in  their  own  country,  have  done 
a  good  deal  with  sand  and  tulips  ;  also  the  North  Germans. 
But  the  most  beautiful  type  of  the  literal  ordinance  of  dry 
land  in  water  is  the  State  of  Venice,  with  her  sea-canals,  re- 
strained, traversed  by  their  bridges,  and  especially  bridges 
of  the  Rivo  Alto,  or  High  Bank,  which  are,  or  were  till  a  few 

*  See  Modern  PainUrs.  vol.  iii.,  **The  Firmament." 
f  Compare  Dante,  Purg.,  end  of  Canto  V. 


280 


F0R8  CLA  VIGERA, 


years  since,  symbols  of  the  work  of  a  true  Pontifex, — the 
Pontine  Marshes  being  the  opposite  symbol. 

The  correspondent  Diabolic  work  is  turning  good  land  and 
w^ater  into  mud  ;  and  cutting  down  trees  that  we  may  drive 
steam  ploughs,  etc.,  etc. 

D.  The  establishment  of  times  and  seasons.  The  corre« 
spondent  human  work  is  a  due  watching  of  the  rise  and  set 
of  stars,  and  course  of  the  sun  ;  and  due  administration  and 
forethought  of  our  own  annual  labours,  preparing  for  them 
in  hope,  and  concluding  them  in  joyfulness,  according  to  the 
laws  and  gifts  of  Heaven.  Which  beautiful  order  is  set  forth 
in  symbols  on  all  lordly  human  buildings  round  the  semi- 
circular arches  which  are  types  of  the  rise  and  fall  of  days 
and  years. 

And  the  correspondent  Diabolic  work  is  turning  night 
into  day  with  candles,  so  that  we  never  see  the  stars  ;  and 
mixing  the  seasons  up  one  with  another,  and  having  early 
strawberries,  and  green  pease  and  the  like. 

E.  Filling  the  waters  with  fish,  and  air  with  birds.  The 
correspondent  human  work  is  Mr.  Frank  Buckland's,  and  the 
like, — of  which  '  like '  I  am  thankful  to  have  been  permitted 
to  do  a  small  piece  near  Croydon,  in  the  streams  to  which 
my  mother  took  me,  when  a  child,  to  play  beside.  There 
were  more  than  a  dozen  of  the  fattest,  shiniest,  spottiest, 
and  tamest  trout  I  ever  saw  in  my  life,  in  the  pond  at 
Carshalton,  the  last  time  I  saw  it  this  spring. 

The  correspondent  Diabolic  work  is  poisoning  fish,  as  is 
done  at  Coniston,  with  copper-mining  ;  and  catching  them 
for  Ministerial  and  other  fashionable  dinners  when  they 
ought  not  to  be  caught  ;  and  treating  birds — as  birds  are 
treated,  Ministerially  and  otherwise. 

F.  Filling  the  earth  with  beasts,  properly  known  and  cared 
for  by  their  master,  Man  ;  but  chiefly,  breathing  into  the 
clayey  and  brutal  nature  of  Man  himself,  the  Soul,  or  Love, 
of  God. 

The  correspondent  Diabolic  work  is  shooting  and  torment- 
ing beasts  ;  and  grinding  out  the  soul  of  man  from  his  flesh, 
with  machine  labour  ;  and  then  grinding  down  the  flesh  of 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


281 


him,  when  nothing  else  is  left,  into  clay,  with  machines  for 
that  purpose, — mitrailleuses,  Woolwich  infants,  and  the  like. 

These  are  the  six  main  heads  of  God's  and  the  Devil's 
work. 

And  as  Wisdom,  or  Prudentia,  is  with  God,  and  with  His 
children  in  the  doing, — "  There  I  was  by  Him,  as  one  brought 
up  with  Him,  and  I  was  dail}'-  His  delight," — so  Folly,  or 
Stultitia,  saying.  There  is  No  God,  is  with  the  Devil  and  his 
children,  in  the  uiidom^,  "There  she  is  with  them  as  one 
brought  up  with  them,  and  she  is  daily  their  delight." 

And  so  comes  the  great  reverse  of  Creation,  and  wrath  of 
God,  accomplished  on  tlie  earth  by  the  fiends,  and  by  men 
their  ministers,  seen  by  Jeremy  the  Propliet :  For  my 
people  is  foolish,  they  have  not  known  me  ;  they  are  sottisli 
children,  and  they  have  none  understanding  :  they  are  wise 
to  do  evil,  but  to  do  good  they  have  no  knowledge.  [Now 
note  the  reversed  creation.]  1  beheld  the  Earth,  and,  lo,  it 
was  without  form,  and  void  ;  and  the  Heavens,  and  they  had 
no  light.  I  beheld  the  mountains,  and,  lo,  they  trembled,  and 
all  the  hills  moved  lightly.  I  belield,  and,  lo,  there  was  no 
man,  and  all  the  birds  of  the  heavens  were  fled.  I  beheld, 
and,  lo,  the  fruitful  place  was  a  wilderness,  and  all  the  cities 
thereof  were  broken  down  at  the  presence  of  the  Lord,  and 
by  his  fierce  anger." 

And  so,  finally,  as  the  joy  and  honour  of  the  ancient  and 
divine  Man  and  Woman  were  in  their  children,  so  the  grief 
and  dishonour  of  the  modern  and  diabolic  Man  and  Woman 
are  in  their  children  ;  and  as  the  Rachel  of  Bethlehem  weeps 
for  her  children,  and  will  not  be  comforted,  because  they  are 
not,  the  Rachel  of  England  weeps  for  her  children,  and  will 
not  be  comforted — because  thev  are. 

Now,  whoever  you  may  be,  and  how  little  your  power  may 
be,  and  whatever  sort  of  creature  you  may  be, — man,  woman, 
or  child, — you  can,  according  to  what  discretion  of  years  you 
may  have  reached,  do  something  of  this  Divine  work,  or  undo 
somethino-  of  this  Devil's  work,  everv  da  v.  Even  if  vou  are 
a  slave,  forced  to  labour  at  some  abominable  and  murderous 
trade  for  bread, — as  iron-forging,  for  instance,  or  gunpowder- 


282 


F0R8  CLAV/(T\h'EA, 


making — you  can  resolve  to  deliver  yourself,  and  your  children 
after  you,  from  the  chains  of  that  hell,  and  from  the  dominion 
of  its  slave-masters,  or  to  die.  That  is  Patriotism  ;  and  true 
desire  of  Freedom,  or  Franchise.  What  Egyptian  bondage,  do 
you  suppose — (painted  by  Mr.  Poynter  as  if  it  were  a  thing  of 
the  past !) — was  ever  so  cruel  as  a  modern  English  iron  forge, 
with  its  steam  hammers  ?  What  Egyptian  worship  of  garlic 
or  crocodile  ever  so  damnable  as  modern  English  worship  of 
money  ?  Israel — even  by  the  fleshpots — was  sorry  to  have 
to  cast  out  her  children, — would  fain  stealthily  keep  her  little 
Moses, — if  Nile  were  propitious  ;  and  roasted  her  passover 
anxiously.  But  English  Mr.  P.,  satisfied  with  his  fleshpot, 
and  the  broth  of  it,  will  not  be  over-hasty  about  his  roast.  If 
the  Angel,  perchance,  should  not  pass  by,  it  would  be  no 
such  matter,  thinks  Mr.  P. 

Or,  again,  if  you  are  a  slave  to  Society,  and  must  do  what 
the  people  next  door  bid  you, — you  can  resolve,  with  any 
vestige  of  human  energy  left  in  you,  that  you  will  indeed 
put  a  few  things  into  God's  fashion,  instead  of  the  fashion  of 
next  door.  Merely  fix  that  on  your  mind  as  a  thing  to  be 
done  ;  to  have  things — dress,  for  instance, — according  to 
God's  taste,  (and  I  can  tell  you  He  is  likely  to  have  some,  as 
good  as  any  modiste  you  know  of)  ;  or  dinner,  according  to 
God's  taste  instead  of  the  Russians'  ;  or  supper,  or  picnic, 
with  guests  of  God's  inviting,  occasionally,  mixed  among  the 
more  respectable  company. 

By  the  way,  I  wrote  a  letter  to  one  of  my  lady  friends, 
who  gives  rather  frequent  dinners,  the  other  day,  which  may 
perhaps  be  useful  to  others  :  it  was  to  this  effect  mainly, 
though  I  add  and  altera  little  to  make  it  more  general : — 

"  You  probably  will  be  having  a  dinner-party  to-day  ;  now, 
please  do  this,  and  remember  I  am  quite  serious  in  what 
I  ask  you.  W e  all  of  us,  who  have  any  belief  in  Christianity 
at  all,  wish  that  Christ  were  alive  now.  Suppose,  then,  that 
He  is.  I  think  it  very  likely  that  if  He  were  in  London  you 
would  be  one  of  the  people  whom  He  would  take  some  notice 
of.  Now,  suppose  He  has  sent  you  word  that  He  is  coming 
to  dine  with  you  to-day  ;  but  that  you  are  not  to  make  any 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


283 


change  in  your  guests  on  His  account  ;  that  He  wants  to  meet 
exactly  the  party  you  have  ;  and  no  other.  Suppose  you 
have  just  received  this  message,  and  that  St.  John  has  also 
left  word,  in  passing,  with  the  butler,  that  his  master  will 
come  alone  ;  so  that  you  won't  have  any  trouble  with  the 
Apostles.  Now,  this  is  what  I  want  you  to  do.  First,  deter- 
mine what  you  will  have  for  dinner.  You  are  not  ordered, 
observe,  to  make  no  changes  in  your  bill  of  fare.  Take  a 
piece  of  paper,  and  absolutely  lorite  fresh  orders  to  your 
cook, — you  can't  realize  the  thing  enough  without  writing. 
That  done,  consider  how  you  will  arrange  your  guests — who 
is  to  sit  next  Christ  on  the  other  side — who  opposite,  and  so 
on  ;  finally,  consider  a  little  what  you  will  talk  about,  suppos- 
ing, which  is  just  possible,  that  Christ  should  tell  you  to  go 
on  talking  as  if  He  were  not  there,  and  never  to  mind  Him. 
You  couldn't,  you  will  tell  me  ?  Then,  my  dear  lady,  how 
can  you  in  general  ?  Don't  you  profess — nay,  don't  you 
much  more  than  profess — to  believe  that  Christ  is  always 
there,  whether  you  see  Him  or  not  ?  Why  should  the  seeing 
make  such  a  difference  ?  " 

But  you  are  no  master  nor  mistress  of  household  ?  You  are 
only  a  boy,  or  a  girl.    What  can  you  do? 

We  will  take  the  work  of  the  third  day,  for  its  range  is  at 
once  lower  and  wider  than  that  of  the  others  :  Can  you  do 
nothing  in  that  kind  ?  Is  there  no  garden  near  you  where  you 
can  get  from  some  generous  person  leave  to  weed  the  beds, 
or  sweep  up  tlui  dead  leaves  ?  (I  once  allowed  an  eager  little 
girl  of  ten  years  old  to  weed  my  garden  ;  and  now,  though 
it  is  long  ago,  slie  always  speaks  as  if  the  favour  had  been 
done  to  Aer,  and  not  to  the  garden  and  me.)  Is  there  no  dusty 
place  that  you  can  water  ? — if  it  be  only  the  road  before  your 
door,  the  traveller  will  thank  you.  No  roadside  ditch  that 
you  can  clean  of  its  clogged  rubbish,  to  let  the  water  run 
clear  ?  No  scattered  heap  of  brickbats  that  you  can  make 
an  orderly  pile  of?  You  are  ashamed?  Yes;  that  false 
shame  is  the  Devil's  pet  weapon.  He  does  more  work  with  it 
even  than  with  false  pride.  For  with  false  pride,  he  only 
goads  evil  ;  but  with  false  shame,  paralyzes  good. 


284 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


But  you  have  no  ground  of  your  own  ;  you  are  a  girl,  and 
can't  work  on  other  people's?  At  least  you  have  a  window 
of  your  own,  or  one  in  which  you  have  a  part  interest.  With 
very  little  help  from  the  carpenter,  you  can  arrange  a  safe 
box  outside  of  it,  that  will  hold  earth  enough  to  root  some- 
thing in.  If  you  have  any  favour  from  Fortune  at  all,  you  can 
train  a  rose,  or  a  honeysuckle,  or  a  convolvulus,  or  a  nastur- 
tium,  round  your  window — a  quiet  branch  of  ivy — or  if  for 
the  sake  of  its  leaves  only,  a  tendril  or  two  of  vine.  Only,  be 
sure  all  your  plant-pets  are  kept  well  outside  of  the  window. 
Don't  come  to  having  pots  in  the  room,  unless  you  are  sick. 

I  got  a  nice  letter  from  a  young  girl,  not  long  since,  asking 
why  I  had  said  in  my  answers  to  former  questions,  that 
young  ladies  were  "  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  greenhouses, 
still  less  with  hothouses."  Tlie  new  inquirer  has  been  sent 
me  by  Fors,  just  when  it  was  time  to  explain  what  I 
meant. 

First,  then — The  primal  object  of  your  gardening,  for 
yourself,  is  to  keep  you  at  work  in  the  open  air,  whenever  it 
is  possible.  The  greenhouse  will  always  be  a  refuge  to  you 
from  the  wind  ;  which,  on  the  contrary,  you  ought  to  be  able 
to  bear  ;  and  will  tempt  you  into  clippings  and  pottings 
and  pettings,  and  mere  standing  dilettantism  in  a  damp  and 
over-scented  room,  instead  of  true  labour  in  fresh  air. 

Secondly. — It  will  not  only  itself  involve  unnecessary  ex- 
pense— (for  the  greenhouse  is  sure  to  turn  into  a  hothouse 
in  the  end  ;  and  even  if  not,  is  always  having  its  panes 
broken,  or  its  blinds  going  wrong,  or  its  stands  getting 
rickety);  but  it  will  tempt  you  into  buying  nursery  plants, 
and  waste  your  time  in  anxiety  about  them. 

Thirdly. — The  use  of  your  garden  to  the  household  ought 
to  be  mainly  in  the  vegetables  you  can  raise  in  it.  And,  for 
these,  your  proper  observance  of  season,  and  of  the  authority 
of  the  stars,  is  a  vital  duty.  Every  climate  gives  its  vege- 
table food  to  its  livino:  creatures  at  the  ri2r"ht  time  ;  vour 
business  is  to  know  that  time,  and  be  prepared  for  it,  and 
to  take  the  healthy  luxury  which  nature  appoints  you,  in  the 
rare  annual  taste  of  the  thing  given  in  those  its  due  days. 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


285 


The  vile  and  gluttonous  modern  habit  of  forcing  never  allows 
people  properly  to  taste  anything. 

Lastly,  and  chiefly. — Your  garden  is  to  enable  you  to  ob- 
tain such  knowledge  of  plants  as  you  may  best  use  in  the 
country  in  which  you  live,  by  coinmiinicating  it  to  others  *, 
and  teaching  them  to  take  pleasure  in  the  green  herb,  given 
for  meat,  and  the  coloured  flower,  given  for  joy.  And  your 
business  is  not  to  make  the  greenliouse  or  hothouse  rejoice 
and  blossom  like  the  rose,  but  the  wilderness  and  solitary 
place.  And  it  is,  therefore,  (look  back  to  Letter  XXVI,  p. 
372,)  not  at  all  of  camellias  and  air-plants  that  the  devil  is 
afraid  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  Dame  aux  Camellias  is  a  very 
especial  servant  of  his  ;  and  the  Fly-God  of  Ekron  himself 
superintends — as  you  may  gather  from  Mr.  Darwin's  recent 
investigations — the  birth  and  parentage  of  the  orchidacese. 
But  he  is  mortallv  afraid  of  roses  and  crocusc?. 

Of  roses,  that  is  to  say,  growing  wild  ; — (what  lovely 
hedges  of  them  there  were,  in  the  lane  leading  from  Dulwich 
College  up  to  Windmill  (or  Gipsy)  Ilill,  in  my  aunt's  time  !) 
— but  of  the  massy  horticultural-prize  rose, — fifty  pounds 
weight  of  it  on  a  propped  bush — he  stands  in  no  awe  what- 
ever ;  not  even  when  they  are  cut  afterwards  and  made 
familiar  to  the  poor  in  the  form  of  bouquets,  so  that  poor 
Peggy  may  hawk  them  from  street  to  street — and  hate  the 
smell  of  them,  as  his  own  imps  do.  For  Mephistopheles 
knows  there  are  poorer  Margarets  yet  than  Peggy. 

Hear  this,  you  fine  ladies  of  the  houses  of  York  and  Lan- 
caster, and  you,  new-gilded  Miss  Kilmanseggs,  with  your 
gardens  of  Gul,— you,  also,  evangelical  expounders  of  the 
beauty  of  the  Rose  of  Sharon  ; — it  is  a  bit  of  a  letter  just 
come  to  me  from  a  girl  of  good  position  in  the  manufacturing 
districts  : — 

"  The  other  day  I  was  coming  through  a  nasty  part  of  the 
road,  carrying  a  big  bunch  of  flowers,  and  met  two  dirty, 
ragged  girls,  who  looked  eagerly  at  my  flowers.  Then  one 
of  them  said,  *  Give  us  a  flower  ! '  I  hesitated,  for  she  looked 
and  spoke  rudely  ;  but  when  she  ran  after  me,  I  stopped  ; 
and  pulled  out  a  large  rose,  and  asked  the  other  girl  which 


286 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


\ 
\ 
I 


she  would  like.  red  one,  the  same  as  hers,'  she  answered 
They  actually  did  not  know  its  name.  Poor  girls  !  they 
promised  to  take  care  of  them,  and  went  away  looking 
rather  softened  and  pleased,  I  thought  ;  but  perhaps  they 
would  pull  them  to  pieces,  and  laugh  at  the  success  of  their 
boldness.  At  all  events,  they  made  me  very  sad  and  thought- 
ful  for  the  rest  of  mv  walk." 

And,  I  hope,  a  little  so,  even  when  you  got  home  again, 
young  lady.  Meantime,  are  you  quite  sure  of  your  fact  ; 
and  that  there  was  no  white  rose  in  your  bouquet,  from 
which  the  "  red  one  "  might  be  distinguished,  without 
naming  ?  In  any  case,  my  readers  have  enough  to  think  of 
for  this  time,  I  believe. 


F0R8  CLAVWERA. 


28? 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


I.  Together  with  the  Spectator's  telescopic  and  daring  views  of  thi 
Land  question,  given  in  last  Fors,  I  may  as  well  preserve  its  imme- 
diate and  microscopic  approval  of  our  poor  little  practice  upon  it  at 
Hincksey  : — 

Adam  and  Jehu. — It  is  very  vexatious,  but  one  never  gets  fairly 
the  better  of  Mr.  Ruskin.  Sometimes  he  lets  his  intellect  work,  and 
fires  off  pamphlet  after  pamphlet  on  political  economy,  each  new  one 
more  ridiculous  than  the  last,  till  it  ceases  to  be  possible  even  to  read 
his  brochures  without  condemning  them  as  the  utterances  of  a  man  who 
cannot  lose  a  certain  eloquence  of  expression,  but  who  cannot  think 
AT  ALL  ;  and  then,  again,  he  lets  his  genius  work,  and  produces  some- 
thing which  raises  the  admiration  of  the  reader  till  every  folly  which 
preceded  it  is  forgotten.  There  never  was  a  more  absurd  paper  pub- 
lished than  his  on  the  duty  of  the  State  towards  unmarried  couples,  and 
never  perhaps  one  wiser  than  his  lecture  on  '  Ambition,'  reviewed  in  oui 
columns  on  the  18th  of  October,  1873.  Just  recently  he  has  been  push- 
ing some  plans  for  an  agricultural  Utopia,  free  of  steam-engines  and 
noises  and  everything  modern,  in  which  the  inconsequence  of  his  mind 
is  as  evident  as  its  radical  benevolence ;  and  now  La  has,  we  believe, 
done  the  whole  youth  of  Oxford  a  substantial  service.  He  has  turned, 
or  rather  tried  to  turn,  the  rage  for  athletics  into  a  worthy  channel." — 
Spectator,  May  80,  1874. 

The  above  paragraph  may,  I  think,  also  be,  some  day,  interesting  as 
a  summary  of  the  opinions  of  the  British  press  on  Fors  Clavigera  ;  and 
if  my  last  month's  letter  should  have  the  fortune  to  displease,  or  dis 
comfort,  any  British  landlord,  my  alarmed  or  offended  reader  may  be 
relieved  and  pacified  by  receiving  the.  Spectatorial  warrant  at  once  for 
the  inconsequence  of  my  mind,  and  for  its  radical  benevolence. 

II.  The  following  paragraphs  from  a  leading  journal  in  our  greatest 
commercial  city,  surpass,  in  folly  and  impudence,  anything  I  have  yet 
seen  of  the  kind,  and  are  well  worth  preserving: — 

*'The  material  prosperity  of  the  country  has,  notwithstanding,  in- 
creased, and  the  revenue  returns,  comparing  as  they  do  against  aD  ex- 
ceptionally high  rate  of  ])roduction  and  consumption,  show  that  we  are 
fairly  holding  our  own."  Production  and  consumption  of  uhat^  Mr. 
Editor,  is  the  question,  as  I  have  told  you  many  a  time.  A  high  reve- 
nue, raised  on  the  large  production  and  consumption  of  weak  cloth  and 
strong  liquor,  does  not  show  the  material  prosperity  of  the  country 


288 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


Suppose  you  were  to  tax  the  production  of  good  pictures,  good  books, 
good  houses,  or  honest  men,  where  would  your  revenue  be  ?  Amongst 
the  middle  classes,  exceptionally  large  fortunes  have  been  rapidly  real- 
ized here  and  there,  chiefly  in  the  misty  regions  of  ^finance,'  [What 
do  you  mean  by  misty,  Mr.  Editor  ?  It  is  a  Turnerian  and  Titianesqua 
quality,  not  in  the  least  properly  applicable  to  any  cotton -mill  busi« 
ness.]  and  instances  occur  from  day  to  day  of  almost  prodigal  expen- 
diture in  objects  of  art  [Photographs  of  bawds,  do  you  mean,  Mr. 
Editor  ?  I  know  no  other  objects  of  art  that  are  multiplying, — cer^ 
tainly  not  Titiaus,  by  your  Spectd tor  s  ("'ecision.  l  and  luxury,  the  dis= 
play  of  wealth  in  the  metropolis  being  more  striking  year  by  year. 

Turning  from  these  dazzling  exhibitions,  the  real  source  of  coDgrat- 
ulation  must  be  found  in  the  existence  of  a  broad  and  s(  lid  foundation 
for  our  apparent  prosperity  ;  and  this,  happily,  is  represented  in  the 
amelioration  of  the  condition  of  the  lower  orders  of  society." — Indeed  ! 

The  adjustment  of  an  increasing  scale  of  wages  has  not  been  re- 
daced  to  scientific  principles,  and  has  consequently  been  more  or  less 
arbitrary  and  capricious.  From  time  to  time  it  has  interfered  with  the 
even  current  of  affairs,  and  been  resented  as  an  unfair  and  unwarranted 
interception  of  profits  in  their  way  to  the  manufacturer's  pockets. 

"Whilst  '  financial '  talent  has  reaped  liberal  results  from  its  exercise, 
the  steady  productions  of  manufacturers  have  left  only  moderate  re- 
turns to  their  producers,  and  importers  of  raw  material  have,  as  a  rule, 
had  a  trying  time.  The  difficulties  of  steamship  owners  have  been  tol- 
erably notorious,  and  the  enhancement  of  sailing  vessels  is  an  instance 
of  the  adage  that '  It  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no  one  any  good.' 

"  For  our  railways,  tbe  effects  of  a  most  critical  half-year  can  scarcely 
be  forecast.  Increased  expenses  have  not,  it  is  to  be  feared,  been  met 
by  increased  rates  and  traffics,  and  the  public  may  not  have  fully  pre- 
pared themselves  for  diminished  dividends.  With  the  Erie  and  the 
Great  Western  of  Canada  undergoing  the  ordeal  of  investigation,  and 
the  Atlantic  and  Great  W^estern  on  the  verge  of  insolvency,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  American  and  colonial  railways  are  at  the  moment  out 
of  favour.  If,  however,  they  have  not  made  satisfactory  returns  to 
their  shareholders,  they  have  been  the  media  of  great  profit  to  operators 
on  the  stock  exchanges ;  and  some  day  we  shall,  perhaps,  learn  the 
connection  existing  between  the  well  or  ill  doing  of  a  railway  per  se^ 
and  the  facility  for  speculation  in  its  stock.'' — Liver2)Ool  Cormnercial 
News,  of  this  year.    I  have  not  kept  the  date. 

III.  A  young  lady's  letter  about  flowers  and  books,  I  gratefully  ac- 
knowledge, and  have  partly  answered  in  the  text  of  this  Fors :  the  rest 
she  will  find  answered  up  and  down  afterwards,  as  I  can ;  also  a  letter 
from  a  youth  at  New  Haven  in  Connecticut  has  given  me  much  pleas- 
ure. I  am  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  answer  it  more  specially,  but  have 
now  absolutely  no  time  for  any  private  correspondence,  except  with 
personal  friends, — and  I  should  like  even  those  to  show  themselves 
friendly  rather  by  setting  themselves  to  understand  my  meaning  in 
Fors,  and  by  helping  me  in  my  purposes,  than  by  merely  expressing 
anxiety  for  my  welfare,  not  satisfiable  but  by  letters  which  do  not  pro- 
mote it. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


289 


IV.  Publishing  the  subjoined  letter  from  Mr.  Sillar,  I  must  now  wish 
him  good  success  in  his  battle,  and  terminate  my  extracts  from  his  let- 
ters, there  being  always  some  grave  points  in  which  I  jfind  myself  at 
issue  with  him,  but  which  I  have  not  at  present  any  wish  farther  to 
discuss : — 

*'  I  am  right  glad  to  see  you  quote  in  your  July  Fors^  from  the  pa- 
pers which  the  Record  newspaper  refused  to  insert,  on  the  plea  of  their 
*  confusing  two  things  so  essentially  different  as  usury  and  interest  of 
money.' 

I  printed  them,  and  have  sold  two^ — following  your  advice,  and  not 
advertising  them. 

You  wrong  me  greatly  in  saying  that  I  think  the  sin  of  usury  means 
every  other.  What  I  say  is  that  it  is  the  only  sin  I  know  which  is  neva" 
denounced  from  the  pidpit ;  and  therefore  /  have  to  do  that  part  of  the 
parson's  work.  I  would  much  rather  be  following  the  business  to 
which  1  was  educated  ;  but  so  long  as  usury  is  prevalent,  honourable 
and  profitable  employments  in  that  busihcss  are  impomhle.  It  may  be 
conducted  honourably,  but  at  an  annual  loss  ;  or  it  may  be  conducted 
profitably  at  the  expense  of  hniour.  I  can  no  longer  afford  the  former, 
still  less  can  I  afford  the  latter;  and  as  I  ciinnot  be  idle,  I  occupy  my 
leisure,  at  least  part  of  it,  in  a  war  to  tho  knife  with  that  great  dragon 
'Debt.*  I  war  not  with  flesh  and  bloo«l,  but  with  principalities  and 
powers  of  darkness  in  high  places.'* 

V.  To  finish,  here  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  paragraphs  I  ever  saw  in 
print :  — 

*'Il0PE  Cordage. — On  Saturday  lasb  a  very  interesting  experiment 
was  made  at  Kirkaldy's  Testing  Works,  Southwark  Street,  as  to  the 
relative  strength  of  hand-spun  yarn  lope,  machine  yarn  rope,  and  Rus- 
sian yarn  rope.  Mr.  Plimsoll,  M. P.,  Captain  Bedford  Pim,  M.P.,  and 
others  attended  the  test,  which  lasted  over  three  hours,  '^rhere  were 
nine  pieces  of  rope,  each  10  ft.  long,  being  three  of  each  of  the  above 
classes.  The  ultimate  stress  or  breaking  strain  of  the  Russian  rope 
was  11,099  lb.,  or  1,934  lb.  strength  per  fathom  ;  machine  rope,  11.527 
lb.,  or  2,155  lb.  per  fathom  ;  hand-spun  rope,  18,279  lb.,  or  3,026  lb. 
per  fathom.  The  ropes  were  all  of  5  in.  circumference,  and  every 
piece  broke  clear  of  the  fastenings.  The  prices  paid  per  cwt.  were; 
Russian  rope,  47^.  y  machine  yarn  ro])e,  47s.;  hand  spun  yam  rope,  44«. 
— all  described  as  best  corda^^e  and  London  manufacture.  It  will  thus 
be  seen  that  the  hand-made  was  cheaper  by  ?>s.  per  cwt.,  and  broke  at 
a  testing  strength  of  7,180  lb.  over  Russian,  and  0,752  lb.  over  machine- 
tnade."— n*7?2€«,  July  20,  1874. 
Vol.  II.— 19 


290 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


LETTER  XLVIT. 

Hotel  du  Mont  Blanc,  St.  Martinis, 

\Wi  October,  1874. 

We  have  now  briefly  glanced  at  the  nature  of  the  squire's 
work  in  relation  to  the  peasant  ;  namely,  making  a  celestial 
or  worshipful  appearance  to  him  ;  and  the  methods  of  opera- 
tion, no  less  than  of  appearance,  which  are  generally  to  be 
defined  as  celestial,  or  worshipful. 

We  have  next  to  examine  by  what  rules  the  action  of  the 
squire  towards  the  peasant  is  to  be  either  restrained  or  as- 
sisted ;  and  the  function,  therefore,  of  the  lawyer,  or  definer 
of  limits  and  modes, — which  was  above  generally  expressed, 
in  its  relation  to  the  peasant,  as  ''telling-  him,  in  black  letter, 
that  his  house  is  his  own."  It  will  be  necessary,  how- 
ever, evidently,  that  his  house  should  be  his  own,  before  any 
lawyer  can  divinely  assert  the  same  to  him. 

Waiving,  for  the  moment,  examination  of  this  primal 
necessity,  let  us  consider  a  little  how  that  divine  function  of 
asserting,  in  perfectly  intelligible  and  indelible  letters,  the 
absolute  claim  of  a  man  to  his  own  house,  or  castle,  and  all 
that  it  properly  includes,  is  actually  discharged  by  the  pow- 
ers of  British  law  now  in  operation. 

We  will  take,  if  you  please,  in  the  outset,  a  few  wise  men's 
opinions  on  this  matter,  though  we  shall  thus  be  obliged 
somewhat  to  generalize  the  inquiry,  by  admitting  into  it 
some  notice  of  criminal  as  well  as  civil  law. 

My  readers  have  probably  thought  me  forgetful  of  Sir 
Walter  all  this  time.  No  ;  but  all  writing  about  him  is  im- 
possible to  me  in  the  impure  gloom  of  modern  Italy.  I  have 
had  to  rest  a  while  here,  where  human  life  is  still  sacred,  be- 
fore I  could  recover  the  tone  of  heart  fit  to  say  what  I  want 
to  say  in  this  7^T>r.?. 

He  w^as  the  sou,  you  remember,  of  a  writer  to  the  signet, 


FOBS  CLAVIOEEA. 


291 


and  practised  for  some  time  at  the  bar  himself.  Have  you 
ever  chanced  to  ask  yourself  what  was  his  innermost  opinion 
of  the  legal  profession  ? 

Or,  have  you  even  endeavoured  to  generalize  that  ex-* 
pressed  with  so  much  greater  violence  by  Dickens  ?  The 
latter  wrote  with  a  definitely  reforming  purpose,  seemingly  ; 
and,  I  have  heard,  had  real  effects  on  Chancery  practice. 

But  are  the  Judges  of  England — at  present  I  suppose  the 
highest  types  of  intellectual  and  moral  power  that  Christen- 
dom possesses — content  to  have  reform  forced  on  them  by 
the  teazing  of  a  caricaturist,  instead  of  the  pleading  of  their 
own  consciences  ? 

Even  if  so,  is  there  no  farther  reform  indicated  as  neces- 
sary, in  a  lower  field,  by  the  same  teazing  personage  ?  The 
Court  of  Chancery  and  Mr.  Yholes  were  not  his  only  legal 
sketches.  Dodson  and  Fogg  ;  Sampson  Brass  ;  Serjeant 
Buzfaz  ;  and,  most  of  all,  the  examiner,  for  the  Crown,  of 
Mr.  Swiveller  in  the  trial  of  Kit,* — are  these  deserving  of  no 
repentant  attention  ?  You,  good  reader,  probably  have  read 
the  trial  in  Pickioick^  and  the  trial  of  Kit,  merely  to  amuse 
yourself  ;  and  perhaps  Dickens  himself  meant  little  more 
than  to  amuse  you.  But  did  it  never  strike  you  as  quite 
other  than  a  matter  of  amusement,  that  in  both  cases,  the 
force  of  the  law  of  England  is  represented  as  employed 
zealously  to  prove  a  crime  against  a  person  known  by  the 
accusing  counsel  to  be  innocent  ;  and,  in  both  cases,  as  ob- 
taining: a  conviction  ? 

You  might  perhaps  think  that  these  were  only  examples 
of  the  ludicrous,  and  sometimes  tragic,  at5cidents  which  must 
sometimes  happen  in  the  working  of  any  complex  system, 
however  excellent.  They  are  by  no  means  so.  Ludicrous, 
and  tragic,  mischance  must  indeed  take  place  in  all  human 
affairs  of  importance,  however  honestly  conducted.  But 
here  3^ou  have  deliberate,  artistic,  energetic,  dishonesty  ; 
skilfullest  and  resolutest  endeavour  to  prove  a  crime  against 
an  innocent  person, — a  crime  of  which,  in  the  case  of  the  boy, 

*  See  the  part  of  examination  respecting  communication  held  with 
the  brother  of  the  prisoner. 


392 


FOBS  CLAVIOBIU. 


the  reputed  commission  will  cost  him  at  least  the  prosperity 
and  honour  of  his  life, — more  to  him  than  life  itself.  And 
this  you  forgive,  or  admire,  because  it  is  not  done  in  malice, 
but  for  money,  and  in  pride  of  art.  Because  the  assassin  is 
paid, — makes  his  living  in  that  line  of  business^ — and  deliv- 
ers his  thrust  with  a  bravo's  artistic  finesse  you  think  him  a 
respectable  person  ;  so  much  better  in  style  than  a  passion- 
ate one  who  does  his  murder  gratis,  vulgarly,  with  a  club, — 
Bill  Sykes,  for  instance  ?  It  is  all  balanced  fairly,  as  the 
system  goes,  you  think.  '  It  works  round,  and  two  and  twa 
make  four.  He  accused  an  innocent  person  to-day  : — to- 
morrow he  will  defend  a  rascal.' 

And  you  truly  hold  this  a  business  to  which  your  youth 
should  be  bred — gentlemen  of  England  ? 

*  But  how  is  it  to  be  ordered  otherwise  ?  Every  supposed 
criminal  ought  surely  to  have  an  advocate,  to  say  what  can 
be  said  in  his  favour  ;  and  an  accuser,  to  insist  on  the  evi- 
dence against  him.  Both  do  their  best,  and  can  anything  be 
fairer  ?  ' 

Yes  ;  something  else  could  be  much  fairer  ;  but  we  will 
find  out  what  Sir  Walter  thinks,  if  we  can,  before  going 
farther  ;  though  it  will  not  be  easy — for  you  don't  at  once 
get  at  the  thoughts  of  a  great  man,  upon  a  great  matter. 

The  first  difference,  however,  which,  if  you  know  your 
Scott  well,  strikes  you,  between  him  and  Dickens,  is  that 
your  task  of  investigation  is  chiefly  pleasant,  though  serious  ; 
not  a  painful  one — and  still  less  a  jesting  or  mocking  one. 
The  first  figure  that  rises  before  you  is  Pleydell  ;  the  second, 
Scott's  own  father,*Saunders  Fairford,  with  his  son.  And 
you  think  for  an  instant  or  two,  perhaps,  "  The  question  is 
settled,  as  far  as  Scott  is  concerned,  at  once.  What  a  beau- 
tiful thing  is  Law  !  " 

For  you  forget,  by  the  sweet  emphasis  of  the  divine  art 
on  what  is  good,  that  there  ever  was  such  a  person  in  the 
world  as  Mr.  Glossin.  And  you  are  left,  by"  the  grave  cun- 
ning of  the  divine  art,  which  reveals  to  you  no  secret  with- 
out your  own  labour,  to  discern  and  unveil  for  yourself  the 
meaning  of  the  plot  of  RedgawitleL 


FOUS  CLAVIQERA. 


293 


You  perhaps  were  dissatisfied  enough  with  the  plot,  when 
you  read  it  for  amusement.  Such  a  cliildish  fuss  about 
nothing  !  Sol  way  sands,  forsooth,  the  only  scenery  ;  and 
your  young  hero  of  the  story  frightened  to  wet  his  feet  ; 
and  your  old  hero  doing  nothing  but  ride  a  black  horse,  and 
make  himself  disagreeable  ;  and  all  that  about  the  house  in 
Edinburgh  so  dull  ;  and  no  love-making,  to  speak  of,  any- 
where ! 

Well,  it  doesn't  come  in  exactly  with  my  subject,  to-day  ; 
— but,  by  the  way,  I  beg  you  to  observe  that  there  is  a  bit 
of  love  in  lledyaiuitUt  which  is  worth  any  quantity  of  mod- 
ern French  or  English  amatory  novels  in  a  heap.  Alan 
Fairford  has  been  bred,  and  willingly  bred,  in  the  strictest 
discipline  of  mind  and  conduct  ;  he  is  an  entirely  strong, 
entirely  prudent,  entirely  pure  young  Scotchman, — and  a 
lawyer.  Scott,  when  he  wrote  the  book,  was  an  old  Scotch- 
man ;  and  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world.  And  he  is 
going  to  tell  you  how  Love  ought  first  to  come  to  an  en- 
tirely strong,  entirely  prudent,  entirely  pure  youth,  of  his 
own  grave  profession. 

llow  love  owjht  to  come,  mind  you.  Alan  Fairford  is  the 
real  hero  (next  to  Nanty  Ewart)  of  the  novel  ;  and  he  is  the 
exemplary  and  happy  hero — Nanty  being  the  suflering  one, 
under  hand  of  Fate. 

Of  course,  you  would  say,  if  you  didn't  know  the  book, 
and  were  asked  what  should  happen — (and  with  Miss  Edge- 
worth  to  manage  matters  instead  of  Scott,  or  Shakespeare, 
nothing  else  icould  have  happened,) — of  course,  the  entirely 
prudent  young  lawyer  will  consider  what  an  important  step 
in  life  marriage  is  ;  and  will  look  out  for  a  young  person  of 
good  connections,  whose  qualities  of  mind  and  moral  dispo- 
sition he  will  examine  strictly  before  allowing  his  affections 
to  be  engaged  ;  he  will  then  consider  wliat  income  is  neces- 
sary for  a  person  in  a  high  legal  j)Osition,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

Well,  this  is  what  does  liappen,  according  to  Scott,  you 
know  ; — (or  more  likely,  I'm  afraid,  know  nothing  about  it). 
The  old  servant  of  the  family  announces,  with  some  dryness 
of  manner,  one  day,  that  a  Meddy'  wants  to  see  Maister 


294 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA, 


Alan  Fairford, — for  legal  consultation.  The  prudent  young 
gentleman,  upon  this,  puts  his  room  into  the  most  impressive 
order,  intending  to  make  a  first  appearance  reading  a  legal 
volume  in  an  abstracted  state  of  mind.  But,  on  a  knock 
coming  at  the  street  door,  he  can't  resist  going  to  look  out 
at  the  window  ;  and — the  servant  maliciously  showing  in 
the  client  without  announcement — is  discovered  peeping  out 
of  it.  The  client  is  closely  veiled — little  more  than  the  tip 
of  her  nose  discernible.  She  is,  fortunately,  a  little  em- 
barrassed herself  ;  for  she  did  not  want  Mr.  Alan  Fairford 
at  all,  but  Mr.  Alan  Fairford's  father.  They  sit  looking  at 
each  other — at  least,  he  looking  at  the  veil  and  a  green  silk 
cloak — for  half  a  minute.  The  young  lady — (for  she  is 
young  ;  he  has  made  out  that,  he  admits  ;  and  something 
more  perhaps,) — is  the  first  to  recover  her  presence  of  mind  ; 
makes  him  a  pretty  little  apology  for  having  mistaken  him 
for  his  father  ;  says  that,  now  she  has  done  it,  he  will  answer 
her  purpose,  perhaps,  even  better  ;  but  she  thinks  it  best  to 
communicate  the  points  on  which  she  requires  his  assistance, 
in  writing, — curtsies  him,  on  his  endeavour  to  remonstrate, 
gravely  and  inexorably  into  silence, — disappears, — "  And 
put  the  sun  in  her  pocket,  I  believe,"  as  she  turned  the  cor- 
ner, says  prudent  Mr.  Alan.  And  keeps  it  in  her  pocket  for 
him, — evermore.  That  is  the  way  one's  Love  is  sent,  when 
she  is  sent  from  Heaven,  says  the  aged  Scott. 

'But  how  ridiculous, — how  entirely  unreasonable, — how 
unjustifiable,  on  any  grounds  of  propriety  or  common  sense  ! ' 

Certainly,  my  good  sir, — certainly  :  Shakespeare  and  Scott 
can't  help  that  ; — all  they  know  is, — that  is  the  way  God 
and  Nature  manage  it.  Of  course,  Rosalind  ought  to  have 
been  much  more  particular  in  her  inquiries  about  Orlando  ; — 
Juliet  about  the  person  masqued  as  a  pilgrim  ; — and  there 
is  really  no  excuse  whatever  for  Desdemona's  conduct  ;  and 
we  all  know  what  came  of  it  ; — but,  again  I  say,  Shakespeare 
and  Scott  can't  help  that. 

Nevertheless,  Love  is  not  the  subject  of  this  novel  oiRecU 
gauntlet ;  but  Law  :  on  which  matter  we  will  endeavour 
now  to  gather  its  evidence. 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


295 


Two  youths  are  brought  up  together — one,  the  son  of  a 
Cavalier,  or  Ghibelline,  of  the  old  school,  whose  Law  is  in 
the  sword,  and  the  heart  ;  and  the  other  of  a  Roundhead,  or 
Guelph,  or  the  modern  school,  wliose  Law  is  in  form  and 
precept.  Scott's  own  prejudices  lean  to  the  Cavalier  ;  but 
his  domestic  affections,  personal  experience,  and  sense  of 
equity,  lead  him  to  give  utmost  finish  to  the  adverse  charac- 
ter. The  son  of  the  Cavalier — in  moral  courage,  in  nervous 
power,  in  general  sense  and  self-command, — is  entirely  in- 
ferior to  the  son  of  the  Puritan  ;  nay,  in  many  respects 
quite  weak  and  effeminate  ;  one  slight  and  scarcely  notice- 
able touch,  (about  the  unproved  pistol,)  gives  the  true  rela- 
tion of  the  characters,  and  makes  their  portraiture  complete, 
as  by  Velasquez. 

The  Cavalier's  father  is  dead  ;  his  uncle  asserts  the  Cav- 
alier's law  of  the  Sword  over  him  :  its  effects  upon  him  are 
the  first  clause  of  the  book. 

The  Puritan's  father — living — asserts  the  law  of  Precept 
over  him  :  its  effects  upon  him  are  the  second  clause  of  the 
book. 

Toofether  with  these  studies  of  the  two  laws  in  their  influ- 
ence  on  the  relation  of  guardian  and  ward — or  of  father  and 
cliild,  their  influence  on  society  is  examined  in  the  opposi- 
tion of  the  soldier  and  hunter  to  the  friend  of  man  and  ani- 
mals,— Scott  putting  his  whole  power  into  the  working  out 
of  this  third  clause  of  the  book. 

Having  given  his  verdict,  in  these  three  clauses,  wholly  in 
favour  of  the  law  of  precept, — lie  has  to  mark  the  effects  of 
its  misapplication, — first  moral,  then  civil. 

The  story  of  Nanty  Ewart,  the  fourth  clause,  is  the  most 
instructive  and  pathetic  piece  of  Scott's  judgment  on  the 
abuse  of  the  moral  law,  by  pride,  in  Scotland,  which  you 
can  find  in  all  his  works. 

Finally,  the  effects  of  the  abuse  of  the  civil  law  by  sale,  or 
simony,  have  to  be  examined  ;  which  is  done  in  the  story  of 
Peter  Peebles. 

The  involution  of  this  fifth  clause  with  that  of  Nanty 
Ewart  is  one  of  the  subtlest  pieces  of  heraldic  quartering 


296 


FORS  CLAVIOERA, 


which  you  can  find  in  all  the  Waverley  novels  ;  and  no  oth- 
ers have  any  pretence  to  range  with  them  in  this  point  of 
art  at  all.  The  best,  by  other  masters,  are  a  mere  play  of 
kaleidoscope  colour  compared  to  the  severe  heraldic  delinea- 
tion of  the  Waverieys. 

We  will  first  examine  the  statement  of  the  abuse  of  Civil 
Law. 

There  is  not,  if  you  have  any  true  sj^mpathy  with  human- 
ity, extant  for  you  a  more  exquisite  study  of  the  relations 
which  must  exist,  even  under  circumstances  of  great  diffi- 
culty and  misunderstanding,  between  a  good  father  and 
good  son,  than  the  scenes  of  jRedgaunilet  laid  in  Edinburgh. 
The  father's  intense  devotion,  pride,  and  joy,  mingled  with 
fear,  in  the  son  ;  the  son's  direct,  unflinching,  unaffected 
obedience,  hallowed  by  pure  affection,  tempered  by  youth- 
ful sense,  guided  by  high  personal  power.  And  all  this 
force  of  noble  passion  and  effort,  in  both,  is  directed  to  a 
single  object — the  son*s  success  at  the  bar.  That  success,  as 
usually  in  the  legal  profession,  must,  if  it  be  not  wholly  in- 
volved, at  least  give  security  for  itself,  in  the  impression 
made  by  the  young  counsel's  opening  speech.  All  the  in- 
terests of  the  reader  (if  he  has  any  interest  in  him)  are 
concentrated  upon  this  crisis  in  the  story  ;  and  the  chapter 
which  gives  account  of  the  fluctuating  event  is  one  of  the 
supreme  masterpieces  of  European  literature. 

The  interests  of  the  reader,  I  say,  are  concentrated  on  the 
success  of  the  young  counsel  :  that  of  his  client  is  of  no 
importance  whatever  to  any  one.  You  perhaps  forget  even 
who  the  client  is — or  recollect  him  only  as  a  poor  drunkard, 
who  must  be  kept  out  of  the  way  for  fear  he  should  inter- 
rupt his  own  counsel,  or  make  the  jury  laugh  at  him.  His 
cause  has  been — no  one  knows  how  long — in  the  courts  ;  it 
is  good  for  practising  on,  by  any  young  hand. 

You  forget  Peter  Peebles,  perhaps  :  you  don't  forget 
Miss  Flite,  in  the  Dickens'  court  ?  Better  done,  therefore, 
—Miss  Elite,— think  you? 

No  ;  not  so  well  done  ;  or  anything  like  so  well  done. 
The  very  primal  condition  in  Scott's  type  of  the  ruined  creat- 


FORS  CLAVIOEBA. 


297 


ure  is,  that  he  should  be  forgotten  !  Worse  ; — that  he 
should  deserve  to  be  forgotten.  Miss  Flite  interests  you — 
takes  your  affections — deserves  them.  Is  mad,  indeed,  but 
not  a  destroyed  creature,  morally,  at  all.  A  very  sweet, 
kind  creature, — not  even  altogether  unhappy, — enjoying  her 
lawsuit,  and  her  bag,  and  her  papers.  She  is  a  picturesque, 
quite  unnatural  and  unlikely  figure, — therefore  wholly  inef- 
fective except  for  story-telling  purposes. 

But  Peter  Peebles  is  a  natural  ruin,  and  a  total  one.  An 
accurate  type  of  what  is  to  be  seen  every  day,  and  carried 
to  the  last  stage  of  its  misery.  He  is  degraded  alike  in 
body  and  heart  ; — mad,  but  with  every  vile  sagacity  un- 
quenched, — while  every  hope  in  earth  and  heaven  is  taken 
away.  And  in  this  desolation,  you  can  only  hate,  not  pity 
him. 

That,  says  Scott,  is  the  beautiful  operation  of  the  Civil 
Law  of  Great  Britain,  on  a  man  whose  affairs  it  has  spent 
its  best  intelligence  on,  for  an  unknown  number  of  years. 
His  affairs  being  very  obscure,  and  his  cause  doubtful,  you 
suppose  ?  No.  His  affairs  being  so  simple  that  the  young 
honest  counsel  can  explain  them  entirely  in  an  hour  ; — and 
his  cause  absolutely  and  unquestionably  just. 

What  is  Dickens'  entire  Court  of  Chancery  to  that? 
With  all  its  dusty  delay, — with  all  its  diabolical  ensnaring  ; 
— its  pathetic  death  of  Richard — widowhood  of  Ada,  etc., 
etc.  ?  All  mere  blue  fire  of  the  stage,  and  dropped  foot- 
lights ;  no  real  tragedy. — A  villain  cheats  a  foolish  youth, 
who  would  be  wiser  than  his  elders,  who  dies  repentant,  and 
immediately  begins  a  new  life, — so  says,  at  least,  (not  the 
least  believing,)  the  pious  Mr.  Dickens.  All  that  might 
happen  among  the  knaves  of  any  profession. 

But  with  Scott,  the  best  honour — soul — intellect  in  Scot- 
land take  in  hand  the  cause  of  a  man  who  comes  to  them 
justly,  necessarily,  for  plain,  instantly  possible,  absolutely 
deserved,  decision  of  a  manifest  cause. 

They  are  endless  years  talking  of  it, — to  amuse,  and  pay, 
themselves. 

And  they  drive  him  into  the  foulest  death — eternal — if 


298 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA, 


there  be,  for  such  souls,  any  Eternity.  On  which  Scott  does 
not  feel  it  his  duty,  as  Dickens  does,  to  offer  you  an  opinion. 
He  tells  you,  as  Shakespeare,  the  facts  he  knows, — no  more. 

There,  then,  you  have  Sir  Walter's  opinion  of  the  existing 
method  and  function  of  British  Civil  Law. 

What  the  difference  may  be,  and  what  the  consequences  of 
such  difference,  between  this  lucrative  function,  and  the  true 
duty  of  Civil  Law, — namely,  to  fulfil  and  continue  in  all  the 
world  the  first  mission  of  the  mightiest  Lawgiver,  and  declare 
tlmt  on  such  and  such  conditions,  written  in  eternal  letters 
by  the  finger  of  God,  every  man's  house,  or  piece  of  Holy 
land,  is  his  own, — there  does  not,  it  appears,  exist  at  present 
wit  enough  under  all  the  weight  of  curled  and  powdered 
horsehair  in  England,  either  to  reflect,  or  to  define. 

In  the  meantime,  we  have  to  note  another  question  beyond, 
and  greater  than  this, — answered  by  Scott  in  his  story. 

So  far  as  human  laws  have  dealt  with  the  man,  this  their 
ruined  client  has  been  destroyed  in  his  innocence.  But  there 
is  yet  a  Divine  Law,  controlling  the  injustice  of  men. 

And  the  historian — revealing  to  us  the  full  relation  of  pri- 
vate and  public  act — shows  us  that  the  wretch's  destruction 
was  in  his  refusal  of  the  laws  of  God,  while  he  trusted  in  the 
laws  of  man. 

Such  is  the  entire  plan  of  the  story  of  Medgauntlet, — only 
in  part  conscious, — partly  guided  by  the  Fors  which  has  rule 
over  the  heart  of  the  noble  king  in  his  word,  and  of  the  noble 
scribe  in  his  scripture,  as  over  the  rivers  of  water.  We  will 
trace  the  detail  of  this  story  farther  in  next  Fors  ^  meantime, 
here  is  your  own  immediate  lesson,  reader,  whoever  you  may 
be,  from  our  to-day's  work. 

The  first — not  the  chief,  but  the  first — piece  of  good  work 
a  man  has  to  do  is  to  find  rest  for  himself, — a  place  for  the 
sole  of  his  foot ;  his  house,  or  piece  of  Holy  land  ;  and  to 
make  it  so  holy  and  happy,  that  if  by  any  chance  he  receive 
order  to  leave  it,  there  may  be  bitter  pain  in  obedience  ;  and 
also  that  to  his  daughter  there  may  yet  one  sorrowful  sen- 
tence be  spoken  in  her  day  of  mirth,  "  Forget  also  thy  people, 
and  thy  father's  house." 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


299 


*  But  I  mean  to  make  money,  and  have  a  better  and  better 
house,  every  ten  years.' 

Yes,  I  know  you  do. 

If  you  intend  to  keep  that  notion,  I  have  no  word  more  to 
say  to  you.  Fare  you — not  well,  for  you  cannot  ;  but  as  you 
may. 

But  if  you  have  sense,  and  feeling,  determine  what  sort  of 
a  house  will  be  fit  for  you  ; — determine  to  work  for  it — to 
get  it — and  to  die  in  it,  if  the  Lord  will. 

*  What  sort  of  house  will  be  fit  for  me  ? — but  of  course  the 
biggest  and  finest  I  can  get  will  be  fittest  !  ' 

Again,  so  says  the  Devil  to  you  ;  and  if  you  believe  him, 
he  will  find  you  fine  lodgings  enough, — for  rent.  But  if  you 
don't  believe  him,  consider,  I  repeat,  what  sort  of  house  will 
be  fit  for  you  ? 

*  Fit  ! — but  what  do  you  mean  by  fit  ?  ' 

I  mean,  one  that  you  can  entirely  enjoy  and  manage  ;  but 
which  you  will  not  be  proud  of,  except  as  you  make  it  charm- 
ing in  its  modesty.  If  you  are  proud  of  it,  it  is  xm(\t  for 
you, — better  than  a  man  in  your  station  of  life  can  by  simple 
and  sustained  exertion  obtain  ;  and  it  should  be  rather  under 
such  quiet  level  than  above.  Ashesteil  was  entirely  fit  for 
Walter  Scott,  and  Walter  Scott  was  entirely  happy  there. 
Abbotsford  was  fit  also  for  Sir  Walter  Scott  ;  and  had  ho 
been  content  with  it,  his  had  been  a  model  life.  But  he 
would  fain  still  add  field  to  field, — and  died  homeless.  Per- 
haps Gadshill  was  fit  for  Dickens  ;  I  do  not  know  enough  of 
him  to  judge  ;  and  he  knew  scarcely  anything  of  himself. 
But  the  story  of  the  boy  on  Rochester  Hill  is  lovely. 

And  assuredly,  my  aunt's  house  at  Croydon  was  fit  for  her  ; 
and  my  father's  at  Herne  Hill, — in  which  I  correct  the  press 
of  this  ForSy  sitting  in  what  was  once  my  nursery, — was 
exactly  fit  for  him,  and  me.  He  left  it  for  the  larger  one — 
Denmark  Hill  ;  and  never  had  a  quite  happy  day  afterwards. 
It  was  not  his  fault,  the  house  at  Herne  Hill  was  built  on 
clay,  and  the  doctors  said  he  was  not  well  there  ;  also,  I  was 
his  pride,  and  he  wanted  to  leave  me  in  a  better  house, — a 
good  father's  cruellest,  subtlest  temptation. 


300 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


But  you  are  a  poor  man,  you  say,  and  have  no  hope  o£  a 
grand  home? 

Weil,  here  is  the  simplest  ideal  of  operation,  then.  You 
dig  a  hole,  like  Robinson  Crusoe  ;  you  gather  sticks  for  fire, 
and  bake  the  earth  you  get  out  of  your  hole, — partly  into 
bricks,  partly  into  tiles,  partly  into  pots.  If  there  are  any 
stones  in  the  neighbourhood,  you  drag  them  together,  and 
build  a  defensive  dyke  round  your  hole  or  cave.  If  there  are 
no  stones,  but  only  timber,  you  drive  in  a  palisade.  And  you 
are  already  exercising  the  arts  of  the  Greeks,  Etruscans, 
Normans,  and  Lombards,  in  their  purest  form,  on  the  whole- 
some and  true  threshold  of  all  their  art ;  and  on  your  own 
wholesome  threshold. 

You  don't  know,  you  answer,  how  to  make  a  brick,  a  tile, 
or  a  pot  ;  or  how  to  build  a  dyke,  or  drive  a  stake  that  will 
stand.  No  more  do  I.  Our  education  has  to  begin  ; — mine 
as  much  as  yours.  I  have  indeed,  the  newspapers  sa}^  a 
power  of  expression  ;  but  as  they  also  say  I  cannot  think  at 
all,  you  see  I  have  nothing  to  express  ;  so  that  peculiar  power, 
according  to  them,  is  of  no  use  to  me  whatever. 

But  you  don't  want  to  make  your  bricks  yourself  ;  you 
want  to  have  them  made  for  you  by  the  United  Grand  Junc- 
tion Limited  Liability  Brick-without-Straw  Company,  paying 
twenty-five  per  cent,  to  its  idle  shareholders  ?  Well,  what 
will  you  do,  yourself,  then  ?  Nothing  ?  Or  do  you  mean  to 
play  on  the  fiddle  to  the  Company  making  your  bricks  ? 
What  will  you  do — of  this  first  work  necessary  for  your  life  ? 
There's  nothing  but  digging  and  cooking  now  remains  to  be 
done.  Will  you  dig,  or  cook  ?  Dig,  by  all  means  ;  but  your 
house  should  be  ready  for  you  first. 

.  Your  wife  should  cook.  What  else  can  you  do  ?  Preach  ? 
i — and  give  us  your  precious  opinions  of  God  and  His  ways  ! 
Yes,  and  in  th^  meanwhile  Zam  to  build  your  house,  am  I? 
and  find  you  a  barrel-organ,  or  a  harmonium,  to  twangle 
psalm-tunes  on,  I  suppose  ?  Fight — will  you  ? — and  pull 
other  people's  houses  down  ;  while  I  am  to  be  set  to  build 
your  barracks,  that  you  may  go  smoking  and  spitting  about 
all  day,  with  a  cockscomb  on  your  head,  and  spurs  to  your 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


301 


heels  ? — (I  observe,  by  the  way,  the  Italian  soldiers  have 
now  got  cocks'  tails  on  their  heads,  instead  of  cocks'  combs.) — 
Lay  down  the  law  to  me  in  a  wig, — will  you  ?  and  tell  me 
the  house  I  have  built  is — not  mine?  and  take  my  dinner 
from  me,  as  a  fee  for  that  opinion  ?  Build,  my  man, — 
build,  or  dig, — one  of  the  two  ;  and  then  eat  your  honestly 
earned  meat,  thankfully,  and  let  other  people  alone,  if  you 
can't  help  them. 


302 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


The  points  suggested  by  the  letter  printed  in  the  Fora  of  September, 
respecting  the  minor  action  of  English  Magistracy,  must  still  be  kept 
for  subsequent  consideration,  our  to-day's  work  having  been  too  gen- 
eral to  reach  them. 

I  have  an  interesting  letter  from  a  man  of  business,  remonstrating 
with  me  on  my  declaration  that  railroads  should  no  more  pay  dividends 
than  carriage  roads,  or  field  footpaths. 

He  is  a  gentleman  of  business,  and  meshed,  as  moderately  well- 
meaning  people,  nowadays,  always  are,  in  a  web  of  equivocation  be- 
tween what  is  profitable  and  benevolent. 

He  says  that  people  who  make  railroads  should  be  rewarded  by  divi- 
dends for  having  acted  so  benevolently  towards  the  public,  and  provided 
it  with  these  beautiful  and  easy  means  of  locomotion.  But  my  corre- 
spondent is  too  good  a  man  of  business  to  remain  in  this  entanglement  of 
brains — unless  by  his  own  fault.  He  knows  perfectly  well,  in  his 
heart,  that  the  *  benevolence '  involved  in  the  construction  of  railways 
amounts  exactly  to  this  much,  and  no  more, — that  if  the  British  public 
were  informed  that  engineers  were  now  confident,  after  their  practice 
in  the  Cenis  and  St.  Gothard  tunnels,  that  they  could  make  a  railway 
to  Hell, — the  British  public  would  instantly  invest  in  the  concern  to 
any  amount ;  and  stop  church-building  all  over  the  country,  for  fear  of 
diminishing  the  diTidtnds. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


303 


LETTER  XLVIII. 

The  accounts  of  the  state  of  St.  George's  Fund,  given 
without  any  inconvenience  in  crowding  type,  on  the  last 
leaf  of  this  number  of  Fors^  will,  I  hope,  be  as  satisfactory 
to  my  subscribers  as  they  are  to  me.  In  these  days  of 
financial  operation,  the  subscribers  to  anything  may  surely 
be  content  when  they  find  that  all  their  talents  have  been 
laid  up  in  the  softest  of  napkins  ;  and  even  farther,  that, 
though  they  are  getting  no  interest  themselves,  that  lichen- 
ous  growth  of  vegetable  gold,  or  mould,  is  duly  developing 
itself  on  their  capital. 

The  amount  of  subscriptions  received,  during  the  four 
years  of  my  mendicancy,  might  have  disappointed  me,  if,  in 
my  own  mind,  I  had  made  any  appointments  on  the  subject, 
or  had  benevolence  pungent  enough  to  make  me  fret  at  tho 
delay  in  the  commencement  of  the  national  felicity  which  I 
propose  to  bestow.  On  the  contrary,  I  am  only  too  happy 
to  continue  anuising  myself  in  my  study,  with  stones  and 
pictures  ;  and  find,  as  I  grow  old,  that  I  remain  resigned  to 
the  consciousness  of  any  quantity  of  surrounding  vice,  dis- 
tress, and  disease,  provided  only  the  sun  shine  in  at  my 
window  over  Corpus  Garden,  and  there  are  no  whistles  from 
the  luggage  trains  passing  the  Waterworks. 

I  understand  this  state  of  even  temper  to  be  what  most 
people  call  *  rational  ; '  and,  indeed,  it  has  been  the  result 
of  very  steady  effort  on  my  own  part  to  keep  myself,  if  it 
might  be,  out  of  Hanwell,  or  that  other  Hospital  which 
makes  the  name  of  Christ's  native  village  dreadful  in  the  ear 
of  London.  For,  having  long  observed  that  the  most  peril- 
ous beginning  of  trustworthy  qualification  for  either  of  those 
establishments  consisted  in  an  exaggerated  sense  of  self- 
importance  ;  and  being  daily  compelled,  of  late,  to  value  my 
own  person  and  opinions  at  a  higher  and  higher  rate,  in  pre 


304 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


portion  to  my  extending  experience  of  the  rarity  of  any  simi* 
lar  creatures  or  ideas  among  mankind,  it  seemed  to  me  ex- 
pedient to  correct  this  increasing  conviction  of  my  superior 
wisdom,  by  companionship  with  pictures  I  could  not  copy,  and 
stones  I  could  not  understand  : — while,  that  this  wholesome 
seclusion  may  remain  only  self-imposed,  I  think  it  not  a  little 
fortunate  for  me  that  the  few  relations  I  have  left  are  gen- 
erally rather  fond  of  me  ; — don't  know  clearly  which  is  the 
next  of  kin, — and  perceive  that  the  administration  of  my 
inconsiderable  effects  *  would  be  rather  troublesome  than 
profitable  to  them.  Not  in  the  least,  therefore,  wondering 
at  the  shyness  of  my  readers  to  trust  me  with  money  of 
theirs,  I  have  made,  during  these  four  years  past,  some  few 
experiments  with  money  of  my  own, — in  hopes  of  being  able 
to  give  such  account  of  them  as  might  justify  a  more  ex- 
tended confidence.  I  am  bound  to  state  that  the  results, 
for  the  present,  are  not  altogether  encouraging.  On  my 
own  little  piece  of  mountain  ground  at  Coniston,  I  grow  a 
large  quantity  of  wood-hyacinths  and  heather,  without  any 
expense  worth  mentioning  ;  but  my  only  industrious  agri- 
cultural operations  have  been  the  getting  three  pounds 
ten  worth  of  hay,  off  a  field  for  which  I  pay  six  pounds 
rent  ;  and  the  surrounding,  with  a  costly  wall  six  feet  high, 
to  keep  out  rabbits,*  a  kitchen  garden,  which,  being  terraced 
and  trim,  my  neighbours  say  is  pretty  ;  and  which  will 
probably,  every  third  year,  when  the  weather  is  not  wet, 
supply  me  with  a  dish  of  strawberries. 

At  Carshalton,  in  Surrey,  I  have  indeed  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  cleaning  out  one  of  the  springs  of  the  Wandel,  and 
making  it  pleasantly  habitable  by  trout ;  but  find  that  the 
fountain,  instead  of  taking  care  of  itself  when  once  pure,  as 
I  expected  it  to  do,  requires  continual  looking  after,  like  a 
child  getting  into  a  mess  ;  and  involves  me  besides  in  con- 
tinual debate  with  the  surveyors  of  the  parish,  who  insist  on 
letting  all  the  roadwashings  run  into  it.  For  the  present, 
however,  I  persevere,  at  Carshalton,  against  the  wilfulness 
of  the  spring  and  the  carelessness  of  the  parish  ;  and  hope 
*  See  statement  at  close  of  accounts. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


305 


to  conquer  both  :  but  I  have  been  obliged  entirely  to 
abandon  a  notion  I  had  of  exhibiting  ideally  clean  street 
jmvement  in  the  centre  of  London, — in  the  pleasant  en- 
virons of  Church  Lane,  St.  Giles's.  There  I  had  every  help 
and  encouragement  from  the  authorities  ;  and  hoped,  with 
tlie  staff  of  two  men  and  a  young  rogue  of  a  crossing- 
sweeper,  added  to  the  regular  force  of  the  parish,  to  keep  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  square  of  the  narrow  streets  without  leaving 
so  much  as  a  bit  of  orange-peel  on  the  footway,  or  an  egg- 
shell in  the  gutters.  I  failed,  partly  because  I  chose  too 
difficult  a  district  to  begin  with,  (the  contributions  of  trans- 
itional mud  being  constant,  and  the  inhabitants  passive,) 
but  chiefly  because  I  could  no  more  be  on  the  spot  myself, 
to  give  spirit  to  the  men,  when  1  left  Denmark  Hill  for 
Coniston. 

I  next  set  up  a  tea-shop  at  29,  Paddington  Street,  W.,  (an 
establishment  which  my  F'ors  readers  may  as  well  know  of,) 
to  supply  the  poor  in  that  neiglibourhood  with  pure  tea,  in 
packets  as  small  as  they  chose  to  buy,  without  making  a 
profit  on  the  subdivision, — larger  orders  being  of  course 
equally  acceptable  from  anybody  who  cares  to  promote 
honest  dealing.  The  result  of  this  experiment  has  been  my 
ascertaining  that  the  poor  only  like  to  buy  their  tea  where 
it  is  brilliantly  lighted  and  eloquently  ticketed  ;  and  as  I 
resolutely  refuse  to  compete  with  my  neighbouring  trades- 
men either  in  gas  or  rhetoric,  the  patient  subdivision  of  my 
parcels  by  the  two  old  servants  of  my  mother's,  who  manage 
the  business  for  me,  hitherto  passes  little  recognized  as  an 
advantage  by  my  uncalculating  public.  Also,  steady  in- 
crease in  the  consumption  of  spirits  throughout  the  neigh- 
bourhood faster  and  faster  slackens  the  demand  for  tea  ;  but 
I  believe  none  of  these  circumstances  have  cliecked  my  trade 
so  much  as  my  own  procrastination  in  painting  my  sign. 
Owing  to  that  total  want  of  imagination  and  invention 
wliich  makes  me  so  impartial  and  so  accurate  a  writer  on 
subjects  of  political  economy,  T  could  not  for  months  deter- 
mine whether  the  said  sign  sliould  be  of  a  Chinesfi  character, 
black  upon  gold  ;  or  of  a  Japanese,  blue  upon  white  ;  or  of 
Vol.  II. -20 


306 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


pleasant  English,  rose-colour  on  green  ;  and  still  less  how 
far  legible  scale  of  letters  could  be  compatible,  on  a  board 
only  a  foot  broad,  with  lengthy  enough  elucidation  of  the 
peculiar  offices  of  ^Mr.  Ruskin's  tea-shop.'  Meanwhile  the 
business  languishes,  and  the  rent  and  taxes  absorb  the 
profits,  and  something  more,  after  the  salary  of  my  good 
servants  has  been  paid. 

In  all  these  cases,  however,  I  can  see  that  I  am  defeated 
only  because  I  have  too  many  things  on  hand  :  and  that 
neither  rabbits  at  Coniston,  road-surveyors  at  Croydon,  or 
mud  in  St.  Giles's  would  get  the  better  of  me,  if  I  could 
give  exclusive  attention  to  any  one  business  :  meantime,  I 
learn  the  difficulties  which  are  to  be  met,  and  shall  make 
the  fewer  mistakes  when  I  venture  on  any  work  with  other 
people's  money. 

I  may  as  well,  together  with  these  confessions,  print  a 
piece  written  for  the  end  of  a  Fors  letter  at  Assisi,  a  month 
or  two  back,  but  for  which  I  had  then  no  room,  referring  to 
the  increase  of  commercial,  religious,  and  egotistic  insanity,* 
in  modern  society,  and  delicacy  of  the  distinction  implied  by 
that  long  wall  at  Hanwell,  between  the  persons  inside  it,  and 
out. 

'Does  it  never  occur  to  me,' (thus  the  letter  went  on) 
*  that  I  may  be  mad  myself  ? ' 

Well,  I  am  so  alone  now  in  my  thoughts  and  ways,  that 
if  I  am  not  mad,  I  should  soon  become  so,  from  mere  soli- 
tude, but  for  my  work.  But  it  must  be  manual  work. 
Whenever  I  succeed  in  a  drawing,  I  am  happy,  in  spite  of 
all  that  surrounds  me  of  sorrow.  It  is  a  strange  feeling  ; — 
not  gratified  vanity  :  I  can  have  any  quantity  of  praise  I 
like  from  some  sorts  of  people  ;  but  that  does  me  no  vital 
good,  (though  dispraise  does  me  mortal  harm)  ;  whereas  to 
succeed  to  my  own  satisfaction  in  a  manual  piece  of  work, 
is  life, — to  me,  as  ^o  all  men  ;  and  it  is  only  the  peace  which 
coraes  necessarily  from  manual  labour  which  in  all  time  has 
kept  the  honest  country  people  patient  in  their  task  of  main- 
taining the  rascals  who  live  in  towns.  But  we  are  in  hard 
*  See  second  letter  in  Notes  and  Correspondence, 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


30i 


times,  now,  for  all  men's  wits  ;  for  men  who  know  the  truth 
are  like  to  go  mad  from  isolation  ;  and  the  fools  are  all 
going  mad  in  '  Schwarmerei,' — only  that  is  much  the  pleas- 
anter  way.  Mr.  Lecky,  for  instance,  quoted  in  last  Fors  : 
how  pleasant  for  him  to  think  he  is  ever  so  much  wiser 
than  Aristotle  ;  and  that,  as  a  body,  the  men  of  his  genera- 
tion are  the  wisest  that  ever  were  born — giants  of  intel- 
lect, according  to  Lord  Macaulay,  compared  to  the  pigmies 
of  Bacon's  time,  and  the  minor  pigmies  of  Christ's  time,  and 
the  minutest  of  all,  the  microscopic  pigmies  of  Solomon's 
time,  and,  finally,  the  vermicular  and  infusorial  pigmies — 
twenty-three  millions  to  the  cubic  inch — of  Mr.  Darwin's 
time,  whatever  that  may  be.  How  pleasant  for  Mr.  Lecky 
to  live  in  these  days  of  the  Anakim, — his  spear,  to  equal 
which,  the  tallest  pine,"  etc.,  etc.,  which  no  man  Stratford- 
born  could  have  lifted,  much  less  shaken. 

But  for  us  of  the  old  race — few  of  us  now  left, — children 
who  reverence  our  fathers,  and  are  ashamed  of  ourselves  ; 
comfortless  enough  in  that  shame,  and  yearning  for  one  word 
or  glance  from  the  graves  of  old,  yet  knowing  ourselves  to 
be  of  the  same  blood,  and  recognizing  in  our  hearts  the  same 
passions,  with  the  ancient  masters  of  humanity  ; — wo,  who 
feel  as  men,  and  not  as  carnivorous  worms  ;  we,  who  are 
every  day  recognizing  some  inaccessible  height  of  thought 
and  power,  and  are  miserable  in  our  shortcomings, — the  few 
of  us  now  standing  here  and  there,  alone,  in  the  midst  of 
this  yelping,  carnivorous  crowd,  mad  for  money  and  lust, 
tearing  each  other  to  pieces,  and  starving  each  other  to  death, 
and  leaving  heaps  of  their  dung  and  ponds  of  their  spittle 
on  every  palace  floor  and  altar  stone, — it  is  impossible  for 
us,  except  in  the  labour  of  our  hands,  not  to  go  mad. 

And  the  danger  is  tenfold  greater  for  a  man  in  my  own 
position,  concerned  with  the  arts  which  develope  the  more 
subtle  brain  sensations  ;  and,  through  them,  tormented  all 
day  long.  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen  rightly  says  how  much  bet- 
ter it  is  to  have  a  thick  skin  and  a  good  digestion.  Yes,  as- 
suredly ;  but  what  is  the  use  of  knowing  that,  if  one  hasn't  ? 
In  one  of  ray  saddest  moods,  only  a  week  or  two  ago,  be- 


308 


FOBS  OLAVIGEJRA. 


cause  I  had  failed  twice  over  in  drawing  the  lifted  hand  of 
Giotto's  '  Poverty  ; '  utterly  beaten  and  comfortless,  at  As- 
sisij  I  got  some  wholesome  peace  and  refreshment  by  mere 
sympathy  with  a  Bewickian  little  pig  in  the  roundest  and 
conceitedest  burst  of  pig-blossom.  His  servant, — a  grave 
old  woman,  with  mucli  sorrow  and  toil  in  the  wrinkles  of  her 
skin,  while  his  was  only  dimpled  in  its  divine  thickness, — = 
was  leading  him,  with  magnanimous  length  of  rope,  down  a 
grassy  path  behind  the  convent  ;  stopping,  of  course,  where 
he  chose.  Stray  stalks  and  leaves  of  eatable  things,  in  va- 
rious stages  of  ambrosial  rottenness,  lay  here  and  there  ;  the 
convent  walls  made  more  savoury  by  their  fumigation,  as 
Mr.  Leslie  Stephen  says  the  Alpine  pines  are  by  his  cigar. 
And  the  little  joyful  darling  of  Demeter  shook  his  curly 
tail,  and  munched  ;  and  grunted  the  goodnaturedest  of 
grunts,  and  snuffled  the  approvingest  of  snuffles,  and  was  a 
balm  and  beatification  to  behold  ;  and  I  would  fain  have 
changed  places  with  him  for  a  little  while,  or  w^ith  Mr.  Les* 
lie  Stephen  for  a  little  while, — at  luncheon,  suppose, — any- 
where but  among  the  Alps.    But  it  can't  be. 

Hotel  Meurice,  Parts, 

20th  October,  1874 

I  interrupt  myself,  for  an  instant  or  two,  to  take  notice  of 
two  little  things  that  happen  to  me  here — arriving  to  break- 
fast by  night  train  from  Geneva. 

Expecting  to  be  cold,  I  had  ordered  fire,  and  sat  down  by 
it  to  read  my  letters  as  soon  as  I  arrived,  not  noticing  that 
the  little  parlour  was  getting  much  too  hot.  Presently,  in 
comes  the  chambermaid,  to  put  the  bedroom  in  order,  which 
one  enters  through  the  parlour.  Perceiving  that  I  am  mis- 
managing myself,  in  the  way  of  fresh  air,  as  she  passes 
through,  "  II  fait  bien  chaud,  monsieur,  ici,"  says  she  reprov- 
ingly, and  with  entire  self-possession.  Now  that  is  French 
servant-character  of  the  rio-ht  old  school.  She  knows  her 
own  position  perfectly,  and  means  to  stay  in  it,  and  wear  her 
little  white  radiant  frill  of  a  cap  all  her  days.  She  knows 
my  position  also  5  and  has  not  the  least  fear  of  my  thinking 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


309 


her  impertinent  because  she  tells  me  what  it  is  right  that  I 
should  know.  Presently  afterwards,  an  evidently  German- 
importation  of  waiter  brings  me  up  my  breakfast,  which  has 
been  longer  in  appearing  than  it  would  have  been  in  old 
times.  It  looks  all  right  at  first, — the  napkin,  china,  and 
solid  silver  sugar  basin,  all  of  the  old  regime.  Bread,  butter, 
— yes,  of  the  best  still.  CoflFee,  milk, — all  right  too.  But, 
at  last,  here  is  a  bit  of  the  new  regime.  There  are  no  sugar- 
tongs  ;  and  the  sugar  is  of  beetroot,  and  in  methodically 
similar  cakes,  which  I  must  break  with  my  finger  and  thumb 
if  I  want  a  small  piece,  and  put  back  what  I  don't  want  for 
my  neighbour,  to-morrow. 

*  Civilization,'  this,  you  observe,  according  to  Professor 
Liebig  and  Mr.  John  Stuart  Mill.  Not  according  to  old 
French  manners,  however. 

Now,  my  readers  are  continually  complaining  that  I  don't 
go  on  telling  them  my  plan  of  life,  under  the  rule  of  St. 
George's  Company. 

I  Jiave  told  it  them,  again  and  again,  in  broad  terms  : 
agricultural  life,  with  as  much  refinement  as  I  can  enforce  in 
it.  But  it  is  impossible  to  describe  what  I  mean  by  'refine- 
ment,' except  in  details  which  can  only  be  suggested  by 
practical  need  ;  and  which  cannot  at  all  be  set  down  at  once. 

Here,  however,  to-day,  is  one  instance.  At  the  l)est  hotel 
in  what  has  been  supposed  the  most  luxurious  city  of  modern 
Europe, — because  people  are  now  always  in  a  hurry  to  catch 
the  train,  they  haven't  time  to  use  tlie  sugar-tongs,  or  look 
for  a  little  piece  among  differently  sized  lumps,  and  therefore 
they  use  their  fingers  ;  have  bad  sugar  instead  of  good,  and 
waste  the  ground  that  would  grow  blessed  cherry  trees,  currant 
bushes,  or  wheat,  in  growing  a  miserable  root  as  a  substitute 
for  the  sugar-cane,  which  God  has  appointed  to  grow  where 
cherries  and  wheat  won't,  and  to  give  juice  which  will  freeze 
into  sweet  snow  as  pure  as  hoar-frost. 

Now,  on  the  poorest  farm  of  the  St.  George's  Company, 
the  servants  shall  have  white  and  brown  sugar  of  the  best — 
or  none.  If  we  are  too  poor  to  buy  sugar,  we  will  drink 
our  tea  without  ;  and  have  suet-dumpling  instead  of  pudding. 


310 


F0R8  CLAVIGEHA. 


But  among  the  earliest  school  lessons,  and  home  lessons 
decent  behaviour  at  table  will  be  primarily  essential  ;  and  of 
such  decency,  one  little  exact  point  will  be — the  neat,  patient, 
and  scrupulous  use  of  sugar-tongs  instead  of  fingers.  If  we 
are  too  poor  to  have  silver  basins,  we  will  have  delf  ones  ;  if 
not  silver  tongs,  we  will  have  wooden  ones  ;  and  the  boys  of 
the  house  shall  be  challenged  to  cut,  and  fit  together,  the 
prettiest  and  handiest  machines  of  the  sort  they  can  contrive. 
In  six  months  you  would  find  more  real  art  fancy  brought 
out  in  the  wooden  handles  and  claws,  than  there  is  now  in 
all  the  plate  in  London. 

Now,  there's  the  cuckoo-clock  striking  seven,  just  as  I  sit 
down  to  correct  the  press  of  this  sheet,  in  my  nursery  at 
Herne  Hill  ;  and  though  I  don't  remember,  as  the  murderer 
does  in  Mr.  Crummies'  play,  having  heard  a  cuckoo-clock 
strike  seven — in  my  infancy,  I  do  remember,  in  my  favourite 
Frank^  much  talk  of  the  housekeeper's  cuckoo-clock,  and 
of  the  boy's  ingenuity  in  mending  it.  Yet  to  this  hour  of 
seven  in  the  morning,  ninth  December  of  my  fifty-fifth  year, 
I  haven't  the  least  notion  how  anv  such  clock  savs  '  Cuckoo  ' 
nor  a  clear  one  even  of  the  making  of  the  commonest  barking 
toy  of  a  child's  Noah's  ark.  I  don't  know  how  a  barrel 
organ  produces  music  by  being  ground  ;  nor  what  real  func- 
tion the  pea  has  in  a  w^histle.  Physical  science — all  this — of 
a  kind  which  would  have  been  boundlessly  interesting  to  me, 
as  to  all  boys  of  mellifluous  disposition,  if  only  I  had  been 
taught  it  with  due  immediate  practice,  and  enforcement  of 
true  manufacture,  or,  in  pleasant  Saxon,  ^  handiwork.'  But 
there  shall  not  be  on  St.  George's  estate  a  single  thing  in  the 
house  which  the  boys  don't  know  how  to  make,  nor  a  single 
dish  on  the  table  which  the  girls  will  not  know  how  to  cook. 

By  the  w^ay,  I  have  been  greatly  surprised  by  receiving 
some  letters  of  puzzled  inquiry  as  to  the  meaning  of  my 
recipe,  given  last  year,  for  Yorkshire  Pie.  Do  not  my 
readers  yet  at  all  understand  that  the  whole  gist  of  this 
book  is  to  make  people  build  their  own  houses,  provide  and 
cook  their  own  dinners,  and  enjoy  both  ?    Something  else 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


311 


besides,  perhaps  ;  but  at  least,  and  at  first,  those.  St. 
MichaeJ's  mass,  and  Christ's  mass,  may  eventually  be  asso- 
ciated in  your  minds  with  other  things  than  goose  and 
pudding  ;  but  Fors  demands  at  first  no  more  chivalry  nor 
Christianity  from  you  than  that  you  build  your  houses 
bravely,  and  earn  your  dinners  honestly,  and  enjoy  them 
both,  and  be  content  with  them  both.  The  contentment 
is  the  main  matter  ;  you  may  enjoy  to  any  extent,  but 
if  you  are  discontented,  your  life  will  be  poisoned.  The 
little  pig  was  so  comforting  to  me  because  he  was  wholly 
content  to  be  a  little  pig  ;  and  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen  is  in  a 
certain  degree  exemplary  and  comforting  to  me,  because  he 
is  wholly  content  to  be  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen  ;  while  I  am 
miserable  because  I  am  always  wanting  to  be  something  else 
than  I  am.  I  want  to  be  Turner  ;  I  want  to  be  Gains- 
borough ;  I  want  to  be  Samuel  Prout  ;  I  want  to  be 
jJoge  of  Venice  ;  I  want  to  be  Pope  ;  I  want  to  be  Lord  of 
the  Sun  and  Moon.  The  other  day,  when  I  read  that  story 
in  the  papers  about  the  dog-figiit,*  I  wanted  to  be  able  to 
fio'ht  a  bulldotr. 

Truly,  that  was  the  only  effect  of  the  story  upon  .ne, 
though  I  heard  everybody  else  screaming  out  how  horrible 
it  was.  What's  horrible  in  it?  Of  course  it  is  in  bad  taste, 
and  the  sign  of  a  declining  era  of  national  honour — as  all  bru- 
tal gladiatorial  exhibitions  are  ;  and  the  stakes  and  rings  of 
the  tethered  combat  meant  precisely,  for  England,  what  the 
stakes  and  rings  of  the  Theatre  of  Taormina, — where  I  saw 
the  holes  left  for  them  among  the  turf,  blue  with  Sicilian 
lilies,  in  this  last  April, — meant,  for  Greece,  and  Rome. 
There  might  be  something  loathsome,  or  something  ominous, 
in  such  a  story,  to  the  old  Greeks  of  the  school  of  Heracles  ; 
who  used  to  fight  with  the  Nemean  lion,  or  with  Cerberus, 
when  it  was  needful  only,  and  not  for  money  ;  and  whom 
their  Argus  remembered  through  all  Trojan  exile.  There 
might  be  something  loathsome  in  it,  or  ominous,  to  an  Eng- 

*  I  don't  know  how  far  it  turned  out  to  be  true, — a  fight  between  a 
dwarf  and  a  bulldog  (both  chained  to  stakes  as  in  Roman  days),  de* 
Boribed  at  length  in  some  journals. 


312 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


lishman  of  the  school  of  Shakespeare  or  Scott ;  who  would 
fight  with  men  only,  and  loved  his  hound.  But  for  you— 
you  carnivorous  cheats — what,  in  dog's  or  devil's  name,  is 
there  horrible  in  it  for  you?  Do  you  suppose  it  isn't  more 
manly  and  virtuous  to  fight  a  bulldog,  than  to  poison  a 
child,  or  cheat  a  fellow  who  trusts  you,  or  leave  a  girl  to  go 
wild  in  the  streets?  And  don't  you  live,  and  profess  to  live 
— and  even  insolently  proclaim  that  there's  no  other  way  of 
living  than — by  poisoning  and  cheating?  And  isn't  every 
woman  of  fashion's  dress,  in  Europe,  now  set  the  pattern  of 
to  her  by  its  prostitutes  ? 

What's  horrible  in  it  ?  T  ask  you,  the  third  time.  I  hate, 
myself,  seeing  a  bulldog  ill-treated  ;  for  they  are  the  gentlest 
and  faithfullest  of  living  creatures  if  3^ou  use  them  well. 
And  the  best  dog  I  ever  had  was  a  bull-terrier,  whose  whole 
object  in  life  was  to  please  me,  and  nothing  else  ;  though,  if 
he  found  he  could  please  me  by  holding  on  with  liis  teeth  to 
an  inch-thick  stick,  and  beincj*  swuno-  round  in  the  air  as  fast 
as  I  could  turn,  that  was  his  own  idea  of  entirely  felicitous 
existence.  I  don't  like,  therefore,  hearing  of  a  bulldog's 
being  ill-treated  ;  but  I  can  tell  you  a  little  thing  that 
chanced  to  me  at  Coniston  the  other  day,  more  horrible,  in 
the  deep  elements  of  it,  than  all  the  dog,  bulldog,  or  bull 
fights,  or  baitings,  of  England,  Spain,  and  California.  A 
fine  boy,  the  son  of  an  amiable  English  clergyman,  had  come 
on  the  coach-box  round  the  Water-head  to  see  me,  and  was 
telling  me  of  the  delightful  drive  he  had  had.  Oh,"  he  said, 
in  the  triumph  of  his  enthusiasm,  ''and  just  at  the  corner  of 
the  wood,  there  was  s^ich  a  big  squirrel  !  and  the  coachman 
threw  a  stone  at  it,  and  nearly  hit  it  !  " 

^  Thoughtlessness  —  only  thoughtlessness  ' —  say  you  — 
proud  father  ?  Well,  perhaps  not  much  worse  than  that. 
But  how  could  it  be  much  v^^orse  ?  Thoughtlessness  is  pre- 
cisely the  chief  public  calamity  of  our  day  ;  and  when  it 
comes  to  the  pitch,  in  a  clergyman's  child,  of  not  thinking 
that  a  stone  hurts  what  it  hits  of  living  things,  and  not 
caring  for  the  daintiest,  dextrousest,  innocentest  living  thing 
in  the  northern  forests  of  God's  earth,  except  as  a  brown  ex- 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA. 


313 


crescence  to  be  knocked  off  their  branches, — nay,  good  pas- 
tor of  Christ's  lambs,  believe  me,  your  boy  had  better  have 
been  employed  in  thoughtfully  and  resolutely  stoning  St. 
Stephen — if  any  St.  Stephen  is  to  be  found  in  these  days, 
when  men  not  only  can't  see  heaven  opened,  but  don't  so 
much  as  care  to  see  it,  shut. 

For  they,  at  least,  meant  neitlier  to  give  pain  nor  death 
without  cause, — that  unanimous  company  who  stopped  their 
ears, — they,  and  the  consenting  bystander  who  afterwards 
was  sorry  for  his  mistake. 

But,  on  the  whole,  the  time  has  now  come  when  we  must 
cease  throwing  of  stones  either  at  saints  or  squirrels  ;  and, 
as  I  say,  build  our  own  houses  with  them,  honestly  set  :  and 
similarly  content  ourselves  in  peaceable  use  of  iron  and  lead, 
and  other  such  tilings  which  we  have  been  in  the  habit  of 
throwing  at  each  other  dangerously,  in  thoughtlessness ; 
and  defending  ourselves  against  as  tlioughtlessly,  though 
in  what  we  suppose  to  be  an  ingenious  manner.  Ingen- 
ious or  not,  will  the  fabric  of  our  new  ship  of  the  Line, 
*  Devastation,'  think  you,  follow  its  fabricator  in  heavenly 
places,  when  he  dies  in  the  Lord  ?  Li  such  representations 
as  I  have  chanced  to  see  of  probable  Paradise,  Noah  is  never 
without  his  ark  ; — holding  that  up  for  judgment  as  the  main 
work  of  his  life.  Shall  we  hope  at  the  Advent  to  see  the 
builder  of  the  *  Devastation '  invite  St.  Michael's  judgment 
on  his  better  style  of  naval  architecture,  and  four- foot-six- 
thick  *  armour  of  light'? 

It  is  to-day  the  second  Sunday  in  Advent,  and  all  over 
England,  about  the  time  that  I  write  these  words,  full  con- 
gregations will  be  for  the  second  time  saying  Amen  to  the 
opening  collect  of  the  Christian  year. 

I  wonder  how  many  individuals  of  the  enlightened  public 
understand  a  single  word  of  its  first  clause  : 

"  Almighty  God,  give  us  grace  that  we  may  cast  away 
the  works  of  darkness,  and  put  upon  us  the  armour 
of  light,  now  in  the  time  of  this  mortal  life." 

How  many  of  them,  may  it  be  supposed,  have  any  clear 


314 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


knowledge  of  what  grace  is,  or  of  wliat  the  works  of  darkness 
are  which  they  hope  to  have  grace  to  cast  away  ;  or  will 
feel  themselves,  in  the  coming  year,  armed  with  any  more 
luminous  mail  than  their  customary  coats  and  gowns,  hosen 
and  hats?  Or  again,  when  they  are  told  to  **have  no  fellow- 
ship with  the  unfruitful  works  of  darkness,  but  rather  re- 
prove  them," — what  fellowship  do  they  recognize  themselves 
to  have  guiltily  formed  ;  and  whom,  or  what,  will  they  feel 
now  called  upon  to  reprove  ? 

In  last  Fors,  I  showed  you  how  the  works  of  darkness 
were  unfruitful  ; — the  precise  reverse  of  the  fruitful,  or 
creative,  works  of  Light  ; — but  why  in  this  collect,  which 
you  pray  over  and  over  again  all  Advent,  do  you  ask  for 
'armour'  instead  of  industry?  You  take  your  coat  off  to 
work  in  your  own  gardens  ;  why  must  you  put  a  coat  of 
mail  on,  when  you  are  to  work  in  the  Garden  of  God  ? 

Well  ;  because  the  earthworms  in  it  are  big — and  have 
teeth  and  claws,  and  venomous  tongues.  So  that  the  first 
question  for  you  is  indeed,  not  whether  you  have  a  mind  to 
work  in  it — many  a  coward  has  that — but  wliether  you  have 
courage  to  stand  in  it,  and  armour  proved  enough  to  stand 
in. 

Suppose  you  let  the  consenting  bystander  who  took  care 
of  the  coats  taken  off  to  do  that  piece  of  work  on  St. 
Stephen,  explain  to  you  the  pieces  out  of  St.  Michael's 
armoury  needful  to  the  husbandman,  or  Georgos,  of  God's 
garden. 

"  Stand  therefore  ;  having  your  loins  girt  about  with 
Truth." 

That  means,  that  the  strength  of  your  backbone  depends 
on  your  meaning  to  do  true  battle. 

And  having  on  the  breastplate  of  Justice." 

That  means,  there  are  to  be  no  partialities  in  your  heart, 
of  anger  or  pity  ; — but  you  must  only  in  justice  kill,  and 
only  in  justice  keep  alive. 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


315 


And  your  feet  shod  with  the  preparation  of  the  gospel 
of  Peace." 

That  means  that  where  your  foot  pauses,  moves,  or  enters, 
there  shall  be  peace  ;  and  where  you  can  only  snake  the 
dust  of  it  on  the  threshold,  niourning. 

Above  all,  take  the  shield  of  Faith." 

Of  fidelity  or  obedience  to  your  captain,  showing  his  bear- 
ings, argent,  a  cross  gules  ;  your  safety,  and  all  the  army's, 
beinor  first  in  the  obedience  of  faith  :  and  all  castinii:  of 
spears  vain  against  such  guarded  phalanx. 

"  And  take  the  helmet  of  Salvation." 

Elsewhere,  the  ho})e  of  salvation,  tiiat  being  the  defence 
of  your  intellect  against  base  and  sad  thoughts,  as  the  shield 
of  fidelity  is  the  defence  of  your  heart  against  burning  and 
consuming  passions. 

"And  the  sword  of  the  Spirit,  which  is  the  Word  of 
God." 

That  being  your  weapon  of  war, — your  power  of  action, 
whether  with  sword  or  ploughshare  ;  according  to  the 
saying  of  St.  John  of  the  young  soldiers  of  Christ,  "  I  have 
written  unto  you,  young  men,  because  ye  are  strong,  and  tlie 
Word  of  God  abideth  in  you."  The  Word  by  which  the 
heavens  were  of  old  ;  and  which,  being  once  only  Breath, 
became  in  man  Flesh,  *  quickening  it  by  the  spirit'  into  the 
life  which  is,  and  is  to  come  ;  and  enabling  it  for  all  the 
works  nobly  done  by  the  quick,  and  following  tiie  dead. 

And  now,  finish  your  Advent  collect,  and  eat  your 
Christmas  fare,  and  drink  your  Christmas  wine,  thankfully  j 
and  with  undeistanding  that  if  the  supper  is  holy  whicb 
shows  your  Lord's  death  till  He  come,  the  dinner  is  also  holy 
which  shows  His  life  ;  and  if  you  would  think  it  wrong  at 
any  time  to  go  to  your  own  baby's  cradle  side,  drunk,  do  not 
show  your  gladness  by  Christ's  cradle  in  that  manfier  ;  but 
eat  your  meat,  and  carol  your  carol  in  pure  gladness  and 


316 


FOES  CLAVIGEEA, 


singleness  of  heart  ;  and  so  gird  up  your  loins  with  truth, 
that,  in  the  year  to  come,  you  may  do  such  work  as  Christ 
can  praise,  whether  He  call  you  to  judgment  from  the  quick 
or  dead  ;  so  that  among  your  Christmas  carols  there  may 
never  any  more  be  wanting  the  joyfuUest — 

O  sing  unto  the  Lord  a  new  song : 

Sing  unto  the  Lord,  all  the  earth. 

Say  among  the  heathen  that  the  Lord  is  King : 

The  world  also  shall  be  stablished  that  it  shall  not  be  moved. 

Let  the  heavens  rejoice, 

And  let  the  earth  be  glad ; 

Let  the  sea  shout,  and  the  fulness  thereof. 

Let  the  field  be  joyful,  and  all  that  is  therein  : 

Then  shall  all  the  trees  of  the  wood  rejoice 

Before  the  Lord  : 

For  He  cometh,  for  He  cometh  to  JUDGE  THE  earth  : 
He  shall  judge  the  world  with  righteousness. 
And  the  people  with  His  truth. 


F0R8  CLAVIOERA. 


317 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


I.  I  have  kept  the  following  kind  and  helpful  letter  for  the  close  of 
the  year  : — 

"-January  8,  1874. 
Sir, — I  have  been  much  moved  by  a  passage  in  No.  37  of  Fors 
Clavigera^  in  which  you  express  yourself  in  somewhat  desponding 
terras  as  to  your  loneliness  in  Mife  and  thought,'  now  you  have 
grown  old.  You  complain  that  many  of  your  early  friends  have  for- 
gotten or  disregarded  you,  and  that  you  are  almost  left  alone.  I  can- 
not certainly  be  called  an  early  friend,  or,  in  the  common  meaning  of 
the  word,  a  friend  of  any  time.  But  I  cannot  refrain  from  telling  you 
that  there  are  *  more  than  7,000*  in  this  very  *  Christ-defying '  Eng- 
land whom  you  have  made  your  friends  by  your  wise  sympathy  and 
faithful  teaching.  I,  for  my  owu  part,  owe  you  a  debt  of  thankful- 
ness not  oaly  for  the  pleasant  hours  I  have  spent  with  you  in  your 
books,  but  also  for  the  clearer  views  of  many  of  the  ills  which  at  pres- 
ent press  upon  us,  and  for  the  methods  of  cure  upon  which  you  so 
urgently  and  earnestly  insist.  I  would  especially  mention  Unto  this 
Last  as  having  afforded  me  the  highest  8atL«> faction.  It  has  ever  since 
I  first  read  it  been  my  text-book  of  political  economy.  I  think  it  ia 
one  of  the  needfiilest  lessons  for  a  selfish,  recklessly  competitive, 
cheapest -buying  and  dearest-selling  age,  that  it  should  be  told  there 
are  principles  de  per,  higher,  and  even  more  prudent  than  those  by 
which  it  is  just  now  governed.  It  ia  particularly  refreshing  to  find 
Christ's  truths  applied  to  modern  commercial  immorality  in  the  trench- 
ant and  convincing  style  which  characterizes  your  much  maligned  but 
most  valuable  book.  It  has  been,  let  me  assure  you,  appreciated  in 
very  unexpected  quarters;  and  one  humble  person  to  whom  I  lent  my 
copy,  beuig  too  poor  to  buy  one  for  himself,  actiuiUy  wrote  it  out  toord 
for  word  that  he  might  alioays  have  it  by  hi)iiy 

C*"  What  a  shame !  "  thinks  the  enlightened  Mudie-subscriber.  See 
what  comes  of  his  refusing  to  sell  his  books  cheap.'* 

Yes, — see  what  comes  of  it.  The  dreadful  calamity,  to  another  per- 
son, of  doing  once,  what  I  did  myself  twice — and,  in  great  part  of  the 
book,  three  times.  A  vain  author,  indeed,  thinks  nothing  of  the 
trouble  of  writing  his  own  books.  But  I  had  infinitely  rather  write 
somebody  else's.  My  good  poor  disciple,  at  the  most,  had  not  half  the 
pain  his  master  had  ;  learnt  his  book  rightly,  and  gave  me  more  help, 
by  this  best  kind  of  laborious  sympathy,  than  twenty  score  of  flatter- 
ing friends  who  tell  me  what  a  fine  word-paintor  I  am,  and  don^t  take 
the  pains  to  understand  so  much  as  half  a  sentence  in  a  volume.) 


318 


FOBS  CL  A  Via  ERA, 


You  have  done,  and  are  doing,  a  good  work  for  England,  and  1 
pray  you  not  to  be  discouraged.  Continue  as  you  have  been  doing, 
convincing  us  by  your  *  sweet  reasonableness'  of  our  errors  and  mis- 
eries, and  the  time  will  doubtless  coine  when,  your  work  now  being 
done  in  Jeremiah-like  sadness  and  hopelessness,  will  bear  gracious  and 
abundant  fruit. 

'•Will  you  pardon  my  troubling  you  with  this  note;  but,  indeed,  I 
could  not  be  happy  after  reading  your  gloomy  experience,  until  I  had 
done  my  little  best  to  send  one  poor  ray  of  comfort  into  your  seem- 
ingly almost  weary  heart. 

* '  I  remain, 

"  Yours  very  sincerely. 

II.  Next  to  this  delightful  testimony  to  my  *  sweet  reasonableness,' 
here  is  some  discussion  of  evidence  on  the  other  side  : — 

November  12,  1873. 

To  John  Ruskin,  LL.D.,  greeting,  thes^- 

'*  Enclosed  is  a  slip  cut  from  the  Limr pool  Mercury  of  last  Friday, 
November  8.  I  don't  send  it  to  you  beca^^se  I  think  it  matters  any- 
thing what  the  Mercury  thinks  about  any  ou'^j's  qualification  for  either 
the  inside  or  outside  of  any  asylum  ;  but  tha(  I  may  suggest  to  you,  as 
a  working-man  reader  of  your  letters,  the  desirability  of  your  printing 
any  letters  of  importance  you  may  send  to  any  of  the  London  papers, 
over  again — in,  say,  the  space  of  Fors  Glavigera  that  you  have  set  apart 
for  correspondence.  It  is  most  tantalizing  to  see  2  bit  printed  like  the 
enclosed,  and  not  know  either  what  is  before  or  a^ter.  I  felt  similar 
feelings  some  time  ago  over  a  little  bit  of  a  letter  about  the  subscrip- 
tion to  Warwick  Castle. 

We  cannot  always  see  the  London  papers,  especially  us  provincials; 
and  we  would  like  to  see  what  goes  on  between  you  and  the  newspaper 
world. 

Trusting  that  you  will  give  this  suggestion  some  consir^eration,  and 
at  any  rate  take  it  as  given  in  good  faith  from  a  disciple  following  afar 
off, 

*'  I  remain,  sincerely  yours,'* 

The  enclosed  slip  was  as  follows  : — 

*'Mii.  RusKTN's  Tender  Point. — Mr.  John  Ruskin  has  written  a 
letter  to  a  contemporary  on  madness  and  crime,  which  goes  far  to  clear 
up  the  mystery  which,  has  surrounded  some  of  his  writings  of  late 
The  following  passage  amply  qualifies  the  distinguished  art  critic  for 
admission  into  any  asylum  in  the  country : — *I  assure  you,  sir,  insanity 
is  a  tender  point  with  me.'"  The  writer  then  quotes  to  the  end  the 
last  paragraph  of  the  letter,  which,  in  compliance  with  my  correspond- 
ent's wish,  I  am  happy  here  to  reprint  in  its  entirety. 

MADNESS  AND  CRIME. 

TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE      PALL  MALL  GAZETTE." 

Sir, — Towards  the  close  of  the  excellent  article  on  the  Taylor  trial  in 
your  issue  for  October  81,  you  say  that  people  never  will  be,  nor  ought 


FORS  CLAVIGEJRA. 


319 


to  be,  persunded  "to  treat  criminals  simply  as  vermin  which  they  de- 
stroy, and  not  as  men  who  aie  to  be  punished.  '  Certainly  not,  sir! 
Who  ever  talked,  or  thought,  of  regarding  criminals  "  simply"  as  any- 
thing; (or  innocent  people  either,  if  there  be  any)?  But  regarding 
criminals  complexly  and  accurately,  they  are  partly  men,  partly  vermin  ; 
what  is  human  in  them  you  must  punish— what  is  vermicular,  abolish. 
Anything  between— if  you  can  find  it — I  wish  you  joy  of,  and  hope  you 
may  be  able  to  preserve  it  to  society.  Ins.ine  persons,  horses,  dogs,  or 
cats,  become  vermin  when  they  become  daugerous.  I  am  sorry  for  dai*- 
ling  Fido,  but  there  is  no  question  about  what  is  to  be  done  with  him. 

Yet,  I  assure  you,  sir,  insanity  is  a  tender  point  with  me.  One  of 
my  best  friends  has  just  gone  mad  ;  and  all  the  rest  say  I  am  mad  my- 
self. But,  if  ever  I  murder  anybody — and,  indeed,  there  are  numbers 
of  people  I  should  like  to  murder — I  won't  say  that  I  ought  to  be  hanged  ; 
for  I  think  nobody  but  a  bishop  or  a  bank-director  can  ever  be  rogue 
enough  to  deserve  hanging  ;  but  I  particularly,  and  with  all  that  is  left 
me  of  what  I  imagine  to  be  sound  mind,  request  that  I  may  be  imme- 
diately shot. 

I  am,  Sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Coi'pm  Christi  College,  Oxford^  November  2,  (18'i2). 

III.  I  am  verj'  grateful  to  the  friend  who  sends  me  the  following 
note  on  my  criticism  of  Dickens  in  last  letter  : — 

*'  It  does  not  in  the  least  detract  from  the  force  of  Fors^  p.  297.  line 
6  (November),  that  there  was  a  real  'Miss  Flite,'  whom  I  have  seen, 
and  my  fatlier  well  remembers ;  and  who  used  to  haunt  the  Courts  in 
general,  and  sometimes  to  address  them.  She  had  been  ruined,  it  was 
believed  ;  and  Dickens  must  have  seen  her,  for  her  picture  is  like  the 
original.  But  he  knew  nothing  about  her,  and  only  constructed  her 
after  his  fashion.  She  cannot  have  V)e('n  any  prototype  of  the  character 
of  Miss  Flite.  I  never  heard  her  real  name.  Poor  thing!  she  did  not 
look  sweet  or  kind,  but  crazed  and  spiteful  ;  and  unless  looks  deceived 
Dickens,  he  just  gave  careless,  false  witness  about  her.  Her  condition 
seemed  to  strengthen  your  statement  in  its  very  gist,  — as  Law  had 
made  her  look  like  Peter  Peebles. 

My  father  remembers  little  Miss  F. ,  of  whom  nothing  was  known. 
She  always  carried  papers  and  a  bag.  and  received  occasional  charity 
from  lawyers. 

"Gridley's  real  name  was  Ikey ;— he  haunted  Chancery.  Another, 
named  Pitt,  in  the  Exchequer : — broken  attorneys,  both.  ' 

IV.  I  have  long  kept  by  me  an  official  statement  of  the  condition  of 
England  when  I  began  Fors,  and  together  with  it  an  illustrative  column, 
printed,  without  alteration,  from  the  P(xll  MaU  Gazette  of  the  previous 
year.  They  may  now  fitly  close  my  four  years'  work,  of  which  I  have 
good  hope  next  year  to  see  some  fruit. 

Mr.  Goschen  on  the  Condition  of  England.  — "  The  nation  is 
again  making  money  at  an  enormous  rate,  and  driving  every  kind  of 
decently  secure  investment  up  to  unprecedented  figures.  Foreign 
Stocks,  Indian  Stocks,  Home  Railway  Shares,  all  securities  which  are 


320 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


beyond  the  control  of  mere  speculators  and  offer  above  four  per  cent, 
were  never  so  dear;  risky  loans  for  millions,  like  that  for  Peru,  are 
taken  with  avidity  ;  the  cup  is  getting  full,  and  in  all  human  probabil- 
ity some  new  burst  of  speculation  is  at  hand,  which  may  take  a  benefi- 
cial form — for  instance,  we  could  get  rid  of  a  hundred  millions  in  mak- 
ing cheap  country  railways  with  immense  advantage — but  will  more 
probably  turn  out  to  be  a  mere  method  of  depletion.  However  it  goes, 
the  country  is  once  more  getting  rich,  and  the  money  is  filtering  down« 
wards  to  the  actual  workers.  The  people,  as  Mr.  Goschen  showed  by  un- 
impugnable  figures,  are  consuming  more  sugar,  more  lea,  more  beer, 
spirits,  and  tobacco,  more,  in  fact,  of  every  kind  of  popular  luxury,  than 
ever.  Their  savings  have  also  increased,  while  the  exports  of  cotton,  of 
wool,  of  linen,  of  iron,  of  machinery,  have  reached  a  figure  wholly  beyond 
precedent.  By  the  testimony  of  all  manner  of  men — factory  inspectors, 
poor-law  inspectors,  members  for  great  cities — the  Lancashire  trade, 
the  silk  trade,  the  flax-spinning  trade,  the  lace  trade,  and,  above  all,  the 
iron  trade,  are  all  so  flourishing,  that  the  want  is  not  of  work  to  be 
done,  but  of  hands  to  do  it.  Even  the  iron  shipbuilding  trade,  which 
was  at  so  low  a  point,  is  reviving,  and  the  only  one  believed  to  be  still 
under  serious  depression  is  the  building  trade  of  London,  which  has,  it 
is  believed,  been  considerably  overdone.  So  great  is  the  demand  for 
hands  in  some  parts  of  the  country,  that  Mr.  Goschen  believes  that  in- 
ternal emigration  would  do  more  to  help  the  people  than  emigration  to 
America,  while  it  is  certain  that  no  relief  which  can  be  afforded  by  the. 
departure  of  a  few  workpeople  is  equal  to  the  relief  caused  by  the 
revival  of  any  one  great  trade — relief,  we  must  add,  which  would  be 
more  rapid  and  diffused  if  the  trades'  unions,  in  this  one  respect  at  least 
false  to  their  central  idea  of  the  brotherhood  of  labour,  were  not  so 
jealous  of  the  intrusion  of  outsiders.  There  is  hardly  a  trade  into 
which  a  countryman  of  thirty,  however  clever,  can  enter  at  his  own 
discretion — one  of  the  many  social  disqualifications  which  press  upon 
the  agricultural  labourer. 

The  picture  thus  drawn  by  Mr.  Goschen,  and  truly  drawn — for  the 
President  of  the  Poor-Lavv  Board  is  a  man  who  does  not  manipulate 
figures,  but  treats  them  with  the  reverence  of  the  born  statist — is  a  very 
pleasant  one,  especially  to  those  who  believe  that  wealth  is  the  founda- 
tion of  civilization  ;  but  yet  what  a  weary  load  it  is  that,  according  to 
the  aame  speech,  this  country  is  carrying,  and  must  carry  !  There  are 
1,100,000  paupers  on  the  books,  and  not  a  tenth  of  them  will  be  taken 
off  by  any  revival  whatever,  for  not  a  tenth  of  them  are  workers.  The 
rest  are  children — 350,000  of  them  alone— widows,  people  past  work, 
cripples,  lunatics,  incapables,  human  drift  of  one  sort  or  another,  the 
detritus  of  commerce  and  labour,  a  compost  of  suffering,  helplessness, 
and  disease.  In  addition  to  the  burden  of  the  State,  in  addition  to  the 
burden  of  the  Debt,  which  we  talk  of  as  nothing,  but  without  which 
England  would  be  the  least-taxed  country  in  the  world,  this  country  has 
to  maintain  an  army  of  incapables  twice  as  numerous  as  the  army  of 
France,  to  feed,  and  clothe,  and  lodge  and  teach  them, — an  army  which 
she  cannot  disband,  and  which  she  seems  incompetent  even  to  diminish. 
To  talk  of  emigration,  of  enterprise,  even  of  education,  as  reducing  this 
burden,  is  almost  waste  of  breath ;  for  cripples  do  not  emigrate,  the 
aged  do  not  benefi:.  hy  trade,  when  education  is  universal  children  must 
Btill  be  kept  alive."  -T/ig  ISpectaior^  June  25,  1870. 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


321 


V.  The  following  single  column  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  has  been  oc- 
casionally referred  to  in  past  letters  : — 

"  It  is  proposed  to  erect  a  memorial  church  at  Oxford  to  the  late 
Archbishop  Longley.  The  cost  is  estimated  at  from  £15,000  to  £20,000. 
The  subscriptions  promised  already  amount  to  upwards  of  £2,000,  and 
in  the  list  are  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  the  Bishops  of  Oxford, 
St.  Asaph,  and  Chester." 

An  inquest  was  held  in  the  Isle  of  Dogs  by  Mr.  Humphreys,  the 
coroner,  respecting  the  death  of  a  woman  named  Catherine  Spence,  aged 
thirty-four,  and  her  infant.  She  was  the  wife  of  a  labourer,  who  had 
been  almost  without  employment  for  two  years  and  a  half.  They  had 
pledged  all  their  clothes  to  buy  food,  and  some  time  since  part  of  the 
furniture  had  been  seized  by  the  brokers  for  rent.  The  house  in  which 
they  lived  was  occupied  by  six  families,  who  paid  the  landlord  5^.  ^d.  for 
rent.  One  of  the  witnesses  stated  that  'all  the  persons  in  the  house 
were  ill  off  for  food,  and  the  deceased  never  wanted  it  more  than  they 
did.*  The  jury  on  going  to  view  the  bodies  found  that  the  bed  on  which 
the  woman  and  child  had  died  was  composed  of  rags,  and  there  were  no 
bed-clothes  upon  it.  A  small  box  placed  upon  a  broken  chair  had  served 
as  a  table.  Upon  it  lay  a  tract  entitled  *  The  Goodnesn  of  God.^  The 
windows  were  broken,  and  an  old  iron  tray  had  been  fastened  up  against 
one  and  a  board  up  against  another.  Two  days  after  his  wife's  death 
the  poor  man  went  mad,  and  he  was  taken  to  the  workhouse.  He  wan 
not  taken  to  the  asylum,  for  there  was  no  room  for  him  in  it — it  was 
crowded  with  mad  people.  Another  juror  said  it  was  of  no  use  to  return 
a  verdict  of  death  from  starvation.  It  would  ouly  cause  the  distress  in 
the  island  to  be  talked  about  in  newspapers.  'J'he  jury  returned  a  ver- 
dict that  the  deceased  woman  died  from  exhaustion,  privation,  and  want 
of  food." 

*'  The  Rev.  James  Nugent,  the  Roman  Catholic  chaplain  of  the  Liver- 
pool borough  gaol,  reported  to  the  magistrates  that  crime  is  increasing 
among  young  women  in  Liverpool  ;  and  he  despairs  of  amendment  until 
effective  steps  are  taken  to  check  the  open  display  of  vice  which  may 
now  be  witnessed  nightly,  and  even  daily,  in  the  thoroughfares  of  tho 
town.  Mr.  Rattles,  the  stipendiary  magistrate,  confesses  that  he  is  at 
a  loss  what  to  do  in  order  to  deter  women  of  the  class  referred  to  from 
offending  against  the  law,  as  even  committal  to  the  sessions  and  a  long 
term  of  imprisonment  fail  to  produce  beneficial  effects.  Father  Nugent 
also  despairs  of  doing  much  good  with  this  class  ;  but  he  thinks  that  if 
they  were  subjected  to  stricter  control,  and  prevented  from  parading  in 
our  thoroughfares,  many  girls  would  be  deterred  from  falling  into  evil 
ways.^ 

At  the  Liver}>ool  borough  gaol  sessions  Mr.  Robertson  Gladstone 
closely  interrogated  the  chaplain  (the  Rev.  Thomas  Carter)  respecting 
his  visitation  of  the  prisoners.  Mr.  Gladstone  is  of  opinion  that  suffi- 
cient means  to  make  the  prisoners  impressionable  to  religious  teaching 
are  not  used  ;  whilst  the  chaplain  asserts  that  the  system  which  he  pur- 
sues is  based  upon  a  long  experience,  extending  over  twenty-eight  years, 
at  the  gaol.    Mr.  Gladstone,  who  does  not  share  the  el  aplain's  belief 

Vol.  IL— 21 


322 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


that  the  prisoners  are  '  generally  unimpressionable,'  hinted  that  some 
active  steps  in  the  matter  would  probably  be  taken." 

Mr.  Fowler,  the  stipendiary  magistrate  of  Manchester,  referring  to 
Mr.  Ernest  Jones'  death  yesterday,  in  the  course  of  the  proceedings  at 
the  city  police-court,  said  ;  '  I  wish  to  say  one  word,  which  I  intended 
to  have  said  yesterday  morning,  in  reference  to  the  taking  from  amongst 
us  of  a  face  which  has  been  so  familiar  in  this  court ;  but  I  wished  to 
have  some  other  magistrates  present  in  order  that  I  might,  on  the  part 
of  the  bench,  and  not  only  as  an  individual,  express  our  regret  at  the 
unexpected  removal  from  our  midst  of  a  man  whose  life  has  been  a  very 
remarkable  one,  whose  name  wiil  always  be  associated  in  this  country 
in  connection  with  the  half-century  he  lived  in  it,  and  who,  whatever 
his  faults — and  who  amongst  us  is  free  ? — possessed  the  great  virtues  of 
undoubted  integrity  and  honour,  and  of  being  thoroughly  consistent, 
never  flinching  from  that  course  which  he  believed  to  be  right,  though 
at  times  at  the  cost  of  fortune  and  of  freedom.' 

**  A  Chester  tradesman  named  Meacock,  an  ex-town  councillor,  has 
been  arrested  in  that  city  on  a  charge  of  forging  conveyances  of  property 
upon  which  he  subsequently  obtained  a  mortgage  of  £2,200.  The  lady 
who  owns  the  property  appeared  before  the  magistrates,  and  declared 
that  her  signature  to  the  conveyance  was  a  forgery.  The  prisoner  was 
remanded,  and  was  sent  to  prison  in  default  of  obtaining  the  bail  which 
was  required." 

*'  Mr.  Hughes,  a  Liverpool  merchant,  was  summoned  before  the  local 
bench  for  having  sent  to  the  London  Dock  a  case,  containing  hydro- 
chloric acid,  without  a  distinct  label  or  mark  denoting  that  the  goods 
were  dangerous.    A  penalty  of  £10  was  imposed." 

A  woman,  named  Daley,  came  before  the  Leeds  magistrates,  with 
her  son,  a  boy  six  years  old,  whom  she  wished  to  be  sent  to  a  reforma- 
tory, as  she  was  unable  to  control  him.  She  said  that  one  evening  last 
week  he  went  home,  carrying  a  piece  of  rope,  and  said  that  he  was  going 
to  hang  himself  with  it.  He  added  that  he  had  already  attempted  to 
hang  himself  '  in  the  Crown  Court,  but  a  little  lass  loo:;ed  the  rope  for 
him,  and  he  fell  into  a  tub  of  water.'  Ifc  turned  out  that  the  mother 
was  living  with  a  man  by  whom  she  had  two  children,  and  it  was  thought 
by  some  in  court  that  her  object  was  merely  to  relieve  herself  of  the  cost 
and  care  of  the  boy  ;  but  the  magistrates,  thinking  that  the  boy  would 
be  better  away  from  the  contaminating  influences  of  the  street  and  of 
his  home,  committed  him  to  the  Certified  Industrial  Schools  until  he 
arrives  at  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  ordered  his  mother  to  contribute 
one  shilling  per  week  towards  his  maintenance." — Pall  Mall  Qazettey 
January  29,  1869. 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


323 


LETTER  XLIX. 

I  WONDER  if  Fors  will  let  me  say  any  small  proportion,  this 
year,  of  what  I  intend.  I  wish  she  would,  for  my  readers 
have  every  right  to  be  doubtful  of  my  plan  till  they  see  it 
more  defined  ;  and  yet  to  define  it  severally  would  be  to 
falsify  it,  for  all  that  is  best  in  it  depends  on  my  adopting 
whatever  good  I  can  find,  in  men  and  things,  that  will  work 
to  my  purpose  ;  which  of  course  means  action  in  myriads  of 
ways  that  I  neither  wish  to  define,  nor  attempt  to  antici- 
pate. Nay,  1  am  wrong,  even  in  speaking  of  it  as  a  plan  or 
scheme  at  all.  It  is  only  a  method  of  uniting  the  force  of 
all  good  plans  and  wise  schemes  ;  it  is  a  principle  and  ten- 
dency, like  the  law  of  form  in  a  crystal  ;  not  a  plan.  If  I  live, 
as  I  said  at  first,  I  will  endeavour  to  show  some  small  part 
of  it  in  action  ;  but  it  would  be  a  poor  design  indeed,  for  the 
bettering  of  the  world,  which  any  man  could  see  either  quite 
round  the  outside,  or  quite  into  the  inside  of. 

But  I  hope  in  the  letters  of  this  next  year  to  spend  less 
time  in  argument  or  attack  ;  what  I  wish  the  reader  to  know, 
of  principle,  is  already  enough  proved,  if  only  he  take  the 
pains  to  read  the  preceding  letters  thoroughly  ;  and  I  shall 
now,  as  far  as  Fors  will  let  me,  carry  out  my  purpose  of 
choosing  and  annotating  passages  of  confirmatory  classical 
literature  ;  and  answering,  as  they  occur,  the  questions  of 
my  earnest  correspondents,  as  to  what  each  of  them,  in  their 
place  of  life,  may  immediately  do  with  advantage  for  St« 
George's  help. 

If  those  of  my  readers  who  have  been  under  the  impres- 
sion that  I  wanted  them  to  join  me  in  establishing  some 
model  institution  or  colony,  will  look  to  the  fourth  page  of 
Letter  I.,  tliey  will  see  that,  so  far  from  intending  or  un- 
dertaking any  such  thing,  I  meant  to  put  my  whole  strength 
into  my  Oxford  teaching  ;  and,  for  my  own  part,  to  get  rid 
of  begging  letters  and  live  in  peace. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


Of  course,  when  I  have  given  fourteen  thousand  pounds 
away  in  a  year,^  everybody  who  wants  some  money  thinks  I 
have  plenty  for  them.  But  my  having  given  fourteen  thou- 
sand pounds  is  just  the  reason  I  have  not  plenty  for  them  ; 
and,  moreover,  have  no  time  to  attend  to  them,  (and  generally, 
henceforward,  my  friends  will  please  to  note  that  I  have 
spent  my  life  in  helping  other  people,  and  am  quite  tired  of 
it  ;  and  if  they  can  now  help  me  in  my  Work,  or  praise  me  for 
it,  I  shall  be  much  obliged  to  them  ;  but  I  can't  help  them 
at  theirs). 

But  this  impression  of  my  wanting  to  found  a  colony  was 
founded  on  page  72  of  Letter  V.,  and  page  109  of  Letter 
VIII.    Read  them  over  again  now,  altogether. 

If  the  help  I  plead  for  come,  we  will  indeed  try  to  make 
some  small  piece  of  English  ground  beautiful  ;  and  if  suffi- 
cient help  come,  many  such  pieces  of  ground  ;  and  on  those 
we  will  put  cottage  dwellings,  and  educate  the  labourers' 
children  in  a  certain  manner.  But  that  is  not  founding  a 
colony.  It  is  only  agreeing  to  work  on  a  given  system. 
Any  English  gentleman  who  chooses  to  forbid  the  use  of 
steam  machinery — be  it  but  over  a  few  acres, — and  to  make 
the  best  of  them  he  can  by  human  labour,  or  who  will  secure 
a  piece  of  his  mountain  ground  from  dog,  gun,  and  excursion 
party,  and  let  the  wild  flowers  and  wild  birds  live  there  in 
peace  ; — any  English  gentleman,  I  say,  who  will  so  command 
either  of  these  things,  is  doing  the  utmost  I  would  ask  of 
him  ; — if,  seeing  the  result  of  doing  so  much,  he  felt  in- 
clined to  do  more,  field  may  add  itself  to  field,  cottage  rise 
after  cottage, — here  and  there  the  sky  begin  to  open  again 
above  us,  and  the  rivers  to  run  pure.  In  a  very  little  while, 
also,  the  general  interest  in  education  will  assuredly  discover 
that  healthy  habits,  and  not  mechanical  drawing  nor  church 
catechism,  are  the  staple  of  it  ;  and  then,  not  in  my  model 
colony  only,  but  as  best  it  can  be  managed  in  any  un- 
modelled  place  or  way — girls  will  be  taught  to  cook,  boys  to 

*  Seven  thousand  to  St.  George's  Company ;  five,  for  establishment 
of  Mastership  in  Drawing  in  the  Oxford  schools  ;  two,  and  more,  in  tha 
series  of  drawings  placed  in  those  schools  to  secure  their  efficiency. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


325 


plough,  and  both  to  behave  ;  and  that  with  the  heart, — 
which  is  the  first  piece  of  all  the  body  that  has  to  be 
instructed. 

A  village  clergyman,  (an  excellent  farmer,  and  very  kind 
friend  of  my  earliest  college  days,)  sent  me  last  January  a 
slip  out  of  the  Daily  Telegraphy  written  across  in  his  own 
hand  with  the  words  "  Advantage  of  Education."  The  slip 
described  the  eloquence  and  dexterity  in  falsehood  of  the 
Parisian  Communist  prisoners  on  their  trial  for  the  murder 
of  the  hostages.  But  I  would  fain  ask  my  old  friend  to  tell 
me  himself  whether  he  thinks  instruction  in  the  art  of  false 
eloquence  should  indeed  receive  from  any  minister  of  Christ  the 
title  of  '  education  '  at  all  ;  and  how  far  display  of  eloquence, 
instead  of  instruction  in  behaviour,  has  become  the  function, 
too  commonly,  of  these  ministers  themselves. 

I  was  asked  by  one  of  my  Oxford  pupils  the  other  day  why 
I  had  never  said  any  serious  word  of  what  it  might  seem 
best  for  clergymen  to  do  in  a  time  of  so  great  doubt  and 
division. 

I  have  not,  because  any  man's  becoming  a  clergyman  in 
these  days  must  imply  one  of  two  things — either  that  he  has 
something  to  do  and  say  for  men  which  he  honestly  believes 
himself  impelled  to  do  and  say  by  the  Holy  Ghost, — and  in 
that  case  he  is  likely  to  see  his  way  without  being  shown  it, 
— or  else  he  is  one  of  the  group  of  so-called  Christians  who, 
except  with  the  outward  ear  "  have  not  so  much  as  heard 
whether  there  he  any  Holy  Ghost,"  and  are  practically  lying, 
both  to  men  and  to  God  ; — persons  to  whom,  whether  they 
be  foolish  or  wicked  in  their  ignorance,  no  lionest  way  can 
possibly  be  shown. 

The  particular  kinds  of  folly  also  which  lead  youths  to 
become  clergymen,  uncalled,  are  especially  intractable.  That 
a  lad  just  out  of  his  teens,  and  not  under  the  influence  of 
any  deep  religious  enthusiasm,  should  ever  contemplate  the 
possibility  of  his  being  set  up  in  the  middle  of  a  mixed  com- 
pany of  men  and  women  of  the  world,  to  instruct  the  aged, 
encourage  the  valiant,  support  the  weak,  reprove  the  guilty, 
and  set  an  example  to  all  ; — and  not  feel  what  a  ridiculoue 


32G 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


and  blasphemous  business  it  would  be,  if  he  only  pretended 
to  do  it  for  hire  ;  and  what  a  ghastly  and  murderous  busi- 
ness it  would  be,  if  he  did  it  strenuously  wrong  ;  and  what 
a  marvellous  and  all  but  incredible  thing  the  Cliurch  and  its 
power  must  be,  if  it  were  possible  for  him,  with  all  the  good 
meaning  in  the  world,  to  do  it  rightly  ; — that  any  youth,  I 
say,  should  ever  have  got  himself  into  the  state  of  reckless- 
ness, or  conceit,  required  to  become  a  clergyman  at  all, 
under  these  existing  circumstances,  must  put  him  quite  out 
of  the  pale  of  those  whom  one  appeals  to  on  any  reasonable 
or  moral  question,  in  serious  writing.  I  went  into  a  ritual- 
istic church,  the  other  day,  for  instance,  in  the  West  End. 
It  was  built  of  bad  Gothic,  lighted  with  bad  painted  glass, 
and  had  its  Litany  intoned,  and  its  sermon  delivered — on  the 
subject  of  wheat  and  chaff- -by  a  young  man  of,  as  far  as  I 
could  judge,  very  sincere  religious  sentiments,  but  very  cer- 
tainly the  kind  of  person  whom  one  might  have  brayed  in  a 
mortar  among  the  very  best  of  the  wheat  with  a  pestle,  with- 
out making  his  foolishness  depart  from  him.  And,  in  gen- 
eral, any  man's  becoming  a  clergyman  in  these  days  implies 
that,  at  best,  his  sentiment  has  overpowered  his  intellect  ; 
and  that,  whatever  the  feebleness  of  the  latter,  the  victory 
of  his  impertinent  piety  has  been  probably  owing  to  its  alli- 
ance with  his  conceit,  and  its  promise  to  him  of  the  gratifi- 
cation of  being  regarded  as  an  oracle,  without  the  trouble  of 
becoming  wise,  or  the  grief  of  being  so. 

It  is  not,  however,  by  men  of  this  stamp  that  the  principal 
mischief  is  done  to  the  Church  of  Christ.  Their  foolish  con- 
gregations are  not  enough  in  earnest  even  to  be  misled  ;  and 
the  increasing  London  or  Liverpool  respectable  suburb  is 
simply  provided  with  its  baker's  and  butcher's  shop,  its  ale- 
house, its  itinerant  organ-grinders  for  the  week,  and  station- 
ary organ-grinder  for  Sunda}^,  himself  his  monkey,  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  commonest  condition  of  demand  and  supply,  and 
without  much  more  danger  in  their  Sunday's  entertainment 
than  in  their  Saturday's.  But  the  importunate  and  zealous 
ministrations  of  the  men  who  have  been  strong  enough  to 
deceive  themselves  before  they  deceive  others  ; — who  give 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


327 


the  grace  and  glow  of  vital  sincerity  to  falsehood,  and  lie 
for  God  from  the  ground  of  their  heart,  produce  forms  of 
moral  corruption  in  their  congregations  as  much  more 
deadly  than  the  consequences  of  recognizedly  vicious  con- 
duct, as  the  hectic  of  consumption  is  more  deadly  than  the 
flush  of  temporary  fever.  And  it  is  entirely  unperceived 
by  the  members  of  existing  churches  that  the  words, 
*  speaking  lies  in  liypocrisy,  having  their  conscience  seared 
with  a  hot  iron,'  do  not  in  the  least  apply  to  wilful  and 
self-conscious  hypocrites,  but  only  to  those  who  do  not 
recognize  themselves  for  such.  Of  wilful  assumption  of  the 
appearance  of  piety,  for  promotion  of  their  own  interests, 
few,  even  of  the  bases't  men,  are  frankly  capable  ;  and  to  the 
average  English  gentleman,  deliberate  hypocrisy  is  impossi- 
ble. And,  therefore,  all  the  fierce  invectives  of  Christ,  and 
of  the  prophets  and  apostles,  against  hypocrisy,  thunder 
above  their  heads  unregarded  ;  while  all  the  while  Annas 
and  Caiaphas  are  sitting  in  Moses'  scat  for  ever  ;  and  the 
anger  of  God  is  accomplished  against  the  daughter  of  His 
people,  ''for  the  sins  of  her  prophets,  and  the  iniquities  of 
her  priests,  that  have  shed  the  blood  of  the  just  in  the  midst 
of  her.  They  have  wandered  blind  in  the  streets  ;  they 
have  polluted  themselves  with  blood,  so  that  men  could  not 
touch  their  garments.''  * 

Take,  for  example,  the  conduct  of  the  heads  of  the  exist- 
ing Church  respecting  the  two  powers  attributed  to  them  in 
this  very  verse.  There  is  certainly  no  Bishop  now  in  the 
Church  of  England  who  would  either  dare  in  a  full  drawinor- 
room  to  attribute  to  himself  the  gift  of  prophecy,  in  so  many 
words  ;  or  to  write  at  the  head  of  any  of  his  sermons,  "On 
such  and  such  a  day,  of  such  and  such  a  month,  in  sucli  and 
such  a  place,  the  Word  of  the  Lord  came  unto  me,  saying." 
Nevertheless,  he  claims  to  have  received  the  Holy  Ghost 
himself  by  laying  on  of  hands  ;  and  to  be  able  to  communi- 
cate the  Holy  Ghost  to  other  men  in  the  same  manner. 
And  he  knows  that  the  office  of  the  prophet  is  as  simply 
recognized  in  the  enumeration  of  the  powers  of  the  ancient 

*  Lamentations  v.  13. 


328 


FORS  CLAVIOEEA. 


Church,  as  that  of  the  apostle,  or  evangelist,  or  doctor. 
And  yet  he  can  neither  point  out  in  the  Church  the  true 
prophets,  to  whose  number  he  dares  not  say  he  himself  be- 
longs, nor  the  false  prophets,  who  are  casting  out  devils  in 
the  name  of  Christ,  without  being  known  by  Him  ; — and  he 
contentedly  suffers  his  flock  to  remain  under  the  impression 
that  the  Christ  who  led  captivity  captive,  and  received  gifts 
for  men,  left  the  gift  of  prophecy  out  of  the  group,  as  one 
needed  no  longer. 

But  the  second  word,  '  priest,'  is  one  which  he  finds  it 
convenient  to  assume  himself,  and  to  give  to  his  fellow- 
clergymen.  He  knows,  just  as  well  as  he  knows  prophecy 
to  be  a  gift  attributed  to  the  Christian  minister,  that  priest- 
hood is  a  function  expressly  taken  away  from  the  Christian 
minister.*  He  dares  not  say  in  the  open  drawing-room  that 
he  offers  sacrifice  for  any  soul  there  ; — and  he  knows  that  he 
cannot  give  authority  for  calling  himself  a  priest  from  any 
canonical  book  of  the  New  Testament.  So  he  equivocates 
on  the  sound  of  the  word  ^  presbyter,'  and  apologizes  to  his 
conscience  and  his  flock  by  declaring,  "Tlie  priest  I  say, — 
the  presbyter  I  mean,"  without  even  requiring  so  much  poor 
respect  for  his  quibble  as  would  be  implied  by  insistance  that 
a  so-called  priest  should  at  least  be  an  Elder.  And  securing, 
as  far  as  he  can,  the  reverence  of  his  flock,  while  he  secretly 
abjures  the  responsibility  of  the  office  he  takes  the  title  of, 
again  he  lets  the  rebuke  of  his  God  fall  upon  a  deafened 
ear,  and  reads  that  "  from  the  Prophet  unto  the  Priest,  every 
one  dealeth  falselv,"  without  the  slicrhtest  sensation  that  his 
own  character  is  so  much  as  alluded  to. 

Thus,  not  daring  to  call  themselves  prophets,  which  they 
know  they  ought  to  be  ;  but  daring,  under  the  shelter  of 
equivocation,  to  call  themselves  priests,  which  they  know 

*  As  distinguished,  that  is  to  say,  from  other  members  of  the  Chnrch. 
All  are  priests,  as  all  are  kings;  but  the  kingly  function  exists  apart ; 
the  priestly,  not  80.  The  subject  is  examined  at  some  length,  and 
with  a  clearness  which  I  cannot  mend,  in  my  old  pamphlet  on  the  Con- 
struotiofi  of  Sheepfolds,  which  I  will  presently  reprint.  See  also  Lettei 
XIII.,  in  Time  and  Tide. 


F0R8  CLAVIOERA, 


329 


they  are  not,  and  are  forbidden  to  be  ;  thus  admittedly, 
without  power  of  prophecy,  and  only  in  stammering  pre- 
tence to  priesthood,  they  yet  claim  the  power  to  forgive  and 
retain  sins.  Whereupon,  it  is  to  be  strictly  asked  of  them, 
whose  sins  they  remit  ;  and  whose  sins  they  retain.  For 
truly,  if  they  have  a  right  to  claim  any  authority  or  function 
whatever — this  is  it.  Prophesy,  they  cannot  ; — sacrifice,  they 
cannot  ; — in  their  hearts  there  is  no  vision — in  their  hands  no 
victim.  The  work  of  the  Evangelist  was  done  before  they 
could  be  made  Bishops  ;  that  of  the  Apostle  cannot  be  done 
on  a  Bishop's  throne  :  there  remains  to  them,  of  all  possible 
office  of  organization  in  the  Church,  only  that  of  the  pastor, — 
verily  and  intensely  their  own  ;  received  by  them  in  definite 
charge  when  they  received  what  they  call  the  Holy  Ghost  ; 
—  '*Be  to  the  flock  of  Christ,  a  shepherd,  not  a  wolf  ; — feed 
them,  devour  them  not." 

Does  any  man,  of  all  the  men  who  have  received  this 
charge  in  England,  know  what  it  is  to  be  a  wolf  ? — recognize 
in  himself  the  wolfish  instinct,  and  the  thirst  for  the  blood 
of  God's  flock  ?  For  if  he  does  not  know  what  is  tiie  nature 
of  a  wolf,  how  should  he  know  what  it  is  to  be  a  shepherd  ? 
If  he  never  felt  like  a  wolf  himself,  does  he  know  the  people 
who  do  ?  He  does  not  expect  them  to  lick  their  lips  and 
bare  their  teeth  at  him,  I  suppose,  as  tliey  do  in  a  panto- 
mime ?  Did  he  ever  in  his  life  see  a  wolf  coming,  and  de- 
bate with  himself  whether  he  should  fight  or  fly  ? — or  is  not 
rather  his  whole  life  one  headlong  hireling's  flight,  without 
so  much  as  turning  his  head  to  see  what  manner  of  beasts 
they  are  that  follow  ? — nay,  are  not  his  very  hireling's  wages 
paid  him /br  flying  instead  of  fighting? 

Dares  an}^  one  of  them  answer  me — here  from  my  college 
of  the  Body  of  Christ  I  challenge  every  mitre  of  them  :  defi- 
niteh',  the  Lord  of  St.  Peter's  borough,  whom  I  note  as  a 
pugnacious  and  accurately  worded  person,  and  hear  of  as  an 
outspoken  one,  able  and  ready  to  answer  for  liis  fulfilment 
of  the  charsre  to  Peter:  How  manv  wolves  does  lie  know  in 
Peterborough — how  many  sheep  ? — what  battle  has  he  done 
—what  bites  can  he  show  the  scars  of? — whose  sins  has  ho 


330 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


remitted  in  Peterborough — whose  retained  ? — has  he  not 
remitted,  like  his  brother  Bishops,  all  the  sins  of  the  rich, 
and  retained  all  those  of  the  poor  ? — does  he  know,  in  Peter- 
borough, who  are  fornicators,  who  thieves,  who  liars,  who 
murderers  ? — and  has  he  ever  dared  to  tell  any  one  of  them 
to  his  face  that  he  was  so — if  the  man  had  over  a  hundred  a 
3^ear  ? 

"  Have  mercy  upon  all  Jews,  Turks,  infidels,  and  heretics, 
and  so  fetch  them  home,  blessed  Lord,  to  Thy  flock,  that  they 
may  be  saved  among  the  remnant  of  the  true  Israelites." 
Who  are  the  true  Israelites,  my  lord  of  Peterborough,  whom 
you  can  definitely  announce  for  such,  in  your  diocese.  Or, 
perhaps,  the  Bishop  of  Manchester  will  take  up  the  chal- 
lenge, having  lately  spoken  wisely — in  generalities — con- 
cerning Fraud.  Who  are  the  true  Israelites,  my  lord  of 
Manchester,  on  your  Exchange  ?  Do  they  stretch  their  cloth, 
like  other  people  ? — have  they  any  underhand  dealings  with 
the  liable-to-be-danmed  false  Israelites — Rothschilds  and  the 
like  ?  or  are  they  duly  solicitous  about  those  wanderers' 
souls  ?  and  how  often,  on  the  average,  do  your  Manchester 
clergy  preach  from  the  delicious  parable,  savouriest  of  all 
Scripture  to  rogues,  at  least  since  the  eleventh  century,  when 
I  find  it  to  have  been  specially  headed  with  golden  title  in 
my  best  Greek  MS.  "  of  the  Pharisee  and  Publican  " — and 
how  often,  on  the  average,  from  those  objectionable  First  and 
Fifteenth  Psalms? 

For  the  last  character  in  St.  Paul's  enumeration,  which 
Bishops  can  claim,  and  the  first  which  they  are  bound  to 
claim,  for  the  perfecting  of  the  saints,  and  the  work  of  the 
ministry,  is  that  of  the  Doctor  or  Teacher. 

In  which  character,  to  what  work  of  their  own,  frank  and 
faithful,  can  they  appeal  in  the  last  fifty  years  of  especial 
danger  to  the  Church  from  false  teaching  ?  On  this  matter, 
my  challenge  will  be  most  fittingly  made  to  my  own  Bishop, 
of  the  University  of  Oxford.  He  inhibited,  on  the  second 
Sunday  of  Advent  of  last  year,  another  Bishop  of  the  Eng- 
lish Church  from  preaching  at  Carfax.  By  what  right  ? 
Which  of  the  two  Bishops  am  I,  their  innocent  lamb,  to 


FORS  OLAVIGERA. 


331 


listen  to  ?  It  is  true  that  the  insulted  Bishop  was  only  a 
colonial  one  ; — am  I  to  understand,  therefore,  that  the 
Church  sends  her  heretical  Bishops  out  as  Apostles,  while 
she  keeps  her  orthodox  ones  at  home  ?  and  that,  accordingly, 
a  stay-at-home  Bishop  may  always  silence  a  returned  Apos- 
tle ?  And,  touching  the  questions  which  are  at  issue,  is 
there  a  single  statement  of  the  Bishop  of  Natal's,  respecting 
the  Bible  text,  which  the  Bishop  of  Oxford  dares  to  contradict 
before  Professor  Max  Muller,  or  any  other  leading  scholar  of 
Europe  ?  Does  the  Bishop  of  Oxford  himself  believe  every 
statement  in  the  Bible  ?  If  not, — which  does  he  disbelieve, 
and  why  ?  He  suffers  the  wiiole  collection  of  books  to  be 
spoken  of — certainly  by  many  clergymen  in  his  diocese — as 
the  Word  of  God.  If  he  disbelieves  any  portion  of  it,  that 
portion  he  is  bound  at  once  to  inhibit  them  from  so  calling, 
till  inquiry  has  been  made  concerning  it  ;  but  if  he  and  the 
other  orthodox  home-Bishops, — who  would  very  joyfully,  I 
perceive,  burn  the  Bishop  of  Natal  at  Paul's,  and  make  Lud- 
gate  Hill  safer  for  the  omnibuses  with  the  cinders  of  him, — 
if  they  verily  believe  all,  or  oven,  with  a  living  faith,  flr??//, 
vital  part  of  the  Bible,  how  is  it  that  we,  the  incredulous 
.sheep,  see  no  signs  following  them  that  believe  ; — tliat 
though  they  can  communicate  tiie  Holy  Spirit,  they  cannot 
excommunicate  the  unholy  one,  and  apologetically  leave  the 
healing  of  sick  to  the  physician,  the  taking  up  of  serpents 
to  the  juggler,  and  the  moving  of  mountains  to  the  railway- 
navvy  ? 

"  It  was  never  meant  that  any  one  should  do  such  things 
literally,  after  St.  Paul's  time." 

Then  what  teas  meant,  and  what  in,  doctors  mine? 

Challenge  enough,  for  this  time,  it  seems  to  me  ;  the  rather 
that  just  as  I  finish  writing  it,  I  receive  a  challenge  myself, 
requiring  attentive  answer.  Fors  could  not  have  brought  it 
me  at  better  time.  The  reader  will  find  it  the  first  in  the 
Notes  and  Correspondence  of  this  year;  and  my  answer  may 
both  meet  the  doubts  of  many  readers  who  would  not  so 
frankly  have  expressed  them  ;  and  contain  some  definitioni 
of  principle  which  are  necessary  for  our  future  work. 


332 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


My  correspondent,  referring  to  my  complaint  that  no  ma« 
iron  nor  maid  of  England  had  yet  joined  the  St.  George's 
Company,  answers,  for  her  own  part,  first,  that  her  husband 
and  family  prevent  her  from  doing  it  ;  secondly,  that  sh^B 
has  done  it  already  ;  thirdly,  that  she  will  do  it  when  I  do  it 
myself.  It  is  only  to  the  third  of  these  pleas  that  I  at 
present  reply. 

She  tells  me,  first,  that  I  have  not  joined  the  St.  George's 
Company  because  I  have  no  home.  It  is  too  true.  But  that 
is  because  my  father,  and  mother,  and  nurse,  are  dead  ;  be- 
cause the  woman  I  hoped  would  have  been  my  wife  is  dying; 
and  because  the  place  where  I  would  fain  have  stayed  to 
remember  all  of  them,  was  rendered  physically  uninhabitable 
to  me  by  the  violence  of  my  neighbours  ; — that  is  to  say,  by 
their  destroying  the  fields  I  needed  to  think  in,  and  the  light 
I  needed  to  work  by.  Nevertheless,  I  have,  under  these 
conditions,  done  the  best  thing  possible  to  me — bought  a 
piece  of  land  on  which  T  could  live  in  peace  ;  and  on  that 
land,  wild  when  I  bought  it,  have  already  made,  not  only  one 
garden,  but  two,  to  match  against  my  correspondent's  ;  nor 
that  without  help  from  children  who,  though  not  mine,  have 
been  cared  for  as  if  they  were. 

Secondly  ;  my  correspondent  tells  me  that  my  duty  is  to 
stay  at  home,  instead  of  dating  from  places  which  are  a 
dream  of  delight  to  her,  and  which,  therefore,  she  concludes, 
must  be  a  reality  of  delight  to  me. 

She  will  know  better  after  reading  this  extract  from  my 
last  year's  diary  ;  (worth  copying,  at  any  rate,  for  other 
persons  interested  in  republican  Italy).  Florence,  20th 
September,  1874. — Tour  virtually  ended  for  this  year.  I 
leave  Florence  to-day,  thankfully,  it  being  now  a  place  of 
torment  day  and  night  for  all  loving,  decent,  or  industrious 
people  ;  for  every  face  one  meets  is  full  of  hatred  and  cruelty ; 
and  the  corner  of  every  house  is  foul  ;  and  no  thoughts  can 
be  thought  in  it,  peacefully,  in  street,  or  cloister,  or  house, 
any  more.  And  the  last  verses  I  read,  of  my  morning's 
readings,  are  Esdras  11. ,  xv.  16,  17:  'For  there  shall  be 
sedition  among  men,  and  invading  one  another  5  they  shall 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


333 


not  regard  their  kings  nor  princes,  and  the  course  of  their 
actions  shall  stand  in  their  power,  A  man  shall  desire  to  go 
into  a  city,  and  shall  not  be  able.' " 

What  is  said  here  of  Florence  is  now  equally  true  of  every 
great  city  of  France  or  Italy  ;  and  my  correspondent  will  be 
perhaps  contented  with  me  when  she  knows  that  only  last 
Sunday  I  was  debating  with  a  very  dear  friend  whether  I 
might  now  be  justified  in  indulging  my  indolence  and  cow- 
ardice by  staying  at  home  among  my  plants  and  minerals, 
and  forsaking  the  study  of  Italian  art  for  ever.  My  friend 
would  fain  have  it  so  ;  and  my  correspondent  shall  tell  me 
her  opinion,  after  she  knows — and  I  will  see  that  she  has  an 
opportunity  of  knowing — what  work  I  have  done  in  Florence, 
and  propose  to  do,  if  I  can  be  brave  enough. 

Thirdly  ;  my  correspondent  doubts  the  sincerity  of  my 
abuse  of  railroads  because  she  suspects  I  use  them.  I  do  so 
constantly,  my  dear  lady  ;  few  men  more.  I  use  everything 
that  comes  within  reach  of  me.  If  the  devil  were  standinoT 
at  my  side  at  this  moment,  I  should  endeavour  to  make  some 
use  of  him  as  a  local  black.  The  wisdom  of  life  is  in  pre- 
venting all  the  evil  we  can  ;  and  using  what  is  inevitable,  to 
the  best  purpose.  I  use  my  sicknesses,  for  the  work  I  de- 
spise in  liealth  ;  my  enemies,  for  study  of  the  philosopliy 
of  benediction  and  malediction  ;  and  railroads,  for  whatever 
I  find  of  help  in  them — looking  always  hopefully  forward  to 
the  day  when  their  embankments  will  be  ploughed  down 
again,  like  the  camps  of  Kome,  into  our  English  fields.  But 
I  am  perfectly  ready  even  to  construct  a  railroad,  when  I 
think  one  necessary  ;  and  in  the  opening  chapter  of  Munera 
Pulveris  my  correspondent  will  find  many  proper  uses  for 
steam-machinery  specified.  What  is  required  of  the  mem- 
bers of  St.  George's  Company  is,  not  that  they  should  never 
travel  by  railroads,  nor  that  tliey  should  abjure  inacliinery  ; 
but  that  they  should  never  travel  unnecessarily,  or  in  wanton 
haste  :  and  that  thev  should  never  do  with  a  machine  what 
can  be  done  with  hands  and  arms,  while  hands  and  arms  are 
idle. 

Lastly,  my  correspondent  feels  it  unjust  to  be  required  to 


334 


FOBS  GLAVIGEEA. 


make  clothes,  while  she  is  occupied  in  the  rearing  of  those 
who  will  require  them. 

Admitting  (though  the  admission  is  one  for  which  I  do 
not  say  that  I  am  prepared)  that  it  is  the  patriotic  duty  of 
every  married  couple  to  have  as  large  a  family  as  possible,  it 
is  not  from  the  happy  Penelopes  of  sucli  households  that  I 
ask — or  should  think  of  asking — the  labour  of  the  loom,  I 
simply  require  that  when  women  belong  to  the  St.  George's 
Company  they  should  do  a  certain  portion  of  useful  work 
with  their  hands,  if  otherwise  their  said  fair  hands  would  be 
idle  ;  and  if  on  those  terms  I  find  sufficient  clothing  cannot 
be  produced,  I  will  use  factories  for  them, — only  moved  by 
water,  not  steam. 

My  answer,  as  thus  given,  is,  it  seems  to  me,  sufficient  ;  and 
I  can  farther  add  to  its  force  by  assuring  my  correspondent 
that  I  shall  never  ask  any  member  of  St.  George's  Company 
to  do  more,  in  relation  to  his  fortune  and  condition,  than  I 
have  already  done  myself.  Nevertheless,  it  will  be  found 
by  any  reader  who  will  take  the  trouble  of  reference,  that 
in  recent  letters  I  have  again  and  again  intimated  the  prob- 
able necessity,  before  the  movement  could  be  fairly  set  on 
foot,  of  more  energetic  action  and  example,  towards  which 
both  my  thoughts  and  circumstances  seem  gradually  leading 
me  ;  and,  in  that  case,  I  shall  trustfully  look  to  the  friends 
who  accuse  me  of  cowardice  in  doing  too  little,  for  defence 
against  the,  I  believe,  too  probable  imputations  impending 
from  others,  of  folly  in  doing  too  much. 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


335 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


I.  I  hope  my  kind  correspondent  will  pardon  my  publication  of  the 
following  letter,  which  gives  account  of  an  exemplary  life,  and  puts 
questions  which  many  dtsire  to  have  answered. 

My  dear  Mr.  Ruskin, — I  do  not  know  if  you  have  forgotten  me, 
for  it  is  a  long^  time  bince  I  wrote  to  you  ;  but  you  wrote  so  kiudly  to 
me  before,  that  I  venture  to  bring  myself  before  you  again,  more  es- 
pecially as  you  write  to  me  (among  others)  every  month,  and  I  want  to 
answer  something  in  these  letters. 

*'I  do  answer  your  letters  (somewhat  combatively)  every  month  in 
my  mind,  but  all  these  months  I  have  been  waiting  for  an  hour  of  suf- 
ficient strength  and  leisure,  and  have  found  it  now  for  the  first  time. 
A  family  of  eleven  children,  through  a  year  of  much  illness,  and  the 
birth  of  another  child  in  May,  have  not  left  me  much  strength  for 
pleasure^  such  as  this  is. 

*'Now  a  little  while  ago,  you  asked  reproachfully  of  Englishwomen 
in  general,  why  none  of  them  had  joined  St.  George's  Company.  I  can 
only  answer  lor  myself,  and  I  have  these  reasons. 

First.  Beiug  situated  as  I  am,  and  as  doubtless  many  others  are 
more  or  less,  I  cannot  join  it.  In  my  actions  I  am  subject  first  to  my 
husband,  and  then  to  my  family.  Any  one  who  is  entirely  free  cannot 
judge  how  impossible  it  is  to  make  inelastic  and  remote  rules  apply  to 
all  the  ever-varying  and  incalculable  changes  and  accidents  and  person- 
alities of  lile.  They  are  a  disturbing  element  to  us  visionaries,  which  I 
have  hae^n  forced  to  acknowledge  and  submit  to,  but  which  you  have 
not.  Having  so  many  to  consider  and  consult,  it  is  all  1  can  do  to  get 
through  the  day's  work  ;  I  am  obliged  to  take  things  as  I  find  them, 
and  to  do  the  best  I  can,  in  haste ;  and  I  might  constantly  be  breaking 
rules,  and  no*,  able  to  help  it,  and  indeed  I  should  not  have  time  to 
think  about  it.  I  do  not  want  to  bo  hampered  more  than  I  am.  I  aiu 
not  straitened  for  money  ;  but  most  people  with  families  are  so  more 
or  less,  and  this  is  another  element  of  ditficulty. 

''Secondly.  Although  I  do  not  want  to  be  further  bound  by  r?//^,*, 
I  believe  that  as  regnvds  p7'ln<UpIe^  I  am  a  member  of  St.  George's  Com- 
pany already  ;  and  1  do  not  like  to  make  any  further  profession  which 
would  seem  t)  imply  a  renunciation  of  the  former  errors  of  my  way, 
and  the  beginning  of  a  new  life.  I  have  never  been  conscious  of  any 
other  motives  or  course  of  life  than  those  which  you  advocate;  and  my 
children  and  all  around  me  do  not  know  me  in  any  other  light ;  and  I 
find  a  gradual  and  unconscious  conformation  to  them  growing  up  round 
me,  though  I  have  no  sort  of  teaching  faculty.  I  cannot  tell  how  much 
of  them  1  owe  to  you.  for  some  of  your  writings  which  ft- il  .n  my  way 
when  I  was  very  young  made  a  deep  impression  on  me,  and  I  grew  up 


336 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


rmbued  with  their  spirit ;  but  certainly  I  cannot  now  profess  it  for  the 
first  time. 

''Thirdly  (and  this  is  wherein  I  fear  to  offend  you),  1  loill  join  St. 
George's  Company  v)lienever  you  join  it  yourself.  Please  pardon  me  for 
saying  that  I  appear  to  be  more  a  member  of  it  than  you  are.  My  life 
is  strictly  bound  and  ruled,  and  within  those  lines  1  live.  Above  all 
things,  you  urge  our  duties  to  the  land,  the  common  earth  of  our 
country.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  first  duty  any  one  owes  to  his  coun- 
try is  to  live  in  it.  I  go  further,  and  maintain  that  every  one  is  bound 
to  have  a  home,  and  live  in  that.  You  speak  of  the  duty  of  acquiring, 
if  possible,  and  cultivating,  the  smallest  piece  of  ground.  But,  (for- 
give the  questioD,)  where  is  your  house  and  your  garden  ?  I  know  you 
have  got  places,  but  you  do  not  stay  there.  Almost  every  month  you 
date  from  some  new  place,  a  dream  of  delight  to  me;  and  all  the  time 
I  am  stopping  at  home,  labouring  to  improve  the  place  I  live  at,  to 
keep  the  lives  entrusted  to  me,  and  to  bring  forth  other  lives  in  the 
agony  and  peril  of  my  own.  And  when  I  read  your  reproaches,  and 
see  where  they  date  from,  I  feel  as  a  soldier  freezing  in  the  trenches 
before  Sebastopol  might  feel  at  receiving  orders  from  a  General  who 
was  dining  at  his  club  in  London.  If  you  would  come  and  see  me  in 
May,  I  could  show  you  as  pretty  a  little  garden  of  the  spade  as  any  you 
ever  saw,  made  on  t^e  site  of  an  old  rubbish  heap,  where  seven  tiny 
pair  of  hands  and  feet  have  worked  like  fairies.  Have  you  got  a  bet- 
ter one  to  show  me  ?  For  the  rest  of  my  garden  I  cannot  boast ;  be- 
cause out-of-door  work  or  pleasure  is  entirely  forbidden  me  by  the 
etate  of  my  health. 

'•  Again,  I  agree  with  you  in  your  dislike  of  railroads,  but  I  suspect 
you  use  them,  and  sometimes  go  on  them.  I  never  do.  I  obey  these 
laws  and  others,  with  whatever  inconvenience  or  privation  they  may  in- 
volve ;  but  you  do  not ;  and  that  makes  me  revolt  when  you  scold  us. 

"Again,  I  cannot^  as  you  suggest,  grow,  spin,  and  weave  the  linen 
for  myself  and  family.  I  have  enough  to  do  to  get  the  clothes  made. 
If  you  would  establish  factories  where  we  could  get  pure  woven  cotton, 
linen,  and  woolen,  I  would  gladly  buy  them  there  ;  and  that  would  be 
a  fair  division  of  labour.  It  is  not  fair  that  the  more  one  does,  the 
more  should  be  required  of  one. 

You  see  you  are  like  a  clergyman  in  the  pulpit  in  your  books  :  you 
can  scold  the  congregation,  and  they  cannot  answer ;  behold  the  con- 
gregation begins  to  reply  ;  and  I  only  hope  you  will  forgive  me. 

"  Believe  me. 

Yours  very  truly." 

II.  It  chances,  I  see,  while  I  print  my  challenge  to  the  Bishop  of  my 
University,  that  its  neighbouring  clergymen  are  busy  in  expressing  to 
him  their  thanks  and  compliments.  The  following  address  is  worth 
preserving.  I  take  it  from  the  Morning  Post  of  December  and  be- 
neath it  have  placed  an  article  from  the  Telegraph  of  the  following  day, 
describing  the  results  of  clerical  and  episcopal  teaching  of  an  orthodox 
nature  in  Liverpool,  as  distinguished  from  '  Doctor '  Colenso's  teaching; 
in  Africa. 

**Thr  Inhibition  of  Bishop  Colenso. — The  clergy  of  the  rural 
deanery  of  Whitney,  Oxford,  numbering  thirty-four,  together  with  the 


F0R8  CLAVIOERA. 


337 


rural  dean  (the  Rev.  F.  M.  Cunningham),  have  subscribed  their  namea 
to  the  following  circular,  which  has  been  forwarded  to  the  Bishop  of 
Oxford:—^  To  the  Right  Rev.  Father  in  God,  John  Fielder,  by  Divine 
permission  Lord  Bishop  of  Oxford — We,  the  undersigned  clergy  of  the 
rural  deanery  of  Whitney,  in  your  Lordship's  diocese,  beg  respectfully 
to  offer  to  your  Lordship  our  cordial  sympathy  under  the  painful 
circumstances  in  which  you  have  been  placed  by  the  invitation  to  the 
Right  Rev.  Dr.  Colenso  to  preach  in  one  of  the  churches  in  your 
diocese.  Your  firm  and  spontaneous  refusal  to  permit  Dr.  Colenso  to 
preach  will  V^e  thankfully  accepted  by  all  consistent  members  of  our 
Church  as  a  protest  much  needed  in  these  times  against  the  teaching  of 
one  who  has  grievously  offended  many  consciences,  and  has  attempted 
as  far  as  in  him  lay  to  injure  the  '  faith  which  was  delivered  to  the 
saints.'  ^  That  your  Lordship  may  long  be  spared  to  defend  the  truth, 
is  the  prayer  of  your  Lordship^s  obedient  and  attached  clergy.*  " 

IIL  Something  startling  in  the  way  of  wickedneps  is  needed  to 
astonish  men  who,  like  our  Judges,  see  and  hear  the  periodical  crop  of 
crime  gathered  in  at  Assizes  ;  yet  in  two  great  cities  of  England,  on 
Tuesday,  expressions  of  amazement,  shame,  and  disgust  fell  from  the 
seat  of  Justice.  At  York,  Mr.  Justice  Denman  was  driven  to  utter  a 
burst  of  just  indignation  at  the  conduct  of  certain  people  in  his  court, 
who  grinned  and  tittered  while  .a  witness  in  a  disgraceful  case  was  re- 
luctantly repeating  some  indelicate  lan<;uage.  *  Good  God  !  '  exclaimed 
his  Lordship,  *is  this  a  Christian  country?  Let  us  at  least  have 
decency  in  courts  of  justice.  One  does  not  come  to  be  amused  by  filth 
which  one  is  obliged  to  extract  in  cases  that  defame  the  land.*  At 
Liverpool  a  sterner  declaration  of  judicial  anger  was  made,  with  even 
stronger  cause.  Two  cases  of  revolting  barbarism  were  tried  by  Mr. 
Justice  Mellor — one  of  savage  violence  towards  a  man,  ending  in 
murder  ;  the  other  of  outrage  upon  a  woman,  so  unspeakably  shameful 
and  horrible  that  the  difficulty  is  how  to  convey  the  facts  without 
offending  public  decency.  In  the  first,  a  gang  of  men  at  Liverpool  set 
upon  a  porter  named  Richard  ISIorgan,  who  was  in  the  company  of  his 
wife  and  brother,  and  bociuse  he  did  not  instantly  give  them  sixpence, 
to  buy  beer  they  kicked  him  completely  across  the  street,  a  distance  of 
thirty  feet,  with  such  ferocity,  in  spite  of  all  the  efforts  made  to  savo 
him  by  the  wife  and  brcther,  that  the  poor  man  was  dead  when  he  was 
taken  up.  And  during  this  cruel  and  cowardly  scene  the  crowd  of  by- 
standers not  only  did  not  attempt  to  rescue  the  victim,  but  hounded  on 
his  murderers,  and  actually  held  back  the  agonized  wife  and  the  brave 
brother  from  pursuing  the  homicidal  wretches.  Three  of  them  were 
placed  at  the  bar  on  trial  for  their  lives,  and  convicted  ;  nor  would  we 
intervene  with  one  word  in  their  favour,  though  that  word  might  save 
their  vile  necks.  This  case  might  appear  bad  enough  to  call  forth  the 
utmost  wrath  of  Justice;  but  the  second,  heard  at  the  same  time  and 
place,  was  yet  more  hideous.  A  tramp-woman,  drunk,  and  wet  to  the 
skin  with  rain,  was  going  along  a  road  near  Burnley,  in  company  with 
a  navvy,  who  by-and-by  left  her  helpless  at  a  gate.  '^I'wo  out  of  a  party 
of  young  colliers  coming  from  work  found  her  lying  there,  and  they  led 
her  into  a  field.    They  then  sent  a  boy  named  Slater  to  fetch  the  re- 

(•  I  append  a  specimen  of  tlie  comhicL  of  the  SaintB  to  whom  our  EnfjliaU  clergymeB 
have  dcUvcrea  the  Faith.) 

Vol.  11.-22 


338 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


'•?iAining  eight  of  their  band,  and,  having  thus  gathered  many  specta^ 
tors,  two  of  them  certainly,  and  others  of  the  number  in  all  probability, 
outraged  the  hapless  creature,  leaving  her  after  this  infernal  treatment 
in  such  a  plight  that  next  day  she  was  found  lying  dead  in  the  field. 
The  two  in  question — Durham,  aged  twenty,  and  Shepherd,  aged  six- 
teen—were arraigned  for  murder  ;  but  that  charge  was  found  difficult 
to  make  good,  and  the  minor  indictment  for  rape  was  alone  pressed 
against  them.  Of  the  facts  there  was  little  or  no  doubt ;  and  it  may 
well  be  thought  that  in  stating  them  we  have  accomplished  the  saddest 
portion  of  our  duty  to  the  public. 

But  no !  to  those  v/ho  have  learned  how  to  measure  human  nature, 
we  think  what  followed  will  appear  the  more  horrible  portion  of  the 
trial — if  more  horrible  could  be.  With  a  strange  want  of  insight,  the 
advocate  for  these  young  men  called  up  the  companions  of  their  atroc- 
ity to  swear — what  does  the  public  expect  ? — to  swear  that  they  did  not 
think  the  tramp  woman  teas  ill-used^  nor  that  lohat  was  done  loas  wrong. 
Witness  after  witness,  present  at  the  time,  calmly  deposed  to  his  per- 
sonal view  of  the  transaction  in  words  like  those  of  William  Bracewell, 
a  collier,  aged  nineteen.  Between  this  precious  specimen  of  our  youn^ 
British  working  man  and  the  Bench,  the  following  interchange  of  ques- 
tions and  answers  passed.  *  You  did  not  think  there  was  anything  wrong 
in  it  ?  ' — '  No. '  *  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  did  not  think  there  was 
anything  wrong  in  outraging  a  drunken  woman  V ' — '  She  never  said 
nothing.'  '  You  repeat  you  think  there  was  nothing  wrong — that  there 
was  no  harm  in  a  lot  of  fellows  outraging  a  drunken  woman:  is  that 
your  view  of  the  thing?' — 'Yes.'  And,  in  reply  to  further  questions 
by  Mr.  Cottingham,  this  fellow  Bracewell  said  he  only  '  thought  the 
matter  a  bit  of  fun.  None  of  them  interfered  to  protect  the  woman.' 
Then  the  boy  Slater,  who  was  sent  to  bring  up  the  laggards,  was  asked 
what  he  thought  of  his  errand.  Like  the  others,  '  he  hadn't  seen  any- 
thing very  wrong  in  it.'  At  this  point  the  Judge  broke  forth,  in  accents 
which  may  well  ring  through  England.  His  Lordship  indignantly  ex- 
claimed ;  *  I  want  to  know  how  it  is  possible  in  a  Christian  country 
like  this  that  there  should  be  such  a  state  of  feeling,  even  among  boys 
of  thirteen,  sixteen,  and  eighteen  years  of  age.  It  is  outrageous.  If 
there  are  missionaries  wanted  to  the  heathen,  there  are  heathens  in 
England  who  require  teaching  a  great  deal  more  than  those  abroad.' 
(Murmurs  of  'Hear,  hear,'  from  the  jury-box,  and  applause  in  court.) 
His  Lordship  continued  :  *  Silence  !  It  is  quite  shocking  to  hear  boys 
of  this  age  come  up  and  say  these  things.'  How,  indeed,  is  it  possible? 
that  is  the  question  which  staggers  one.  Murder  there  will  be — man- 
slaughter, rape,  burglary,  theft,  are  all  unfortunately  recurring  and 
common  crimes  in  every  community.  Nothing  in  the  supposed  nature 
of  *  Englishmen'  can  be  expected  to  make  our  assizes  maiden,  and  our 
gaol  deliveries  blank.  But  there  was  thought  to  be  something  in  the 
blood  of  the  race  which  would  somehow  serve  to  keep  us  from  seeing  a 
Liverpool  crowd  side  with  a  horde  of  murderers  against  their  victim,  or 
a  gang  of  Lancashire  lads  making  a  ring  to  see  a  woman  outraged  to 
death.  A  hundred  cases  nowadays  tell  us  to  discard  that  idle  iDelief  • 
if  it  ever  was  true,  it  is  true  no  longer.  Tlie  most  brutal,  the  most 
cowardly,  the  most  pitiless,  the  moso  barbarous  deeds  done  in  th*s 
world,  are  being  ])erpetrated  by  the  lower  classes  of  the  English  peoplo 
^once  held  to  be  by  their  birth,  however  lowiy,  generous,  brave, 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


339 


merciful,  aud  civilized.  In  all  the  pages  of  Dr.  Livingstone's  experi- 
ence among  the  negroes  of  Africa,  there  is  no  single  instance  approach- 
ing this  Liverpool  story,  in  savagery  of  mind  and  body,  in  bestiality  of 
heart  and  act.  Nay,  we  wrong  the  lower  animals  by  using  that  last 
word  :  the  foulest  among  the  beasts  which  perish  is  clean,  the  most 
ferocious  gentle,  matched  with  these  Lancashire  pitmen,  who  make 
sport  of  the  shame  and  slaying  of  a  woman,  and  blaspheme  nature  in 
their  deeds,  without  even  any  plea  whatever  to  excuse  their  cruelty.*' 

The  clergy  may  vainly  exclaim  against  being  made  responsible  for 
this  state  of  things.  They,  and  chiefly  their  Bishops,  are  wholly  re- 
sponsible for  it ;  nay,  are  efficiently  the  causes  of  it,  preaching  a  false 
gospel  for  hire.  But,  putting  all  questions  of  false  or  true  gospeln 
aside,  suppose  that  they  only  obeyed  St.  Paul's  plain  order  in  1st  Corin- 
thians V.  11.  Let  them  determine  as  distinctly  what  covetousness  and 
extortion  are  in  the  rich,  as  what  drunkenness  is,  in  the  poor.  Let  them 
refuse,  themselves,  and  order  their  clergy  to  refuse,  to  go  out  to  dine 
with  such  persons  ;  and  still  more  positively  to  allow  such  persona  to 
sup  at  God's  table.  And  they  would  soon  know  what  fighting  wolven 
meant ;  and  something  more  of  their  own  pastoral  duty  than  they 
learned  in  that  Consecration  Service,  where  they  proceeded  to  follow 
the  example  of  the  Apostles  in  Prayer,  but  carefully  left  out  the  Fast- 
ing. 


340 


FOMS  GLAVIGEIiA. 


LETTER  L. 

A  FRIEND,  in  whose  judgment  I  greatly  trust,  remon- 
strated sorrowfully  with  me,  the  other  day,  on  the  desultory 
character  of  Fors ;  and  pleaded  with  me  for  the  writing  of 
an  arranged  book  instead. 

But  he  might  as  well  plead  with  a  birch-tree  growing 
out  oi  a  eras:,  to  arrano^e  its  bouo^hs  beforehand.  The  winds 
and  floods  will  arrano-e  them  accordinof  to  their  wild  likino* ; 
all  that  the  tree  has  to  do,  or  can  do,  is  to  grow  gaily,  if  it 
may  be  ;  sadly,  if  gaiety  be  impossible  ;  and  let  the  black 
jags  and  scars  rend  the  rose-white  of  its  trunk  where  Fora 
shall  choose. 

But  I  can  well  conceive  how  irritating  it  must  be  to  any 
one  chancing  to  take  special  interest  in  any  one  part  of  my 
subject — the  life  of  Scott  for  instance, — to  find  me,  or  lose 
me,  wandering  away  from  it  for  a  year  or  two  ;  and  sending 
roots  into  new  ground  in  every  direction  :  or  (for  my  friend 
taxed  me  with  this  graver  error  also)  needlessly  re-rooting 
myself  in  the  old. 

And,  all  the  while,  some  kindly  expectant  people  are 
waiting  for  '  details  of  my  plan.'  In  the  presentment  of 
which,  this  main  difficulty  still  lets  me  ;  that,  if  I  told  them, 
or  tried  to  help  them  definitely  to  conceive,  the  ultimate 
things  I  aim  at,  they  would  at  once  throw  the  book  down 
as  hopelessly  Utopian  ;  but  if  I  tell  them  the  immediate 
things  I  aim  at,  they  will  refuse  to  do  those  instantly  pos- 
sible things,  because  inconsistent  with  the  present  vile  gen- 
eral system.  For  instance — I  take  (see  Letter  V.)  Words- 
worth's single  line, 

"  We  live  by  admiration,  hope,  and  love," 

for  my  literal  guide,  in  all  education.  My  final  object,  with 
every  child  born  on  St.  George's  estates,  will  be  to  teach  it 


FOES  CLAVIOERA, 


341 


what  to  admire,  what  to  hope  for,  and  what  to  love  :  but 
how  far  do  you  suppose  the  steps  necessary  to  such  an  ulti- 
mate aim  are  immediately  consistent  with  what  Messrs. 
Huxley  and  Co.  call  *  Secular  education'?  Or  with  what 
eitlier  the  Bishop  of  Oxfoi'd,  or  Mr.  Spurgeon,  would  call 
*  Religious  education  '  ? 

What  to  admire,  or  wonder  at  !  Do  you  expect  a  child 
to  wonder  at — heinH"  tauirht  that  two  and  two  make  four — 
(though  if  only  its  masters  had  the  sense  to  teach  that,  hon- 
estly, it  would  be  something) — or  at  the  number  of  copies 
of  nasty  novels  and  false  news  a  steam-engine  can  print  for 
its  reading? 

What  to  hope  ?  Yes,  my  secular  friends — What  ?  That 
it  shall  be  the  richest  shopman  in  the  street  ;  and  be  buried 
with  black  feathers  enough  over  its  coffin  ? 

What  to  love — Yes,  my  ecclesiastical  friends,  and  who  is 
its  neighbour,  think  you?  Will  you  meet  these  three  de- 
mands of  mine  with  your  three  Rs,  or  your  catechism? 

And  how  would  I  meet  them  myself  ?  Simply  by  never, 
so  far  as  I  could  help  it,  letting  a  child  read  what  is  not 
worth  reading,  or  see  what  is  not  worth  seeing  ;  and  by 
making  it  live  a  life  which,  whether  it  will  or  no,  shall  en- 
force honourable  hope  of  continuing  long  in  the  land — 
whether  of  men  or  God. 

And  who  is  to  say  what  is  worth  reading,  or  worth  see- 
ing? sneer  the  Republican  mob.  Yes,  gentlemen,  you  who 
never  knew  a  good  thing  from  a  bad,  in  all  your  lives,  may 
well  ask  that  ! 

Let  us  try,  however,  in  such  a  simple  thing  as  a  child's 
book.  Yesterday,  in  the  course  of  my  walk,  I  went  into  a 
shepherd-farmer's  cottage,  to  wish  whoever  might  be  in  the 
house  a  happy  new  year.  His  wife  was  at  home,  of  course  ; 
and  Ills  little  daughter,  Agnes,  nine  years  old  ;  both  as  good 
as  gold,  in  their  way. 

The  cottage  is  nearly  a  model  of  those  which  I  shall 
expect  the  tenants  of  St.  George's  Company,  and  its  active 
members,  to  live  in  ; — the  entire  building,  parlour,  and 
kitchen,  (in  this  case  one,  but  not  necessarily  so,)  bed-rooms 


342 


FOnS  CLAVIGERA, 


and  all,  about  the  size  of  an  average  dining-room  in  Gros- 
venor  Place  or  Park  Lane.  The  conversation  naturally 
turning  to  Christmas  doings  and  havings, — and  I,  as  an 
author,  of  course  inquiring  wliether  Agnes  had  any  new 
books,  Agnes  brought  nie  her  library — consisting  chiefly  in 
a  good  pound's  weight  of  the  literature  which  cheap  print- 
ing enables  the  pious  to  make  Christmas  presents  of  for  a 
penny.  A  full  pound,  or,  it  might  be,  a  pound  and  a  half,  of 
this  instruction,  full  of  beautiful  sentiments,  woodcuts,  and 
music.  More  woodcuts  in  the  first  two  ounces  of  it  I  took 
up,  than  T  ever  had  to  study  in  the  first  twelve  years  of  my 
life.  Splendid  woodcuts,  too,  in  the  best  Kensington  style, 
and  rigidly  on  the  principles  of  high,  and  commercially 
remunerative,  art,  taught  by  Messrs.  Redgrave,  Cole,  and 
Company. 

Somehow,  none  of  these  seem  to  have  interested  little 
Agnes,  or  been  of  the  least  good  to  lier.  Her  pound  and  a 
half  of  the  best  of  the  modern  pious  and  picturesque  is 
(being  of  course  originalh^  boardless)  now  a  crumpled  and 
variously  doubled- up  heap,  brought  down  in  a  handful,  or 
lapful,  rather ; — most  of  the  former  insides  of  the  pamphlets 
being  now  the  outsides  ;  and  every  form  of  dog's  ear,  pup- 
py's ear,  cat's  ear,  kitten's  ear,  rat's  ear,  and  mouse's  ear, 
developed  by  the  contortions  of  weary  fingers  at  the  corners 
of  their  didactic  and  evangelically  sibylline  leaves.  1  ask 
if  I  may  borrow  one  to  take  home  and  read.  Agnes  is  de- 
lighted ;  but  undergoes  no  such  pang  of  care  as  a  like  re- 
quest would  have  inflicted  on  my  boyish  mind,  and  needed 
generous  stifling  of  ; — nay,  had  I  asked  to  borrow  the  whole 
heap,  I  am  not  sure  whether  Anges's  first  tacit  sensation 
would  not  have  been  one  of  deliverance. 

Being  very  fond  of  pretty  little  girls,  (not,  by  any  means, 
excluding  pretty — tall  ones,)  I  choose,  for  my  own  reading, 
a  pamphlet  *  which  has  a  picture  of  a  beautiful  little  girl 
with  long  hair,  lying  very  ill  in  bed,  with  her  mother  put- 
ting up  her  forefinger  at  her  brother,  who  is  crying,  with  a 
large  tear  on  the  side  of  his  nose  ;  and  a  legend  beneath  : 

♦  The  Children's  Prize.  No.  XII.  December,  1873.  Price  one  penny 


FORS  CLAVIGEBA. 


34S 


^  Harry  told  his  mother  the  whole  story.'  The  pamphlet  has 
been  doubled  up  by  x\gnes  right  through  the  middle  of  the 
beautiful  little  girl's  face,  and  no  less  remorselessly  through 
the  very  middle  of  the  body  of  the  '  Duckling  Astray,' 
charmingly  drawn  by  Mr.  Harrison  Weir  on  the  opposite  leaf. 
But  ray  little  Agnes  knows  so  much  more  about  real  duck- 
lings than  the  artist  does,  that  her  severity  in  this  case  is 
not  to  be  wondered  at. 

I  carry  my  Children's  Prize  penny's- worth  home  to  Brant- 
wood,  full  of  curiosity  to  know  "  the  whole  story."  I  find 
that  this  religious  work  is  edited  by  a  Master  of  Arts — no 
less — and  that  two  more  woodcuts  of  the  most  finished  order 
are  given  to  Harry's  story, — representing  Harry  and  the 
pretty  little  girl,  (I  suppose  so,  at  least  ;  but,  alas,  now  with 
her  back  turned  to  me, — the  cuts  came  cheaper  so,)  dressed 
in  the  extreme  of  fashion,  down  to  her  boots, — first  running 
with  Harry,  in  snow,  after  a  carriage,  and  then  reclining 
against  Harry's  shoulder  in  a  snowstorm. 

I  arrange  my  candles  for  small  print,  and  proceed  to  read 
this  richly  illustrated  story. 

Harry  and  his  sister  were  at  school  together,  it  appears,  at 
Salisbury  ;  and  their  father's  carriage  was  sent,  in  a  snowy 
day,  to  bring  them  home  for  the  holidays.  They  are  to  be 
at  home  bv  five  :  and  their  mother  has  invited  a  children's 
party  at  seven.  Harry  is  enjoined  by  his  father,  in  the  letter 
which  conveys  this  information,  to  remain  inside  the  carriage, 
and  not  to  go  on  the  box. 

Harry  is  a  good  boy,  and  does  as  he  is  bid  ;  but  nothing 
whatever  is  said  in  the  letter  about  not  getting  out  of  the 
carriage  to  walk  up  hills.  And  at  *  two-mile  hill'  Harry 
thinks  it  will  be  clever  to  get  out  and  walk  up  it,  without 
calling  to,  or  stopping,  John  on  the  box.  Once  out  himself,  he 
gets  Mary  out  ;  the  children  begin  snowballing  each  other  ; 
the  carriage  leaves  them  so  far  behind  that  they  can't 
catch  it;  a  snowstorm  comes  on,  etc.,  etc.;  they  are 
pathetically  frozen  within  a  breath  of  their  lives  ;  found 
by  a  benevolent  carter,  just  in  time  ;  warmed  b\''  a  benevo' 
lent  farmer,  the  carter's  friend  ;  restored  to  their  alarmed 


344 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA. 


father  and  mother  ;  and  Mary  has  a  rheumatic  fever,  "  and 
for  a  whole  week  it  was  not  known  whether  she  would  live 
or  die,"  which  is  the  Providential  punishment  of  Harry's  sin 
in  getting  out  of  the  carriage. 

Admitting  the  perfect  appositeness  and  justice  of  this 
Providential  punishment  ;  I  am,  parenthetically,  desirous  to 
know  of  my  Evangelical  friends,  first,  whether  from  the  cor- 
ruption of  Harry's  nature  they  could  have  expected  any- 
thing better  than  his  stealthily  getting  out  of  the  carriage  to 
walk  up  the  hill  ? — and,  secondly,  whether  the  merits  of 
Christ,  w^hich  are  enough  to  save  any  murderer  or  swindler 
from  all  the  disagreeable  consequences  of  murder  and  swin- 
dling, in  the  next  world,  are  not  enough  in  this  world,  if 
properly  relied  upon,  to  save  a  wicked  little  boy's  sister  from 
rheumatic  fever  ?  This,  I  say,  I  only  ask  parenthetically, 
for  my  own  information  ;  my  immediate  business  being  to 
ask  what  effect  this  story  is  intended  to  produce  on  my  shep- 
herd's little  daughter  Agnes  ? 

Intended  to  produce,  I  say  :  what  effect  it  Joes  produce,  I 
can  easily  ascertain  ;  but  what  do  the  writer  and  the  learned 
editor  expect  of  it  ?  Or  rather,  to  touch  the  very  beginning 
of  the  inquiry,  for  what  class  of  child  do  they  intend  it  ? 
*  For  all  classes,'  the  enlightened  editor  and  liberal  publisher 
doubtless  reply.  *  Classes,  indeed  !  In  the  glorious  liberty 
of  the  Future,  there  shall  be  none  !  ' 

Well,  be  it  so  ;  but  in  the  inglorious  slavery  of  the  Past, 
it  has  happened  that  my  little  Agnes's  father  has  not  kept  a 
carriage  ;  that  Agnes  herself  has  not  often  seen  one,  is  not 
likely  often  to  be  in  one,  and  has  seen  a  great  deal  too  much 
snow,  and  had  agreat  deal  too  much  walking  in  it,  to  be  tempted 
out, — if  she  ever  has  a  chance  of  being  driven  in  a  carriage 
to  a  children's  party  at  seven, — to  walk  up  a  hill  on  the  road. 
Such  is  our  benighted  life  in  Westmoreland.  In  the  future, 
do  my  pious  and  liberal  friends  suppose  that  all  little  Ag- 
neses  are  to  drive  in  carriages?  That  is  their  Utopia. 
Mine,  so  much  abused  for  its  impossibility,  is  only  that  a 
good  many  little  Agneses  who  at  present  drive  in  carriages, 
shall  have  none. 


FORS  CLAVIOERA, 


345 


Nay,  but,  perhaps,  the  learned  editor  did  not  intend  the 
story  for  children  *  quite  in  Agnes's  position.'  For  what  sort 
did  he  intend  it,  then  ?  For  the  class  of  children  whose 
fathers  keep  carriages,  and  whose  mothers  dress  their  girls 
by  the  Paris  modes,  at  three  years  old  ?  Very  good  ;  then, 
in  families  which  keep  carriages  and  footmen,  the  children 
are  supposed  to  think  a  book  is  a  prize  which  costs  a  penny  ? 
Be  that  also  so,  in  the  Republican  cheap  world  ;  but  might 
not  the  cheapeners  print,  when  they  are  about  it,  prize 
poetry  for  their  penny  ?  Here  is  the  *  Christmas  Carol,'  set 
to  music,  accompanying  this  moral  story  of  the  Snow. 

Hark,  hark,  the  merry  pealing, 

List  to  the  Christmas  chime, 
Ef ery  breath  and  every  feeling 

Hails  the  good  old  time  ; 
Brothers,  sisters,  homeward  speedy 

All  Ls  mirth  and  play ; 
Hark,  hark,  the  merry  pealing, — 

Welcome,  Christmas  Day. 

Sing,  sing,  around  we  gather 

Each  with  something  new. 
Cheering  mother,  cheering  father, 

From  the  Bible  true  ; 
Bring  the  holly,  spread  the  feast. 

Every  heart  to  cheer, 
Sing,  sing,  a  merry  Christm.as, 

A  happy,  bright  New  Year." 

Now,  putting  aside  for  the  moment  all  questions  touching 
the  grounds  of  the  conviction  of  the  young  people  for  whom 
these  verses  are  intended  of  the  truth  of  the  Bible  ;  or 
touching  the  propriety  of  their  cheering  their  fathers  and 
mothers  by  quotations  from  it  ;  or  touching  the  difficultly  rec- 
oncileable  merits  of  old  times  and  new  things  ;  I  call  these 
verses  bad,  primarily,  because  they  are  not  rhythmical.  I 
consider  good  rhythm  a  moral  quality.  I  consider  the 
rhythm  in  these  stanzas  demoralized,  and  demoralizing. 
T  quote,  in  opposition  to  them,  one  of  the  rhymes  by 
which  my  own  ear  and  mind  were  educated  in  early  youth 


346 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


as  being  more  distinctly,  and  literally  ^  moral,'  than  that 
Christmas  carol. 

**  Dame  Wiggins  of  Lee 
Was  a  worthy  old  soul, 
As  e'er  threaded  a  nee- 
Dle,  or  washed  in  a  bowL 
She  held  mice  and  rats 
In  such  antipa-thy. 
That  Seven  good  Cats 
Kept  Dame  Wiggins  of  Lee.'* 

Putting  aside  also,  in  our  criticism  of  these  verses,  the  very 
debateable  question,  whether  Dame  Wiggins  kept  the  Seven 
Cats,  or  the  Seven  Cats  Dame  Wiggins  ;  and  giving  no 
judgment  as  to  the  propriety  of  the  license  taken  in  pronun- 
ciation, by  the  accent  on  the  last  syllable  of  '  antipathy,'  or 
as  to  the  evident  plagiarism  of  the  first  couplet  from  the 
classical  ballad  of  King  Cole,  I  aver  these  rhymes  to  possess 
the  primary  virtue  of  rhyme, — that  is  to  say,  to  be  rhythmical, 
in  a  pleasant  and  exemplary  degree.  And  I  believe,  and 
will  venture  also  to  assert  my  belief,  that  the  matter  con- 
tained in  them,  though  of  an  imaginative  character,  is  better 
food  for  a  child's  mind  than  either  the  subject  or  sentiment 
of  the  above  quoted  Christmas  carol. 

The  mind  of  little  Agnes,  at  all  events,  receives  from  story, 
pictures,  and  carol,  altogether,  no  very  traceable  impression  ; 
but,  I  am  happy  tg  say,  certainly  no  harm.  She  lives  fif- 
teen miles  from  the  nearest  manufacturing  district, — sees  no 
vice,  except  perhaps  sometimes  in  the  village  on  Sunday  af- 
ternoons ; — hears,  from  week's  end  to  week's  end,  the  sheep 
bleat,  and  the  wind  whistle, — but  neither  human  blasphemy, 
nor  human  cruelty  of  command.  Her  shepherd  father,  out 
on  the  hills  all  dav,  is  thankful  at  eveninor  to  return  to 
his  fireside,  and  to  have  his  little  daughter  to  look  at,  instead 
of  a  lamb.  She  surfers  no  more  from  schoolinof  than  serves 
to  make  her  enjoy  her  home  ; — knows  already  the  mysteries 
of  butter-making  and  poultry-keeping  ; — curtsies  to  me  with- 
out alarm  when  I  pass  her  door,  if  she  is  outside  of  it  ; — and, 
on  the  whole,  sees  no  enemy  but  winter  and  rough  weathe 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


347 


But  what  effect  this  modern  Christmas  carol  icoiild  liave 
had  on  her  mind,  if  she  had  had  the  full  advantage  of  mod- 
ern education  in  an  advanced  and  prosperous  town, — the  fol- 
lowing  well  written  letter, — happily  sent  me  by  Fors  at  the 
necessary  moment, — enables  me  at  once  to  exhibit  : — 

*»10^A  January,  1874. 

Dear  Mr.  Ruskin, 

Your  appendix  to  the  Fors  this  month  contains  a  chap- 
ter on  what  some  will  assert  is  very  exceptional   shire 

brutality.    After  nine  years'  residence  in  a  shire  village, 

I  am  compelled  to  believe  that  the  vileness  which  horrified 
Judge  Mellor  is  everywhere  ingrained  where  factory  and  col- 
liery rule  prevails. 

Could  you  but  hear  the  blasphemous  and  filthy  language 
our  rosy  village  bairns  use  as  soon  as  they  are  out  of  the  par- 
son's earshot,  even  when  leaving  the  Sabbath  School  ! 

Yet  we  have  a  rural  dean  as  incumbent,  an  excellent 
schoolmaster,  and  model  school.  The  Government  Inspector 
is  highly  satisfied,  and  there  are  the  usual  edifying  tea  par- 
ties, prize-givings,  and  newspaper  puffs,  yearly. 

I  know  that  the  cliildren  are  well  taught  six  days  a  week, 
yet  there  is  little  fruit  of  good  behaviour  among  them,  and 
an  indecency  of  speech  which  is  amazing  in  rural  children. 
On  Christmas  morn  a  ])arty  of  these  cliildren,  boys  and  girls, 
singing  carols,  encountered  my  young  daughter  going  alone 
to  the  church  service.  The  opportunity  was  tempting,  and 
as  if  moved  by  one  vile  spirit,  they  screamed  at  her  a  blast 
of  the  most  obscene  and  profane  epithets  that  vicious  malice 
could  devise.  She  knew  none  of  them  ;  had  never  harmed 
them  in  her  life.  She  came  home  with  her  kind,  tender  heart 
all  aghast.     *  Why  do  they  hate  me  so  ?  '  she  asked. 

Yet  a  short  time  after  the  same  children  came  into  the 
yard,  and  began,  with  the  full  shrill  powers  of  their  young 
lungs, 

*  Why  do  I  love  Jesus  ? ' 

the  refrain, 

'  Because  He  died  for  rae,' 

with  especial  gusto.  My  husband,  ignorant  of  their  previous 
conduct,  gave  them  a  bright  shilling,  which  evoked  three 
more  hymns  of  similar  character.    "What  does  all  this  mean? 

Our  Bishop  says  that  we  have  a  model  parish,  a  model 
school,  and  a  model  parson — yet  we  have  children  like  this. 


348  FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 

Our  parson  knows  it,  and  says  to  me  that  he  can  do  nothing 
to  prevent  it. 

More  than  this.  It  is  almost  incredible  ;  but  my  own 
horrified  ears  have  borne  witness  of  it.  Young  boys  will 
threaten  girls  of  their  own  age,  in  the  vilest  terms,  with  out- 
rage like  that  at  Burnley.    I  have  heard  it  again  and  again. 

Had  Judge  Mellor  had  nine  years'  experience  of  shire 

life,  he  would  not  have  been  surprised  at  the  utter  brutality 
of  mind  exhibited. 

Yet  we  are  not  criminal  compared  with  other  districts. 
Bastardy  and  drunkenness  are  at  present  the  darkest  shades 
we  can  show  ;  but  there  is  perhaps  some  better  influence  at 
work  from  the  vicinage  of  two  great  squires,  which  secures 
us  pure  air  and  wide  fields. 

I  am  glad  to  read  that  you  purpose  vexing  yourself  less 
with  the  sins  of  the  times  during  the  coming  summer.  It  is 
too  great  a  burthen  for  a  human  mind  to  bear  the  world's 
sins  in  spirit,  as  you  do.  If  you  mean  to  preserve  yourself 
for  the  many  thousands  whose  inner  heart's  bitterness  your 
voice  has  relieved,  you  must  vex  yourself  less  about  this 
age's  madness. 

The  sure  retribution  is  at  hand  already."  * 

*  What  does  all  this  mean?'  my  correspondent  asks,  in  wise 
anxiety. 

National  prosperity,  my  dear  Madam,  according  to  Mr. 
Goschen,  the  TimeSy  and  Morning  Post ; — national  prosperity 
carried  to  the  point  of  not  knowing  what  to  do  with  our 
money.  Enlightenment,  and  Freedom,  and  orthodox  Re- 
ligion, and  Science  of  the  superbest  and  trustworthiest  char- 
acter, and  generally  the  Reign  of  Law,  answer  the  Duke  of 
Argyll  and  Professor  Huxley.  Ruin — inevitable  and  terri- 
ble, such  as  no  nation  has  yet  suffered, — answer  God  and  the 
Fates. 

Yes — inevitable.  England  has  to  drink  a  cup  which  can- 
not pass  from  her — at  the  hands  of  the  Lord,  the  cup  of  His 
fury  ; — surely  the  dregs  of  it,  the  wicked  of  the  earth  shall 
wring  them  and  drink  them  out. 

For  let  none  of  my  readers  think  me  mad  enough  or  wild 
enough  to  hope  that  any  effort,  or  repentance,  or  change  of 

*  Yes,  I  know  thafc  ;  but  am  I  to  be  cheerfuller  therefore  ^ 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


349 


conduct  could  now  save  the  country  from  the  consequences 
of  her  follies,  or  the  Church  from  the  punishment  of  her 
crimes.  This  St.  George's  Company  of  ours  is  mere  raft- 
making  amidst  irrevocable  wreck — the  best  we  can  do,  to  be 
done  bravely  and  cheerfully,  come  of  it  what  may. 

Let  me  keep,  therefore,  to-day  wholly  to  definite  matters, 
and  to  little  ones.  What  the  education  we  now  give  our 
children  leads  to,  my  correspondent's  letter  shows.  What 
education  they  should  have,  instead,  I  may  suggest  perhaps 
in  some  particulars. 

What  should  be  done,  for  instance,  in  the  way  of  gift- 
giving,  or  instruction-giving,  for  our  little  Agnes  of  the  hill- 
side ?  Would  the  St.  George's  Company,  if  she  were  their 
tenant,  only  leave  her  alone, — teach  her  nothing? 

Not  so  ;  very  much  otherwise  than  so.  Tliis  is  some  part 
of  what  should  be  done  for  her,  were  she  indeed  under  St. 
George's  rule. 

Instead  of  the  "something  new,"  which  our  learned  Mas- 
ter of  Arts  edits  for  her  in  carolling,  siie  should  learn,  by 
heart,  words  which  her  fathers  had  known,  many  and  many 
a  year  ago.  As,  for  instance,  these  two  little  carols  of  grace 
before  meat  : — 

What  Goil  gives,  and  what  we  take, 
'Tis  a  gift  for  Christ  His  sake ; 
Be  the  meale  of  Beanes  and  Pease, 
God  be  thanked  for  those  and  these. 
Have  we  flesh,  or  have  we  fish. 
All  are  Fragments  from  His  dish : 
He  His  Church  save  ;  and  the  King 
And  our  Peace  here,  like  a  Spring, 
Make  it  ever  flourishing. 

Here,  a  little  child,  I  stand 
Heaving  up  my  either  hand  ; 
Cold  as  Paddocks  though  they  be, 
Here  I  lift  them  up  to  Thee. 
For  a  Benizon  to  fall, 
On  our  meat,  and  on  us  alL 

These  verses,  or  such  as  these,  Agnes  should  be  able  to  #Ay, 
and  sing  ;  and  if  on  any  state  occasion  it  were  desired  oi 


350 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


her  to  say  grace,  should  be  so  mannered  as  to  say  obedient- 
ly, without  either  vanity  or  shame.  Also,  she  should  knov9 
other  rhymes  for  her  own  contentment,  such  as  slie  liked 
best,  out  of  narrow  store  offered  to  her,  if  she  chose  to  learn 
to  read.  Reading  by  no  means  being  enforced  upon  her — 
still  less,  writing  ;  notliing  enforced  on  her  but  household 
help  to  her  mother  ;  instant  obedience  to  her  father's  or 
mother's  word  ;  order  and  cleanliness  in  her  own  depart- 
ments and  person  ;  and  gentleness  to  all  inoffensive  creat- 
ures— paddocks  as  well  as  lambs  and  chickens. 

Further,  instead  of  eighteen  distinct  penny  ChildreiiuS 
Prizes^  containing  seventy-two  elaborate  woodcuts  of 
^Ducklings  astray,'  and  the  like,  (which  I  should  especially 
object  to,  in  the  case  of  Agnes,  as  too  personal,  she  herself 
being  little  more  at  present  than  a  duckling  astray,)  the  St. 
George's  Company  would  invest  for  her,  at  once,  the  '  ridic- 
ulously small  sum  of  eighteen-pence,'  in  one  coloured  print 
— coloured  by  hand,  for  the  especial  decoration  of  her  own 
chamber.  This  colouring  by  hand  is  one  of  the  occupations 
which  young  women  of  the  upper  classes,  in  St.  George's 
Company,  will  undertake  as  a  business  of  pure  duty  ;  it  was 
once  a  very  wholesome  means  of  livelihood  to  poorer  art  stu- 
dents. The  plates  of  Sibthorpe's  Flora  Groeca,  for  instance, 
cost,  I  am  informed,  on  their  first  publication,  precisely  the 
sum  in  question, — eighteen-pence  each, — for  their  colouring 
by  hand  : — the  enterprising  publisher  who  issued  the  more 
recent  editions,  reducing,  in  conformity  with  modern  views 
on  the  subject  of  economy,  the  colourist's  remuneration  to 
thirty  shillings  per  hundred.  But  in  the  St.  George's  Com- 
pany, young  ladies  who  have  the  gift  of  colouring  WiW  be 
taught  to  colour  engravings  simply  as  well  as  they  can  do 
it,  without  any  reference  whatever  to  pecuniary  compensa- 
tion ;  and  such  practice  I  consider  to  be  the  very  best  pos- 
sible elementary  instruction  for  themselves,  in  the  art  of 
watercolour  painting. 

And  the  print  which  should  be  provided  and  thus  coloured 
for  little  Agnes's  room  should  be  no  less  than  the  best  en- 
graving I  could  get  made  of  Simon  Memmi's  SSt.  Agnes  in 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA, 


351 


Paradise'  ;  of  which — (according  to  the  probable  notions  of 
many  of  my  readers,  absurd  and  idolatrous) — image,  little 
Agnes  should  know  the  legend  as  soon  as  she  was  able  to 
understand  it  ;  though,  if  the  St.  George's  Company  could 
manage  it  for  her,  she  should  be  protected  from  too  early 
instruction  in  the  meaning  of  that  legend,  by  such  threats 
from  her  English  playfellows  as  are  noticed  in  my  corre- 
spondent's letter. 

Such  should  be  some  small  part  of  her  religious  education. 
For  beginning  of  secular  education,  the  St.  George's  Com- 
pany would  provide  for  her,  above  and  before  all  things,  a 
yard  or  two  square  of  St.  George's  ground,  which  should  be 
wholly  her  own  ;  together  with  instruments  suited  to  her 
strength,  for  the  culture,  and  seeds  for  the  sowing,  thereof. 
On  which  plot  of  ground,  or  near  it,  in  a  convenient  place, 
there  should  be  a  bee-hive,  out  of  which  it  should  be  con- 
sidered a  crowning  achievement  of  Agnes's  secular  virtues  if 
she  could  produce,  in  its  season,  a  piece  of  snowy  and  well- 
filled  comb.  And,  (always  if  she  chose  to  learn  to  read), 
books  sliould  be  given  her  containing  such  information  re- 
specting bees,  and  other  living  creatures  as  it  appeared  to 
the  St.  George's  Company  desirable  she  should  possess.  But 
touching  the  cliaracter  of  this  desirable  information,  what  I 
have  to  say  being  somewhat  lengthy,  must  be  deferred  to 
my  March  letter. 

CaSTLETON,  PkAK  op  DERllYSniRE. 

21t?i  Janudvi/. 

Since  finisliing  this  letter,  I  have  driven  leisurely  through 
tlie  midland  manufacturing  districts,  which  I  have  not  trav- 
ersed, except  by  rail,  for  the  last  ten  years.  The  two  most 
frightful  things  I  have  ever  yet  seen  in  my  life  are  tiie 
south-eastern  suburb  of  Bradford,  (six  miles  long,)  and  the 
scene  from  Wakefield  bridge,  by  the  chapel  ;  yet  I  cannot 
but  more  and  more  reverence  the  fierce  courage  and  indus- 
try, the  gloomy  endurance,  and  the  infinite  mechanical 
ingenuity  of  the  great  centres,  as  one  reverences  the  fervid 
labours  of  a  wasp's  nest,  though  the  end  of  all  is  only  a  nox- 
ious lump  of  clay. 


352 


FOES  CLAVIGEBA. 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


In  my  last  December's  letter,  I  promised,  for  January,  some  state 
ment  of  real  beginning  of  operations  by  our  Company ;  but,  as  usual, 
was  hindered  from  fulfilling  ray  promise  at  the  time  I  intended.  And 
the  hindrance  lay,  as  in  all  useful  business  it  is  pretty  sure  in  some 
measure  to  lie,  in  the  state  of  British  law.  An  acre  of  ground,  with 
some  cottages  on  it,  has  been  given  me  for  our  company ;  but  it  is  nob 
easy  to  find  out  how  the  company  is  to  lay  hold  of  it.  I  suppose  the 
conveyancing  will  cost  us,  in  the  end,  half  a  dozen  times  the  value  of 
the  land  ;  and  in  the  meantime  I  don't  care  to  announce  our  posses^ 
sion  of  it,  or  say  what  I  mean  to  do  with  it.  I  content  myself  for  the 
present  with  reprinting,  and  very  heartily,  as  far  as  my  experience 
holds,  ratifying,  the  subjoined  portions  of  a  letter,  sent  me  the  other 
day  out  of  a  country  paper.  The  writer  is  speaking,  at  the  point 
where  my  quotation  begins,  of  the  difficulty  of  getting  a  good  bank- 
ruptcy act  passed :  — 

The  reason  alleged  is  that  almost  any  lawyer  is  ready  to  help  any 
lying  and  false-trading  person  to  drive  his  coach  and  four  through  any 
Act,  however  good  in  intention  it  may  be.  This  is  a  sad  state  of 
things,  and  is  wasteful  of  more  things  than  money  or  good  temper. 
It  is,  however,  on  the  matter  of  conveyancing  that  we  wish  to  say  a 

few  words  

*^We  are  accustomed  to  look  at  the  matter  as  a  very  simple  one. 
We  have  before  us  the  deeds  of  our  dwelling-house.  The  real  point  is, 
why  can  we  not  sell  these  papers  to,  say  John  Smith,  for  £1,000,  if 
John  is  satisfied  that  our  little  cottage,  with  all  its  admirable  rooms  so 
well  arranged,  is  worth  that  amount?  Why  can't  we  sell  him  this 
matter  in  a  simple  and  clear  way  ?  Or,  for  a  case  the  least  bit  compli- 
cated, take  our  six  shops  in  the  chief  street.  Why  can't  we  sell  one 
each  to  Brown,  Jones,  Robinson,  Thompson,  Atkinson,  or  Williams, 
their  respective  and  respectable  tenants,  in  an  equally  simple  way  ? 
The  English  law  steps  in  and  says  that  we  must  have  a  cumbrous  deed 
prepared  for  each  case,  and  the  total  cost  to  all  of  us,  without  stamps, 
would  be  about  one  hundred  pounds,  at  a  reasonable  computation. 
What  do  we  get  for  this  large  sum  ?  Absolutely  nothing  but  jargon  on 
parchment,  instead  of  plain  and  simple  English,  which  all  the  Smiths 
and  Browns  might  understand,  and  get  for  a  tenth  of  the  cost.  This 
is  all  the  more  irritating,  because  sensible  people  are  agreed  that  our 
present  plan  is  a  cumbrous  farce,  and,  moreover,  nobody  laughs  at  it 
but  the  lawyers  who  get  the  picking.  Any  six  honest,  clear-headed, 
educated  men  could  devise  a  system  in  a  month  which  would  put  an 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


353 


end  to  the  needless  and  costly  worry  entailed  by  the  existing*  legal  par- 
aphernalia. We  have  never  yet  seen  any  tangible  objections  to  the 
simple  system,  nor  any  salient  and  satisfactory  reasons  for  retaining 
the  present  circumlocutory,  wasteful,  and  foolish  one. 

Another  monstrous  anomaly  is  that  we  might  sell  each  of  our  be- 
fore-mentioned shops  in  our  chief  street,  and  yet  retain  the  original 
deed  untouched  ;  so  that  after  drawing  cash  from  each  of  our  present 
tenants,  we  could  mortgage  the  whole  block  again,  and  clear  off  with 
the  double  cash.  * 

But  even  the  present  system  might  be  made  endurable,  and  herein 
lies  its  greatest  blame,  namely — that  you  never  know  what  you  are  go- 
ing to  pay  for  the  foolish  and  needless  work  ycu  are  having  done. 
You  are  entirely  at  the  mercy  of  the  lawyer.  When  we  consider  that 
this  so-called  difficult  and  skilful  work  is  always  managed  in  the  best 
offices  by  a  mere  clerk,  and  seldom,  if  ever,  by  the  principal,  we  have 
a  reasonable  ground  of  complaint  against  the  enormous  and  unfair 
charges  usually  made  for  work  so  done  by  wholesale. 

*'We  will  conclude  with  a  practical  suggestion  or  two.  Building 
clubs  have  been  a  great  boon  to  the  saving  element  in  our  community. 
It  is  the  wish  of  most  people  to  have  a  house  of  their  own,  and  these 
clubs  find,  for  hundreds,  the  readiest  means  to  that  end.  They  have 
made  easy  the  borrowing  and  the  paying  back  of  money,  and  they  have 
been  the  means  of  simplifying  mortgage  deeds  which,  for  clubs,  are 
only  £2  5,'?. ,  and  if  got  up  simpler,  and  printed,  instead  of  being 
written,  might  easily  and  profitably  be  done  for  a  guinea.  Could  nut 
they  confer  a  still  greater  boon  on  the  community  by  combining,  and 
compelling  by  a  strong  voice,  the  lawyers  to  Rystematize  and  cheapen 
the  present  mode  of  conveyancing  ?  This  would  be  a  great  work,  and 
might  be  done.  Still  better  would  it  be  to  combine  to  send  up  sugges- 
tions to  Parliament  for  a  simpler  and  better  plan,  such  as  would  lead 
to  the  passing  of  an  Act  for  the  embodiment  of  this  great  and  much- 
needed  reform." 

♦  I  don't  vouch  for  the  particular  statements  in  this  letter.  It  seems  to  me  incredible 
that  any  practical  absurdity  so  great  as  this  should  exist  in  tenuie  of  propert;y. 

Vol.  1L— 23 


354 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


LETTER  LI. 

Herne  Hill,  9th  Feb, ,  1875, 

T  HAVE  been  so  much  angered,  distressed  and  defeated,  by 
many  things,  during  these  last  autumn  and  winter  months, 
that  I  can  only  keep  steadily  to  my  business  by  insisting  to 
myself  on  my  own  extreme  value  and  importance  to  the 
world  ;  and  quoting,  in  self-application,  the  most  flattering 
texts  I  can  find,  such  as,  ^'  Simon,  Simon,  Satan  hath  desired 
to  have  you,"  and  so  on  ;  hoping  that  at  least  a  little  more 
of  my  foolishness  is  being  pounded  out  of  me  at  every  blow  ; 
and  that  the  dough  I  knead  for  Fors  may  be  daily  of  purer 
wheat. 

I  wish  I  could  raise  it  with  less  leaven  of  malice  ;  but  I 
dislike  some  things  and  some  people  so  much,  that,  having 
been  always  an  impetuous,  inconsiderate,  and  weakly  com- 
municative person,  I  find  it  impossible  to  hold  my  tongue  in 
this  time  of  advanced  years  and  petulance.  I  am  thankful, 
to-day,  to  have  one  most  pleasant  thing  first  to  refer  to  ; — 
the  notable  speech,  namely,  of  Mr.  Johnson,  the  President  of 
the  Manchester  Chamber  of  Commerce,  on  the  immorality  of 
cheapness  :  the  first  living  words  respecting  commerce  which 
1  have  ever  known  to  be  spoken  in  England,  in  my  time  ; — 
on  which,  nevertheless,  I  can  in  no  wise  dilate  to-day,  but 
most  thankfully  treasure  them  for  study  in  a  futui'e  letter  ; 
having  already  prepared  for  this  one,  during  my  course  of 
self-applause  taken  medicinally,  another  passage  or  two  of 
my  own  biography,  putting  some  of  the  reasons  for  my  care- 
lessness about  Agnes's  proficiency  in  reading  or  writing,  more 
definitely  before  the  reader. 

Until  I  was  more  than  four  years  old,  we  lived  in  Hunter 
Street,  Brunswick  Square,  the  greater  part  of  the  year  ;  for 
a  few  weeks  in  the  summer  breathing  country  air  by  taking 
lodgings  ill  small  cottages  (real  cottages,  not  villas,  so-called) 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA, 


355 


either  about  Hampstead,  or  at  Dulwich,  at  ^Mrs.  Ridley's,' 
the  last  of  a  row  in  a  lane  which  led  out  into  the  Dulwich 
fields  on  one  side,  and  was  itself  full  of  buttercups  in  spring, 
and  blackberries  in  autumn.  But  inv  chief  remaininor  im- 
pressions  of  those  days  are  attached  to  Hunter  Street.  My 
mother's  general  principles  of  first  treatment  were,  to  guard 
me  with  steady  watchfulness  from  all  avoidable  pain  or 
danger  ;  and,  for  the  rest,  to  let  me  amuse  myself  as  I  liked, 
provided  I  was  neither  fretful  nor  troublesome.  But  the  law 
was,  that  I  should  find  my  own  amusement.  No  toys  of  any 
kind  were  at  first  allowed  ; — and  the  pity  of  my  Croydon 
aunt  for  my  monastic  poverty  in  this  respect  was  boundless. 
On  one  of  my  birthdays,  thinking  to  overcome  my  mother's 
resolution  by  splendour  of  temptation,  she  bought  the  most 
radiant  Punch  and  Judy  slie  could  find  in  all  the  Soho  bazaar 
— as  big  as  a  real  Punch  and  Judy,  all  dressed  in  scarlet  and 
gold,  and  that  would  dance,  tied  to  the  leg  of  a  chair.  I 
must  have  been  greatly  impressed,  for  I  remember  well  the 
look  of  the  two  figures,  as  my  aunt  herself  exliibited  their 
virtues.  My  mother  was  obliged  to  accept  them  ;  but  after- 
wards quietly  told  me  it  was  not  right  that  I  should  have 
them  ;  and  1  never  saw  tliem  again. 

Nor  did  I  painfully  wish,  what  1  was  never  permitted  for 
an  instant  to  hope,  or  even  imagine,  the  possession  of  such 
things  as  one  saw  in  toyshops.  I  had  a  bunch  of  keys  to 
play  with,  as  long  as  I  was  capable  only  of  pleasure  in  what 
glittered  and  jingled  ;  as  I  grew  older,  I  had  a  cart,  and  a 
ball ;  and  when  I  was  five  or  six  years  old,  two  boxes  of  well- 
cut  wooden  bricks.  With  these  modest,  but  T  still  think 
entirely  sufficient  possessions,  and  being  always  summarily 
whipped  if  I  cried,  did  not  do  as  I  was  bid,  or  tumbled  on 
the  stairs,  I  soon  attained  serene  and  secure  methods  of  life 
and  motion  ;  and  could  pass  my  days  contentedly  in  tracing 
the  squares  and  comparing  the  colours  of  my  carpet  ; — ex- 
amining the  knots  in  the  wood  of  the  floor,  or  counting  the 
bricks  in  the  opposite  houses  ;  with  rapturous  intervals  of 
excitement  during  the  filling  of  the  water-cart,  through  its 
leathern  pipe,  from  the  dripping  iron  post  at  the  pavement 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


edge  ;  or  the  still  more  admirable  proceedings  of  the  turn- 
cock, when  he  turned  and  turned  till  a  fountain  sprang  up  in 
the  middle  of  the  street.  But  the  carpet,  and  what  patterns 
I  could  find  in  bed-covers,  dresses,  or  wall-papers  to  be 
examined,  were  my  chief  resources,  and  my  attention  to  the 
particulars  in  these  was  soon  so  accurate,  that  when  at  three 
and  a  half  I  was  taken  to  have  my  portrait  painted  by  Mr. 
Northcote,  I  had  not  been  ten  minutes  alone  with  him  before 
I  asked  him  why  there  were  holes  in  his  carpet.  The  por- 
trait in  question  represents  a  very  pretty  child  with  yellow 
hair,  dressed  in  a  white  frock  like  a  girl,  with  a  broad  light- 
blue  sash  and  blue  shoes  to  match  ;  the  feet  of  the  child 
wholesomely  large  in  proportion  to  its  body  ;  and  the  shoes 
still  more  wholesomely  large  in  proportion  to  the  feet. 

These  articles  of  my  daily  dress  were  all  sent  to  the  old 
painter  for  perfect  realization  ;  but  they  appear  in  the 
picture  more  remarkable  than  they  were  in  my  nursery, 
because  I  am  represented  as  running  in  a  field  at  the  edge 
of  a  wood  with  the  trunks  of  its  trees  striped  across  in  the 
manner  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  ;  while  two  rounded  hills, 
as  blue  as  my  shoes,  appear  in  the  distance,  which  were  put 
in  by  the  painter  at  my  own  request  ;  for  I  had  already  been 
once,  if  not  twice,  taken  to  Scotland  ;  and  my  Scottish  nurse 
having  always  sung  to  me  as  w^c  approached  the  Tweed  or 
Esk,— 

For  Scotland,  my  darling,  lies  full  in  my  view, 
With  her  barefooted  lassies,  and  mountains  bo  blue," 

I  had  already  generally  connected  the  idea  of  distant  hills 
with  approach  to  the  extreme  felicities  of  life,  in  my  (Scot- 
tish) aunt's  garden  of  gooseberry  bushes,  sloping  to  the  Tay. 

But  that,  when  old  Mr.  Northcote  asked  me  (little  think- 
ing, I  fancy,  to  get  any  answer  so  explicit)  what  I  would  like 
to  have  in  the  distance  of  my  picture,  I  should  have  said 
^'  blue  hills  "  instead  of  "  gooseberry  bushes,"  appears  to  me 
— and  I  think  without  any  morbid  tendency  to  think  over- 
much of  myself — a  fact  sufficiently  curious,  and  not  without 
promise,  in  a  child  of  that  age. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


357 


I  think  it  should  be  related  also  that  having,  as  aforesaid, 
been  steadily  whipped  if  I  was  troublesome,  my  formed  habit 
of  serenity  was  greatly  pleasing  to  the  old  painter  ;  for  I  sat 
contentedly  motionless,  counting  the  holes  in  his  carpet,  or 
watching  him  squeeze  his  paint  out  of  its  bladders, — a  beau- 
tiful operation,  indeed,  it  seemed  to  me  ;  but  I  do  not  re- 
member taking  any  interest  in  Mr.  Northcote's  applications 
of  the  pigments  to  the  canvas  ;  my  ideas  of  delightful  art,  in 
that  r<3spect,  involving  indispensably  the  possession  of  a  large 
pot,  filled  with  paint  of  the  brightest  green,  and  of  a  brush 
which  would  come  out  of  it  soppy.  But  my  quietude  was  so 
pleasing  to  the  old  man  that  he  begged  my  father  and  mother 
to  let  me  sit  to  him  for  the  face  of  a  child  which  he  was 
painting  in  a  classical  subject ;  where  I  was  accordingly  rep- 
resented as  reclining  on  a  leopard  skin,  and  having  a  thorn 
taken  out  of  my  foot  by  a  wild  man  of  the  woods. 

In  all  these  particulars,  I  think  the  treatment,  or  accidental 
conditions,  of  my  childhood,  entirely  right,  for  a  child  of  my 
temperament  ;  but  the  mode  of  my  introduction  to  literature 
appears  to  me  questionable,  and  I  am  not  prepared  to  carry 
it  out  in  St.  George's  schools,  without  much  modification.  I 
absolutely  declined  to  learn  to  read  by  syllables  ;  but  would 
get  an  entire  sentence  by  heart  with  great  facility,  and  point 
with  accuracy  to  every  word  in  the  page  as  I  repeated  it.  As, 
however,  when  the  words  were  once  displaced,  I  had  no  more 
to  say,  my  mother  gave  up,  for  the  time,  the  endeavour  to 
teach  me  to  read,  hoping  only  that  I  might  consent,  in  process 
of  year§;,  to  adopt  the  popular  system  of  syllabic  study.  But 
I  went  on,  to  amuse  myself,  in  my  own  way,  learnt  whole 
words  at  a  time,  as  I  did  patterns  ; — and  at  five  years  old  was 
sending  for  my  'second  volumes'  to  the  circulating  library. 

This  effort  to  learn  the  words  in  tlieir  collective  aspect  was 
assisted  by  my  real  admiration  of  the  look  of  printed  type, 
which  I  began  to  copy  for  my  pleasure,  as  other  children  draw 
dogs  and  horses.  The  following  inscription,  facsimile'd  from 
the  fly-leaf  of  my  Seven  Champio?is  of  Christendom^  I  believe, 
(judging  from  the  independent  views  taken  in  it  of  the  char- 
acter of  the  letter  L,  and  the  relative  elevation  of  G,)  to  be 


358 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


an  extremely  early  art  study  of  this  class  ;  and  as,  by  the  will 
of  Fors,  the  first  lines  of  the  note  written  the  other  day  un- 
derneath my  copy  of  it,  in  direction  to  Mr.  Burgess,  presented 
some  notable  points  of  correspondence  with  it,  I  thought  it 
well  he  should  engrave  them  together,  as  they  stood. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  give  more  distinct  evidence  than  is 
furnished  by  these  pieces  of  manuscript,  of  the  incurably 
desultory  character  which  has  brought  on  me  the  curse  of 
Reuben,  "  Unstable  as  water,  thou  shalt  not  excel."  But  I 
reflect,  hereupon,  with  resolute  self-complacency,  that  water, 
when  good,  is  a  good  thing,  though  it  be  not  stable  ;  and 
that  it  may  be  better  sometimes  to  irrigate  than  excel.  And 
of  the  advantage,  in  many  respects,  of  learning  to  write  and 
read,  if  at  all,  in  the  above  pictorial  manner,  I  have  much  to 
say  on  some  other  occasion  ;  but,  having  to-day  discoursed 
enough  about  myself,  will  assume  that  Agnes,  wholly  at  her 
own  sweet  will,  has  made  shift  to  attain  the  skill  and  temper 
necessary  for  the  use  of  any  kind  of  good  book,  or  bible.  It 
is,  then,  for  the  St.  George's  Company  to  see  that  all  the 
bibles  she  has,  whether  for  delight  or  instruction,  shall  be 
indeed  holy  bibles  ;  written  by  persons,  that  is  to  say,  in 
whom  the  word  of  God  dwelt,  and  who  spoke  or  wrote  ac- 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


359 


cording  to  the  will  of  God  ;  and,  therefore,  with  faithful 
purpose  01  speaking  the  truth  touching  what  they  had  to  tell, 
or  of  singing,  rhyming,  or  what  not  else,  for  the  amusement 
whether  of  children  or  grown-up  persons,  in  a  natural,  modest, 
and  honest  mariner,  doing  their  best  for  the  love  of  God  and 
men,  or  children,  or  of  the  natural  world  ;  and  not  for  money^ 
(though  for  the  time  necessary  to  learn  the  arts  of  singing  or 
writing,  such  honest  minstrels  and  authors,  manifestly  pos- 
sessing talent  for  their  business,  should  be  allowed  to  claim 
daily  moderate  maintenance,  and  for  their  actual  toil,  in  per- 
formance of  their  arts,  modest  reward,  and  daily  bread). 

And,  passing  by  for  the  present  the  extremely  difficult  and 
debateable  question,  by  what  kind  of  entertaining  and  simple 
bibles  Agnes  shall  first  be  encouraged  in  the  pursuits  of  liter- 
ature, I  wish  to  describe  to-day  more  particularly  the  kind  of 
book  I  want  to  be  able  to  give  her  about  her  bees,  when  she 
is  old  enouo:h  to  take  real  charore  of  them.  For  I  don't 
in  the  least  want  a  book  to  tell  her  how  many  species  of 
bees  there  are  ;  nor  what  grounds  there  may  be  for  suspect- 
ing that  one  species  is  another  species  ;  nor  why  Mr.  B  

is  convinced  that  what  Mr.  A  considered  two  species  are 

indeed  one  species  ;   nor  how  conclusively  Mr.  C   has 

proved  that  what  Mr.  B  described  as  a  new  species  is  an 

old  species.  Neither  do  I  want  a  book  to  tell  her  what  a 
bee's  inside  is  like,  nor  whether  it  has  its  brains  in  the  small 
of  its  back,  or  nowhere  in  particular,  like  a  modern  political 
economist  ;  nor  whether  the  morphological  nature  of  the 
sternal  portion  of  the  thorax  should  induce  us,  strictly,  to 
call  it  the  prosternum,  or  may  ultimately  be  found  to  present 
no  serious  inducement  of  that  nature.  But  I  want  a  book  to 
tell  her,  for  instance,  how  a  bee  buzzes  ;  and  how,  and  by 
what  instrumental  touch,  its  angry  buzz  differs  from  its 
pleased  or  simply  busy  buzz.  *    Nor  have  I  any  objection 

*  I  am  not  sure,  after  all,  that  I  should  like  her  to  know  even  so 
much  as  this.  For  on  enquiring,  myself,  into  the  matter.  I  find  (Or- 
raerod,  quoting"  Dr.  H.  Landois)  that  a  humble  bee  has  drum  in  ita 
stomach,  and  that  one  half  of  this  drum  oan  be  loosened  and  then 
drawn  tight  again,  and  that  the  bee  breathes  through  the  slit  between 


360 


F0R8  CLAVIGEUA. 


to  the  child's  learning,  for  good  and  all,  such  a  dreadful 
word  as  ^proboscis,'  though  I  don't,  myself,  understand  why 
in  the  case  of  a  big  animal,  like  an  elephant,  one  should  be  al- 
lowed, in  short  English,  to  say  that  it  takes  a  bun  with  its 
trunk  ;  and  yet  be  required  to  state  always,  with  severe  ac- 
curacy, that  a  bee  gathers  honey  with  its  proboscis.  What- 
ever we  were  allowed  to  call  it,  however,  our  bee-book  must 
assuredly  tell  Agnes  and  me,  what  at  present  I  believe  neither 
of  us  know, — certainly  I  don't,  myself, — how  the  bee's  feed- 
ing instrument  differs  from  its  building  one,  and  what  either 
may  be  like. 

I  pause,  here,  to  think  over  and  put  together  the  little  I  do 
know  ;  and  consider  how  it  should  be  told  Agnes.  For  to 
my  own  mind,  it  occurs  in  a  somewhat  grotesque  series  of 
imagery,  with  which  I  would  not,  if  possible,  infect  hers. 
The  difference,  for  instance,  in  the  way  of  proboscis,  between 
the  eminent  nose  of  an  elephant,  and  the  not  easily  treaceable 
nose  of  a  bird  :  the  humorous,  and,  it  seems  to  me,  even 
slightly  mocking  and  cruel  contrivance  of  the  Forming  Spirit, 
that  we  shall  always,  unless  we  very  carefully  mind  what  we 
are  about,  think  that  a  bird's  beak  is  its  nose  : — the,  to  me, 
as  an  epicure,  greatly  disturbing,  question,  how  much,  when 
I  see  that  a  bird  likes  anything,  it  likes  it  at  the  tip  of  its  bill, 
or  somewhere  inside.  Then  I  wonder  why  elephants  don't 
build  houses  with  their  noses,  as  birds  build  nests  with  their 
faces  ; — then,  I  wonder  what  elephants'  and  mares'  nests  are 
like,  when  they  haven't  got  stables,  or  dens  in  menageries  : 
finally,  I  think  I  had  better  stop  thinking,  and  find  out  a  fact 
or  two,  \i  I  can,  from  any  books  in  my  possession,  about  the 
working  tools  of  the  bee. 

And  I  will  look  first  whether  there  is  any  available  account 

the  loose  half  and  tight  half ;  and  that  in  this  slit  there  is  a  little  comb, 
and  on  this  comb  the  humble  bee  plays  while  it  breathes,  as  on  a  Jew's- 
harp,  and  can't  help  it.  But  a  honey  bee  hums  with  its  '^thoracic  spir- 
acles," not  with  its  stomach.  On  the  whole — I  don't  think  I  shall  tell 
Agnes  anything  about  all  this.  She  may  get  through  her  own  life,  per- 
haps, just  as  well  without  ever  knowing  that  there's  any  such  thing  as  a 
thorax,  or  a  spiracle. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


3C1 


of  these  matters  in  a  book  which  I  once  all  but  knew  by  heart, 
£ingley^fi  Animal  Biography^  which,  though  it  taught  ina 
little,  made  me  desire  to  know  more,  and  neither  fatigued  my 
mind  nor  polluted  it,  whereas  most  modern  books  on  natural 
history  only  cease  to  be  tiresome  by  becoming  loathsome. 

Yes, — I  thought  I  had  read  it,  and  known  it,  once.  "  They 
(the  worker  bees)  "are  so  eager  to  afford  mutual  assistance'* 
(bestial,  as  distinct  from  human  competition,  you  observe), 
"and  for  this  purpose  so  many  of  them  crowd  together,  that 
their  individual  operations  can  scarcely  be  distinctly  ob- 
served." (If  I  re-write  this  for  Agnes,  that  last  sentence 
shall  stand  thus  :  '  that  it  is  difficult  to  see  what  any  one  is 
doing.')  "  It  has,  however,  been  discovered  that  their  two 
jaws  are  the  only  instruments  they  employ  in  modelling  and 
polishing  the  wax.  With  a  little  patience  we  perceive  cells 
just  begun,  we  likewise  remark  the  quickness  with  which  a 
bee  moves  its  teeth  against  a  small  portion  of  the  cell  ;  this 
portion  the  animal,  by  repeated  strokes  on  each  side,  smooths, 
renders  compact,  and  reduces  to  a  proper  thinness." 

Here  I  pause  again, — ever  so  many  questions  occurring  to 
me  at  once, — and  of  which,  if  Agnes  is  a  thoughtful  child, 
and  not  frightened  from  asking  what  she  wants  to  know,  by 
teachers  who  have  been  afraid  they  wouldn't  be  able  to  an- 
swer, she  may,  it  is  probable,  put  one  or  two  herself.  What 
are  a  bee's  teeth  like  ?  are  they  white,  or  black  ?  do  they  ever 
ache?  can  it  bite  hard  with  them?  has  it  got  anything  to 
bite  ?  Not  only  do  I  find  no  satisfaction  in  Mr.  Bingley 
as  to  these  matters  ;  but  in  a  grand,  close-printed  epitome 
of  entomology*  lately  published  simultaneously  in  London, 
Paris,  and  New  York,  and  which  has  made  me  sick  with  dis- 
gust by  its  descriptions,  at  every  other  leaf  I  opened,  of  all 
that  is  horrible  in  insect  life,  I  find,  out  of  five  hundred  and 
seventy-nine  figures,  not  one  of  a  bee's  teeth,  the  chief  archi- 
tectural instrument  of  the  insect  world.  And  I  am  the  more 
provoked  and  plagued  by  this,  because,  my  brains  being,  as 
all  the  rest  of  me,  desultory  and  ill  under  control,  I  get  into 
another  fit  of  thinking  what  a  bee's  lips  can  be  like,  and  of 
♦  TJi6  Insect  World.   CasseU  &  Galpin. 


S62 


FOBS  OLAYIOEEA. 


wondering  why  whole  meadows-fall  of  flowers  are  called 
cows'  lips  "  and  none  called  *'bees*  lips."  And  finding 
presently,  in  Cassell  and  Galpin,  something  really  interesting 
about  bees'  tongues,  and  that  they  don't  suck,  but  lick  up, 
honey,  I  go  on  wondering  how  soon  we  shall  have  a  scientific 
Shakespeare  printed  for  the  use  of  schools,  with  Ariel's  song 
altered  into 

'  Where  the  bee  licks,  there  lurk  I,' 

and  "  the  singing  masons  building  roofs  of  gold,"  explained 
to  be  merely  automatic  arrangements  of  lively  viscera. 

Shaking  myself  at  last  together  again,  I  refer  to  a  really 
valuable  book — Dr.  Latham  Ormerod's  History  of  Wasj^s : 
— of  which,'  if  I  could  cancel  all  the  parts  that  interest  the 
Doctor  himself,  and  keep  only  those  which  interest  Agnes 
and  me,  and  the  pictures  of  wasps  at  the  end, — T  would 
make  it  a  standard  book  in  St.  George's  library,  even  placing 
it  in  some  proper  subordinate  relation  to  the  Fourth  Georgic  : 
but  as  it  is,  I  open  in  every  other  page  on  something  about 
'  organs,'  a  word  with  which  I  do  not  care  for  Agnes's  associ- 
ating any  ideas,  at  present,  but  those  of  a  Savoyard  and  his 
monkey. 

However,  I  find  here,  indeed,  a  diagram  of  a  wasp's  mouth  ; 
but  as  it  only  looks  like  what  remains  of  a  spider  after  being 
trodden  on,  and,  as  I  find  that  this  "  mandibulate  form  of 
mouth  "  consists  of 

a,  the  labium,  with  the  two  labial  palpi  ; 

b,  the  maxilla,  whose  basilar  portions  bear  at  one  end 
the  cardo,  at  the  other  the  hairy  galea  and  the  max- 
illary palpus  ; 

c,  the  labrum,  and      the  mandible," 

Agnes  and  I  perceive  that  for  the  present  there  is  an  end  of 
the  matter  for  us  ;  and  retreat  to  our  Bingley,  there  to  con- 
sole ourselves  with  hearing  how  Mr.  Wildman,  whose  re- 
marks on  the  management  of  bees  are  well  known,  possessed 
a  secret  by  which  he  could  at  any  time  cause  a  hive  of 
bees  to  swarm  upon  his  head,  shoulders,  or  body,  in  a  most 
surprising  manner.    He  has  been  seen  to  drink  a  glass  of 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


363 


wine,  having  at  the  same  time  the  bees  all  over  his  head  and 
face  more  than  an  inch  deep  :  several  fell  into  the  glass,  but 
they  did  not  sting  him.  He  could  even  act  the  part  of  a 
general  with  them,  by  marshalling  them  in  battle  array  upon 
a  large  table.  There  he  divided  them  into  regiments,  battal- 
ions, and  companies,  according  to  military  discipline,  waiting 
only  for  his  word  of  command.  The  moment  he  uttered  the 
word  '  march  ! '  they  began  to  march  in  a  regular  manner, 
like  soldiers.  To  these  insects  he  also  taught  so  much  polite- 
ness, that  they  never  attempted  to  sting  any  of  the  numer- 
ous company." 

Agnes,  on  reading  this,  is  sure  to  ask  me  '  how  he  taught 
them  ?'  Which  is  just  what,  as  a  student  of  new  methods  of 
education,  I  should  like  to  know  myself  ;  and  not  a  word  is 
said  on  the  matter  :  and  we  are  presently  pushed  on  into  the 
history  of  the  larger  animal  which  I  call  a  humble,  but 
Agnes,  a  bumble,  bee.  Not,  how^ever,  clearly  knowing  my- 
self either  what  the  ways  of  this  kind  are,  or  why  they  should 
be  called  humble,  when  I  always  find  them  at  the  top  of  a 
thistle  rather  than  the  bottom,  I  spend  half  my  morning  in 
hunting  through  my  scientific  books  for  information  on  this 
matter,  and  find  whole  pages  of  discussion  whether  the 
orange-tailed  bee  is  the  same  as  the  white-tailed  bee,  but 
nothing  about  why  either  should  be  called  humble  or  bum- 
ble : — at  last  I  bethink  me  of  the  great  despiser  of  natural 
history  ;  and  find  that  stout  Samuel,  with  liis  good  editor 
Mr.  Todd,  have  given  me  all  I  want  ;  but  there  is  far  more 
and  better  authority  for  *  bumble  '  than  I  thou^-lit.  IIow- 
ever; — this  first  ffuess  of  Johnson's  own  assuredly  touches 
one  popular,  though  it  appears  mistaken  reason  for  the 
Shakespearian  form.  The  humble  bee  is  known  to  have  no 
stino\  The  Scotch  call  a  cow  without  horns  a  *  humble  cow.' " 
But  truly,  I  have  never  myself  yet  had  clear  faith  enough  in 
that  absence  of  sting  to  catch  a  humble  bee  in  my  fingers  ;  * 

*  Alas,  that  incredulity,  the  least  amiable  of  the  virtues,  should  often 
be  the  moat  serviceable  !  Here  is  a  pleasant  little  passage  to  fall  iD 
with,  after  Dr.  Johnson's  *'it  is  well  known''  !  I  find  it  in  Ormerod, 
discubsing  the  relative  tenability  of  insects  between  the  fiugcrs,  foJ 


364 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


only  I  suppose  Bottom  would  have  warned  Cobweb  against 
that  danger,  if  there  had  been  such,  as  well  as  against  being 
overflown  with  the  honey  bag.*  Red-hipped,  Bottom  calls 
them  ;  and  yet  I  find  nothing  about  their  red  hips  anywhere 
in  my  books. 

We  have  not  done  with  the  name  yet,  however.  It  is 
from  the  Teutonic  *  hommolen,'  bombum  edere  :  (in  good 
time,  some  years  hence,  Agnes  shall  know  what  Teutons  are, 
— what  bombs  are, — shall  read  my  great  passage  in  Unto 
this  Last  about  bombshells  and  peaches  ;  and  shall  know 
how  distinct  the  Latin  root  of  Edition  and  Editor  is  from 
that  of  Edification). 

Next, — Chaucer,  however,  uses  'humbling'  in  the  sense 
of  humming  or  muttering  :  like  to  the  humblinge  after  the 
clap  of  a  thunderinge."  So  that  one  might  classically  say — 
a  busy'  bee  hums  and  a  lazy  bee  humbles  ;  only  we  can't 
quite  rest  even  in  this  ;  for  under  Bumble-bee,  in  Johnson, 
I  find  a  quantity  of  other  quotations  and  branched  words, 
going  off  into  silk  and  bombazine  ; — of  which  I  shall  onlj 
ask  Agnes  to  remember — 

The  Bittern,  with  his  bump, 
The  crane,  with  his  trump, 

and  Chaucer's  single  line 

And  as  a  bytorne  bumblith  in  the  myre. 

This,  however,  she  should  write  out  carefully,  letter  by 
letter,  as  soon  as  she  had  learned  to  write  ;  and  know,  at 
least,  that  the  image  was  used  of  a  wife  telling  her  husband's 
faults — and,  in  good  time,  the  whole  story  of  Midas.  Mean- 
while, we  remain  satisfied  to  teach  her  to  call  her  large  brown 
friends,  humble  bees,  because  Shakespeare  does,  which  is 
reason  enough  :  and  then  the  next  thing  I  want  to  know, 
and  tell  her,  is  why  they  are  so  fond  of  thistles.    Before  she 

the  study  of  their  voices.       Wasps  are  obviously  ill  fitted  for  this  pur- 
pose, and  humble  bees  are  no  better  ;  they  are  so  strong  and  so  slip- 
pery that  they  need  all  our  attention  to  prevent  their  putting  their 
long  stings  through  our  gloves  while  we  are  examining  them." 
*  Foolish  of  me  ;  a  cobweb  may  be  overflown,  but  cannot  be  stung. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


365 


can  know  this,  I  must  be  able  to  draw  a  thistle-blossom 
rightly  for  her  ;  and  as  my  botany  has  stood  fast  for  some 
3'ears  at  the  point  where  I  broke  down  in  trying  to  draw 
the  separate  tubes  of  thistle-blossom,  I  can't  say  any  more 
on  that  point  to-day  :  but,  going  on  with  my  Bingley,  I  find 
four  more  species  of  bees  named,  which  I  should  like  to  tell 
Agnes  all  I  could  about  :  namely,  the  Mason  Bee  ;  the 
Wood-piercing  Bee  ;  and  the  one  which  Bingley  calls  the 
Garden  Bee  ;  but  which,  as  most  bees  are  to  be  found  in 
gardens,  I  shall  myself  call  the  Wool-gathering  Bee  ;  the 
Leaf-cutting  Bee. 

1.  The  mason  bee,  it  appears,  builds  her  nest  of  sand, 
which  she  chooses  carefully  grain  by  grain  ;  then  sticks,  with 
bee-glue,  as  many  grains  together  as  she  can  carry,  (like  the 
blocks  of  brick  we  see  our  builders  prepare  for  circular 
drains) — and  builds  her  nest  like  a  swallow*s,  in  any  angle 
on  the  south  side  of  a  wall  ;  only  with  a  number  of  cells 
inside,  like — a  monastery,  shall  we  say, — each  cell  being 
about  the  size  of  a  thimble.  But  these  cells  are  not,  like 
hive  bees',  regularly  placed,  but  anyhow — the  holes  between 
filled  up  witli  solid  block  building  ; — and  this  disorder  in  the 
architecture  of  mason  bees  seems  to  be  connected  with  moral 
disorder  in  their  life  ;  for,  instead  of  being  *  so  eager  to  afford 
mutual  assistance '  that  one  can't  see  what  each  is  doing, 
these  mason  bees,  if  they  can,  steal  each  other's  nests,  just 
like  human  beings,  and  fight,  positively  like  Christians. 
"  Sometimes  the  two  bees  fly  with  such  rapidity  and  force 
against  each  other  that  both  fall  to  the  ground  "  ;  and  the 
way  their  cells  are  built — back  of  one  to  side  of  the  other, 
and  so  on,  is  just  like  what  a  friend  was  telling  me  only  the 
day  before  yesterday  of  the  new  cottages  built  by  a  specu- 
lative builder,  who  failed  just  afterwards,  on  some  lots  of 
land  which  a  Lord  of  the  Manor,  near  my  friend,  had  just 
stolen  from  the  public  common  and  sold. 

2.  The  wood-piercing  bee  cuts  out  her  nest  in  decayed 
wood  ;  the  nest  being  a  hollow  pipe  like  a  chimney,  or  a 
group  of  such  pipes,  each  divided  by  regular  floors,  into  cells 
for  the  children  ;  one  egg  is  put  in  each  cell,  and  the  cell 


366 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


filled  with  a  paste  made  of  the  farina  of  flowers  mixed  with 
honey,  for  the  young  bee  to  eat  when  it  is  hatched.  Now 
this  carpentering  work,  I  find,  is  done  wholly  by  the  wood- 
piercing  bees'  strong  jaws  ;  but  here  again  is  no  picture  of 
her  jaws,  or  the  teeth  in  them  ;  though  the  little  heaps  of 
sawdust  outside  where  she  is  working  "  are  of  grains  nearly 
as  large  as  those  produced  by  a  handsaw  "  ;  and  she  has  to 
make  her  floors  of  these  grains,  by  gluing  them  in  successive 
rings,  from  the  outside  of  her  cell  to  the  centre.  Yes  ;  that's 
all  very  well  ;  but  then  I  want  to  know  if  she  cuts  the  bits 
of  any  particular  shape,  as,  suppose,  in  flattish  pieces  like 
tiles,  and  if  then  she  glues  these  sideways  or  edgeways  in 
their  successive  rings. 

But  here  is  the  prettiest  thing  of  all  in  her  work.  It  takes, 
of  course,  a  certain  time  to  collect  the  farina  with  which 
each  cell  is  filled,  and  to  build  the  floor  between  it  and  the 
nest  ;  so  that  the  baby  in  the  room  at  the  bottom  of  the  pipe 
will  be  born  a  day  or  two  before  the  baby  next  above,  and 
be  ready  to  come  out  first  ;  and  if  it  made  its  way  upwards, 
would  disturb  the  next  baby  too  soon.  So  the  mother  puts 
them  all  upside  down,  with  their  feet — their  tails,  I  should 
say — uppermost  ;  and  then  when  she  has  finished  her  whole 
nest,  to  the  last  cell  at  the  top,  she  goes  and  cuts  a  way  at 
the  bottom  of  it,  for  the  oldest  of  the  family  to  make  her 
way  out,  as  she  naturally  will,  head-foremost,  and  so  cause 
the  others  no  discomfort  by  right  of  primogeniture. 

3.  The  wool-gathering  bee  is  described  by  White  of  Sel- 
borne,  as  "frequenting  the  Garden  Campion,  for  the  sake 
of  its  Tomentum.*'  I  lose  half  an  hour  in  trying  to  find  out 
the  Garden  Campion  among  the  thirty-two  volumes  of  old 
Sowerby  :  I  find  nothing  but  the  sort  of  white  catchfly  things 
that  grow  out  of  hollow  globes,  (which  Mary  of  the  Gies- 
bach,  by  the  way,  spoken  of  in  a  former  letter,  first  taught 
me  to  make  pops  with).  I  vainly  try  to  find  out  what  Cam- 
pion means."  Johnson  fails  me  this  time.  "Campion,  the 
name  of  a  plant."  I  conjecture  it  must  be  simple  for  cham- 
pion, "keeper  of  the  field," — and  let  that  pass;  but  lose 
myself  again  presently  in  the  derivation  of  Tomentum,  and 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


367 


its  relation  to  Tom,  in  the  sense  of  a  volume.  Getting  back 
out  of  all  that,  rather  tired,  I  find  at  last  in  Bingley  that  the 
Garden  Campion  is  Agrostemma  Coronaria  of  Linnaeus  ;  and 
I  look  in  my  Linnasus,  and  find  it  described  as  tomentosum  ; 
and  then  I  try  my  two  Sowerbys,  ancient  and  modern, 
where  I  find  nothing  under  Agrostemma  but  the  corn-cockle^ 
and  so  have  to  give  in  at  last  ;  but  I  can  tell  Agnes,  at  least, 
that  there's  some  sort  of  pink  which  has  a  downy  stem,  and 
there's  some  sort  of  bee  which  strips  off  the  down  from  the 
stalk  of  this  pink,  "  running  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  a 
branch,  and  shaving  it  bare  with  all  the  dexterity  of  a  hoop- 
shaver." 

Hoop-shaver?  but  I  never  saw  so  much  as  a  hoop-shaver  I 
Must  see  one  on  the  first  chance,  only  I  suppose  they  make 
hoops  by  steam  now. 

When  it  has  got  a  bundle  almost  as  large  as  itself  it  flies 
away,  holding  it  secure  between  its  chin  and  forelegs." 

Chin  ? — what  is  a  bee*s  chin  like  ? 

Then  comes  a  story  about  a  knight's  finding  the  key 
wouldn't  turn  in  the  lock  of  his  garden  gate  ;  and  there 
being  a  wool-gathering  bee's  nest  inside  :  and  it  seems  she 
makes  her  cells  or  thimbles  of  this  w^ool,  but  does  not  fill 
them  with  honey  inside  ;  so  that  I  am  in  doubt  whether  the 
early  life  of  the  young  bees  who  live  in  wood,  and  have 
plenty  to  eat,  be  not  more  enviable  than  the  lot  of  those  who 
live  in  wool  and  have  no  larders.  I  can't  find  any  more  about 
the  wool-gatherer  ;  and  the  fourth  kind  of  bee,  most  inter- 
esting of  all,  must  wait  till  next  7"o;V  time,  for  there's  a 
great  deal  to  be  learnt  about  her. 

^  And  what  of  the  St.  George's  Company  meanwhile  '  ? 

Well,  if  I  cannot  show  it  some  better  method  of  teaching 
Diatural  history  than  has  been  fallen  upon  by  our  recent  Doc- 
tors, we  need  not  begin  our  work  at  all.  We  cannot  live  in 
the  country  without  hunting  atiimals,  or  shooting  them,  un- 
less we  learn  how  to  look  at  them. 


568 


FOBS  C.LAVIGEBA. 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


*'The  Parsonage,  Wekrington,  Peterborough,  Feb.  12th^  1875. 

*'  My  dear  Sir, — In  your  Fora  published  last  month  you  have 
charged  the  Pastors,  and  especially  the  Chief  Pastors  of  our  Church, 
with  *  preaching  a  false  gospel  for  hire,*  and  thus  becoming  responsible 
for  the  hideous  immorality  which  prevails. 

It  is  very  painful  to  be  told  this  by  you^  of  whom  some  of  us  have 
learned  so  much. 

I  have  been  reading  your  words  to  my  conscience,  but — is  it  my  un- 
conscious hypocrisy,  my  self-conceit,  or  my  sentiment  overpowering  in- 
tellect which  hinders  me  from  hearing  the  word  '  Guilty '  V 

The  gospel  I  endeavour  with  all  my  might  to  preach  and  embody  is 
this — Believe  on,  be  persuaded  by,  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ;  let  His 
life  rule  your  lives,  and  you  shall  be  '  safe  and  sound '  now  and 
everlastingly. 

Is  this  '  a  false  gospel  preached  for  hire  •  ?  If  not,  what  other  gospel 
do  you  refer  to  ? 

**  I  am  very  faithfully  yours, 
John  Ruskin,  Esq.  Edward  Z.  Lyttel." 

The  gospel  which  my  correspondent  preaches  (or,  at  the  least,  desires 
to  preach) — namely,  '^Let  His  lite  rule  your  lives,"  is  eternally  true 
and  salutary.  The  other  gospel  which  I  refer  to  "  is  the  far  more 
widely  preached  one,  **  Let  His  life  be  in  the  stead  of  your  lives," 
which  is  eternally  false  and  damnatory. 

The  rest  of  my  correspondent's  letter  needs,  I  think,  no  other  reply 
than  the  expression  of  my  regret  that  a  man  of  his  amiable  character 
should  be  entangled  in  a  profession,  respecting  which  the  subtle  ques- 
tions of  conscience  which  he  proposes  can  be  answered  by  none  but 
himself  ;  nor  by  Limself  with  security. 

I  do  not  know  if,  in  modern  schools  of  literature,  the  name  of  Henry 
Fielding  is  ever  mentioned  ;  but  it  was  of  repute  in  my  early  days,  and 
I  think  it  right,  during  the  discussion  of  the  subjects  to  which  Fars  is  now 
approaching,  to  refer  ray  readers  to  a  work  of  his  which  gives  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  types  I  know  of  the  character  of  English  clergymen, 
(the  Vicai'  of  Wakefield  not  excepted).    His  hero  is  thus  introduced  : 

He  was  a  perfect  master  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  languages,  to  which 
he  added  a  great  share  of  knowledge  in  the  Oriental  tongues,  and  could 
read  and  translate  French,  Italian,  and  Spanish.    He  had  applied 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


3G9 


many  years  to  fche  most  severe  study,  and  had  treasured  up  a  fund  of 
learning  rarely  to  be  met  with  in  a  university.  *  He  was  besides  a  man 
of  good  sense,  good  parts,  and  good- nature  ; — his  virtue,  acd  his  other 
qualifications,  as  they  rendered  him  equal  to  his  ofl&ce,  so  they  made 
him  an  agreeable  and  valuable  companion,  and  had  so  much  endeared 
and  well  recommended  him  to  a  Bishop,  that,  at  the  age  of  fiCty,  he  was 
provided  with  a  handsome  income  of  twenty-three  pounds  a  year, 
which,  however,  he  could  not  make  any  great  figure  with  ;  because  he 
lived  in  a  dear  country,  and  was  a  little  encumbered  with  a  wife  and 
six  children." 

Of  course,  in  our  present  estimate  of  the  good  Bishop's  benevolence, 
we  must  allow  for  the  greater  value  of  money  in  those  times ; — never- 
theless, it  was  even  then  to  be  obtained  in  considerable  sums,  as  it  is 
now,  by  persons  who  knew  the  right  channels  and  proper  methods  of 
its  accumulation,  as  our  author  immediately  afterwards  shows  us  by 
the  following  account  of  part  of  the  economy  of  an  English  gentleman's 
estate : — 

**  Joseph  had  nob  quite  finished  his  letter  when  he  was  summoned 
downstriirs  by  Mr.  Peter  Pounce  to  receive  his  wages  ;  for,  besides  that 
out  of  eight  pounds  a  year,  he  allowed  his  father  and  mother  lour,  he 
h;id  been  obliged,  in  order  to  furnish  himself  with  musical  instruments," 
(Mr.  Fielding  countenances  my  own  romantic  views  respecting  the 
propriety  of  the  study  of  music  even  by  the  lower  classes,  and  entirely 
approves  of  these  apparently  extravagant  purchases,)  *' to  apply  to  the 
generosity  of  the  aforesaid  Peter,  who  on  urgent  occasions  used  to  ad- 
vance the  servants  their  wages,  not  before  they  were  due,  but  before  they 
were  payable, — that  is,  perhaps  half  a  year  after  they  were  due;  and 
this  at  the  moderate  premium  of  fifty  per  cent.,  or  a  little  more;  by 
which  charitable  metliods,  together  with  lending  money  to  other  peo- 
ple, and  even  to  his  own  master  and  mistress,  the  houest  man  had, 
from  nothing,  in  a  few  yoars  amassed  a  small  sum  of  twenty  thousau(] 
pounds  or  thereabouts." 

Of  the  character  of  the  modem  English  country  clergyman,  from  my 
own  personal  knowledge,  I  could  give  pome  examples  quite  deserving 
place  with  the  Fielding  and  Goldsmith  type  ; — but  these  have  influence 
only  in  their  own  villages,  and  are  daily  diminishing  in  number  ;  while 
another  type,  entirely  modern,  is  taking  their  place,  of  which  some 
curious  illustration  has  been  furnished  me  by  the  third  Fors  as  I  was 
looking  over  the  Christmas  hooks  of  last  year  to  see  if  I  could  find  a 
prize  or  two  for  Agnes  and  some  other  of  my  younger  cottage  friends. 
Among  them,  I  get  two  books  on  natural  history,  by  a  country  clergy- 
man, who  takes  his  children  out  on  beach  and  moorland  expeditions, 
and  puts  a  charming  portrait  of  himself,  in  his  best  coat,  and  most  ele- 

*  HiB  deljate  with  Barnabat;,  on  the  occasion  of  the  latter'e  visit  to  the  wounded  Joseph/ 
thrown  some  clear  light  on  th^»  questions  o^tened  iu  Mr.  Lyttcrs  letter 

Vol.  II. -24 


370 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


gant  attitude  of  iDstruction,  for  the  frontispiece.  His  little  daughtel 
has  been  taught  to  express  herself  in  such  terms  as  the  following  : 

(Of  a  jelly-fish.)  "  Let  me  look.  If  you  hold  it  up  to  the  light,  you 
see  it  is  nearly  transparent,  and  the  surface  is  marked  with  numerous 
angular  spaces." 

(Of  a  sand -worm.)  "  Oh— in  this  respect  the  little  Pectinaria  resem- 
bles the  fresh-water  Melicerfca  we  find  abundantly  on  the  weeds  in  the 
canal  at  home.'' 

(Of  a  sea-mouse.)  '^Oh,  papa,  I  do  think  here  is  a  sea- mouse  lying 
on  the  shore.    Bah  !  I  don't  much  like  to  touch  it." 

The  childish  simplicity  and  ladylike  grace  of  these  expressions  need 
no  comment ;  but  the  clergyman's  education  of  his  children  in  gentleness 
is  the  point  peculiarly  striking  to  me  in  the  books ;  collated  with  my  own 
experience  in  the  case  of  the  boy  and  the  squirrel.  The  following  two 
extracts  are  sufiBciently  illustrative  : — 

^  Well,  papa,'  said  Jack,  *I  am  tired  of  sitting  here  ;  let  us  now  go 
and  hunt  for  peewit  s  eggs.'  *  All  right,  Jack,  and  if  you  find  any  you 
shall  each  have  one  for  your  breakfast  in  the  morning.  When  hard- 
boiled  and  cold,  a  peewit's  egg  is  a  very  delicious  thing,  though  I  think 
the  peewits  are  such  valuable  birds,  and  do  so  much  good,  that  I  should 
not  like  to  take  many  of  their  eggs.  We  had  better  separate  from  each 
other,  so  as  to  have  abetter  chance  of  finding  a  nest.'  Soon  we  hear 
a  shout  from  Willy,  whose  sharp  eyes  had  discovered  a  nest  with  four 
eggs  in  it;  so  off  we  all  scamper  to  him.  See  how  the  old  bird 
screams  and  flaps,  aud  how  near  she  comes  to  us ;  she  knows  we  have 
found  her  eggs,  and  wishes  to  lure  us  away  from  the  spot;  so  she  pre- 
tends she  has  been  wounded,  and  tries  to  make  us  follow  after  her. 

*  Now,  Jack,  run  and  catch  her.  Hah  !  hah  !  There  they  go.  I  will 
back  the  peewit  against  the  boy.  So  you  have  given  up  the  chase,  have 
you?    Well,  rest  again,  and  take  breath.'  " 

*  Well,  Mr.  Parry  Evans,  how  many  salmon  have  you  counted  in 
the  pool  ?  '  *  There  are  seven  or  eight  good  fish  in,  sir,  this  time  ;  and 
one  or  two  will  be  ten  or  eleven  pounds  each.'    Look  at  the  dog 

*  Jack  ;  he  is  evidently  getting  a  little  impatient,  as  he  sees  in  the  re- 
tiring water  of  the  pool  every  now  and  then  a  salmon  darting  along. 
And  now  Mr.  Evans  takes  the  silver  collar  off,  and  sets  ^  Jack'  free  ; 
and  in  a  second  he  is  in  the  middle  of  the  pool.  Now  for  the  fun  ! 
Willy  and  Jack  *  tuck  up  their  trousers,  take  off  their  shoes  and  stock- 
ino^s,  and  with  nets  in  their  hands  enter  the  water.  Bah  !  it  is  rather 
cold  at  first,  but  the  excitement  soon  warms  them.  There  goes  a 
salmon,  full  tilt,  and  '  Jack  '  after  him.  What  a  splashing  in  the 
water,  to  be  sure !    There  is  another  dog  learning  the  trade,  and 

*  Jack'  is  his  tutor  in  the  art;  he  is  a  brown  retriever,  and  dashes 
about  the  water  after  the  salmon  as  if  he  enjoyed  the  fun  immensely, 
but  he  has  not  yet  learned  how  to  catch  a  slippery  fish.  There ! 
there  !  see  !  see  !  good  dog ;  now  you  have  him  !  No  !  off  again ; 
well  done,  salmon  !    Now  dog  !  have  at  him! 

*  Some  ambiguity  is  caused  in  this  pasnace  by  the  chance  of  both  dog  and  boy  having 
the  game  name,  as  well  a^  the  same  inBtiucts. 


FOBS  OLA  VIGEHA, 


371 


How  immensely  rapid  is  the  motion  of  a  frightened  salmon ! 
*  Quick  as  au  arrow'  is  hardly  a  figure  of  speech.  Bravo,  'Jack,' 
bravo !  Do  you  see  V  He  has  caught  the  salmon  firmly  by  the  head. 
Good  dog !  Mr.  Parry  Evans  is  immediately  on  the  spot,  and  takes 
the  fish  from  old  'Jack,'  whom  he  kindly  pats  on  the  back,  holds  the 
salmon  aloft  for  us  all  to  see.  and  consigns  him  to  the  basket  which  his 
man  is  guarding  on  the  shore.  See,  see,  again  !  off  they  go,  dogs  and 
men,  and  soon  another  salmon  is  captured  ;  and  there  is  lots  or  fun, 
meanwhile,  in  catching  the  mackerel  and  garfish.  Well,  the  sport  of 
catching  the  various  fish  in  the  pool — there  were  nine  salmon,  averag- 
ing about  five  pounds  each — lasted  about  half  an  hour.  'Jack'  be- 
haved admirably  ;  it  was  wonderful  to  see  his  skill  in  the  pursuit ;  he 
generally  caught  hold  of  the  salmon  by  the  head,  on  which  he  gave  one 
strong  bite,  and  the  fish  wa«  rendered  helpless  almost  instantaneously. 
Sometimes  he  would  catch  hold  of  the  back  fin.  When  the  sport  was 
finished,  we  went  to  survey  the  spoils;  and  a  nice  'kettle  of  fish* 
there  was.  I  bought  one  salmon  and  the  gurnard  ;  the  rest  were  soon 
disposed  of  by  Mr.  Evans  to  his  numerous  visitors,  all  of  whom  were 
much  pleased  with  the  sport.  But  wait  a  little  ;  some  of  the  fish  lie 
on  the  sand,  i  will  look  for  parasites.  Here,  on  thisealraon,  is  a  curi- 
ous parasite,  with  a  body  an  inch  long,  and  with  two  long  tail-like  pro- 
jections three  timos  the  length  of  the  creature  itself.  It  ia  a  crustacean, 
and  related  to  the  AryiUm  foliaceas/' 

The  reverend  and  learned  author  will  perhaps  be  surprised  to  hear 
that  the  principal  effect  of  these  lively  passiigea  on  me  has  been  nlightly 
to  diminish  my  appetite  for  salmon,  no  less  than  for  sea-side  recrea- 
tions. I  think  I  would  rather  attend  my  pious  instructor,  in  discourse 
on  the  natural  history  of  the  Land.  I  get  his  Country  Walks  of  a 
Naturalist^  therefore,  in  which  I  find  a  graceful  preface,  thanking  Mr. 
Gould  for  permii-sion  to  copy  his  Binls  of  England;  and  two  very 
gummy  and  shiny  copies  (so-called)  adorning  the  volunio. 

Now  there  was  boundless  choice  for  the  pleasing  of  children  in 
Gould's  marvellous  plates.  To  begin  with,  the  common  sparrow's 
nest,  in  the  ivy,  with  the  hen  sitting: 

The  sparrow's  dwelling,  which,  hard  by. 
My  sister  Emnieline  and  I 
Together  visited. 

She  looked  at  it  as  if  she  feared  it, — 
Still  wishing,  dretiding  to  be  near  it. 
Such  heart  was  in  her. 

But  the  reverend  naturalist  will  none  of  this.  Sparrows  indeed  I  are 
not  five  sold  for  two  farthings  ?  Shall  any  note  be  taken  of  them  in 
our  modern  enlightened  science  ?  No  ;  nor  yet  of  the  dainty  little 
Bramble  Finch,  couched  in  her  knotty  hollow  of  birch  trunk;  though 
England,  and  mainland  Europe,  and  Asia  Minor,  Persia.  China,  and 
Japan,  all  kaow  the  little  Brambling  ; — and  though  in  the  desolate  .  t 


372 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


gion  of  the  Dovrefeldt,*  too  high  for  the  Chaffinch,  she  decorates  the 
outer  walls  of  her  nest  with  flat  pieces  of  lichen  and  other  materials, — 
though  she  is  attractive  in  her  winter  dress  ;  and  in  her  summer  cos- 
tame,  *'no  pencil  can  do  her  justice,"  clerical  taste  and  propriety  will 
none  of  her  ; — no,  nor  even  of  the  dear  little  fellow  who  looks  so  much 
like  the  properest  of  clergymen  himself,  in  the  sprucest  of  white  ties 
— the  Stone -Chat, — preaching,  or  chattering,  or  chatting,  from  the 
highest  twig  of  his  furze-bush ; — no,  nor  of  the  Fire-crested  Wren, 
poised  on  long  spray  of  larch  with  purple  buds ;  nor  even,  though  she. 
at  least  might,  one  would  have  thought,  have  provided  some  '  fun '  for 
the  ecclesiastical  family,  the  long-tailed  Tit,  or  Bottle-tit,  with  her  own 
impatient  family  of  six  Bottle-tits,  every  one  with  a  black  eye,  as  if  to 
illustrate  the  sympathy  of  their  nature  with  bottle-tits  of  the  human 
species,  and  every  one  with  its  mouth  open  ;  and  the  nest,  of  their 
mother's  exquisite  building,  with  the  pale  sides  of  the  lichens  always 
turned  to  the  light,  and  2,000  feathers  used  in  its  lining,  and  these, 
nothing  to  the  •amount  of  *' invisible  cobwebs*'  taken  to  attach  the 
decorative  pieces  of  lichen  to  the  outside.  All  this  is  contemptible  to 
my  religious  author;  but  he  hunts  Mr.  Gould's  whole  book  through,  to 
find  the  horriblest  creature  in  it — the  Butcher-bird !  transfixing  mice 
on  the  spines  of  the  blackthorn,  and  tearing  their  flesh  from  them  as 
they  hang,  *  invariably  breaking  the  skull,'  with  farther  parental  direc- 
tion of  the  youthful  mind.  Do  you  see  that  great  tit  on  a  branch  of 
this  poplar !  He  is  actually  at  work  doing  a  bit  of  butchering  on  a 
small  warbler.  See  how  he  is  beating  the  poor  little  fellow  about  the 
head  ;  he  wants  to  get  at  his  brains."  This — for  one  of  his  two  plates, 
besides  the  frontispiece,  of  the  back  of  his  own  head  and  its  hat ;  with 
his  two  children  *  wanting  to  get  at' — something  in  his  hand — and  his 
only  remaining  plate  is  of  the  heron,  merely  because  it  is  big  ;  for  his 
miserable  copyist  has  taken  care  to  change  every  curve  of  the  bird's 
neck  and  body,  so  as  to  destroy  every  gracious  character  it  has  in  Mr. 
Gould's  plate,  to  an  extent  so  wonderful  that  I  mean  to  impale  the  two 
together — on  the  stem  of  a  blackthorn— in  my  Oxford  schools. 

I  have  much  to  say,  eventually,  about  this  extraordinary  instinct  for 
the  horrible,  developing  itself  at  present  in  the  English  mind.  The 
deep  root  of  it  is  cruelty,  indulged  habitually  by  the  upper  classes  in 
their  sports,  till  it  has  got  into  the  blood  of  the  whole  nation  ;  then, 
the  destruction  of  beautiful  things,  taking  place  ever  since  the  six- 
teenth century,  and  of  late  ending  in  utter  blackness  of  catastrophe, 
and  ruin  of  all  grace  and  glory  in  the  land;  so  that  sensation  must  be 
got  out  of  death,  or  darkness,  or  f rightfulness ;  else  it  cannot  be  had 

*  I  don't  put  inverted  commas  to  all  Mr.  Gould's  words,  having  necessarily  to  mix  up 
mine  with  them  in  a  patchwork  manner  ;  but  I  don't  know  anything  worth  telling,  what- 
ever, about— so  much  as  a  sparrow,— but  what  he  tells  me. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


373 


at  all- -while  it  is  daily  more  and  more  demanded  by  the  impatient 
cretinism  of  national  dotage. 

And  the  culmination  of  the  black  business  is,  that  the  visible  misery 
drags  and  beguiles,  to  its  help,  all  the  enthusiastic  simplicity  of  the 
religious  young,  and  the  honest  strength  of  the  really  noble  type  of 
English  clergymen  ;  and  swallows  them  as  Charybdis  would  lifeboats. 
Courageous  and  impulsive  men,  with  just  sense  enough  to  make  them 
soundly  practical,  and  therefore  complacent,  in  immediate  business  ; 
but  not  enough  to  enable  them  to  see  what  the  whole  business  comes 
to,  when  done,  are  sure  to  throw  themselves  desperately  into  the  dirty 
work,  and  die  like  lively  moths  in  candle -grease.  Here  is  one  of  them 
at  this  instant — dangerously  ill  of  scarlet  fever,*' — alas!  his  whole 
generous  life  having  been  but  one  fit  of  scarlet  fever ; — and  all  aglow  in 
vain. 

The  London  correspondent  of  the  Brighton  Daily  News  writes  : — 
**0n  Sunday  morning  Mr.  Moncure  Conway,  preaching  his  usual  ser- 
mon in  his  chapel  in  Finsbury,  made  a  strong  attack  upon  the  National 
Church,  but  subsequently  modified  it  so  far  as  to  admit  that  it  was 
possible  for  some  clergymen  of  the  Church  to  be  of  use  in  their  day  and 
generation  ;  and  he  referred  especially  to  the  rector  of  a  neighbouring 
parish,  whom  he  did  not  name,  but  who  was  evidently  Mr.  Septimus 
Hansard,  rector  of  Bethnal-green,  who  is  now  lying  dangerously  ill  of 
scarlet  fever.  This  is  the  third  perilous  illnej-s  he  has  had  since  he  has 
been  in  this  parish;  each  time  it  was  caught  while  visiting  the  sick 
poor.  On  one  occasion  he  fell  down  suddenly  ill  in  his  pulpit.  It  was 
found  that  he  was  suffering  from  Bm;dl-pox,  and  he  at  once  said  that 
he  would  go  to  a  hospital.  A  cab  was  brought  to  take  liim  there,  but 
he  refused  to  enter  it,  lest  he  should  be  the  means  of  infecting  other 
persons;  .and,  a  lie  arse  happening  to  pa<s,  ho  declared  that  he  would 
go  in  that,  and  in  it  he  went  to  the  hospital — a  rare  instance  this  of 
pluck  and  self-devotion.  His  next  illness  was  typhus  fever  ;  and  now, 
as  I  have  said,  he  is  sulTering  from  a  disea.se  more  terrible  still.  Five 
hundred  a  year  and  two  curates  to  pay  out  of  it)  is  scarcely  excessive 
payment  for  such  a  life  as  that." 

For  such  a  life — perhaps  not.  But  such  a  death,  or  even  perpetual 
risk  of  it,  it  appears  to  me,  is  dear  at  the  money. 

But  have  I  counted  the  value  of  the  poor  souls  he  has  saved  in 
Bethnal  ?  " 

No — but  I  am  very  sure  that  while  he  was  saving  one  poor  soul  in 
Bethnal,  he  was  leaving  ten  rich  souls  to  be  damned,  at  Tyburn, — each 
of  which  would  damn  a  thousand  or  two  more  by  their  example — or 
neglect. 

The  above  paragraph  was  sent  me  by  a  friend,  of  whose  accom- 
panying letter  I  venture  to  print  a  part  together  with  it. 

I  send  you  a  cutting  from  a  recent  Times ^  to  show  you  there  are 
eome  faithful  men  left.    I  have  heard  of  this  Mr.  Hansard  before,  and 


S74 


FOBS  GLAVIQERA. 


how  well  he  works.  I  want  to  tell  you,  too,  that  I  am  afraid  the 
coarseness  and  shamelessness  you  write  about,  in  Fors^  is  not  wholly 
caused  by  the  neig-hbourhood  of  large  manufacturing-  towns,  for  in  the 
lonely  villages  I  used  to  kuow  loug  ago,  it  was  exactly  the  same.  I 
don't  mean  that  brutal  crimes,  such  as  you  speak  of,  were  heard  of  or 
even  possible ;  but  the  conversation  of  men  and  women,  working  in  the 
fields  together,  was  f i  equently  such  that  no  young  girl  working  with 
them  could  keep  moiesty.  Nor  if  a  girl  had  what  they  termed  a 
'  misfortune,'  was  she  one  bit  worse  off  for  it.  She  was  just  as  cer- 
tain to  be  married  as  before.  Reform  in  all  these  things — im- 
modest conversation — ought  to  begin  with  women.  If  women  in  cot- 
tages, and  indeed  elsewhere,  were  what  they  ought  to  be,  and  kept  up 
a  high  tone  in  their  households,  their  sons  would  not  dare  to  speak  in 
their  presence  as  I  know  they  often  do,  and  their  daughters  would  feel 
they  fell  away  from  much  more  than  they  do  now,  when  they  go 
wrong.  Men  are.  I  fancy,  very  much  what  women  make  them,  and 
seem  to  like  them  to  be  ;  and  if  women  withdrew  from  those  who  hurt 
their  sense  of  what  is  right,  I  do  believe  they  would  try  to  be  differ- 
ent ;  but  it  seems  very  difficult  to  preserve  a  high  tone  of  maidenly 
dignity  in  poor  girls,  who,  from  youth  up,  hear  every  possible  thing 
usually  left  unspoken  or  freely  discussed  by  fathers  and  mothers  and 
brothers,  and  sometimes  very  evil  deed.-i  treated  as  jests.  This  is  the 
case  painfully  often." 

Though  my  notes,  for  this  month,  far  exceed  their  usual  limits,  I 
cannot  close  them  without  asking  my  readers  to  look  back,  for  some 
relief  of  heart,  to  happier  times.  The  following  piece  of  biography, 
printed  only  for  private  circulation,  is  so  instructive  that  I  trust  the 
friend  who  sent  it  me  will  forgive  my  placing  it  in  broader  view; 
and  the  more  because  in  the  last  section  of  the  Queen  of  the  Air,  my 
readers  will  find  notice  of  this  neglected  power  of  the  tide.  I  had 
imagined  this  an  idea  of  my  own,  and  did  not  press  it, — being  content 
to  press  what  is  already  known  and  practically  proved  to  be  useful ; 
but  the  following  portion  of  a  very  interesting  letter,  and  the  piece  of 
biography  it  introduces,  show  the  tide-mill  to  be  in  this  category : 

*'My  father,  who  began  life  humbly,  dates  the  prosperity  of  his 
family  to  the  time  when — being  the  tenant  of  a  small  tide-mill — he 
laboured  with  spade  and  barrow  (by  consent  of  the  Earl  of  Sheffield)  to 
enclose  an  increased  area — overflowed  by  the  tide — in  order  to  lay 
under  contribution  as  motive  power  this  wasted  energy  of  rising  and 
falling  waters.  He  thereby  nearly  quadrupled  the  power  of  the  mill, 
and  finally  became  its  possessor. " 

*' William  Catt  was  the  son  of  Mr.  John  Catt,  a  Sussex  farmer,  who 
married  the  daughter  of  a  yeoman  named  Willett,  living  on  a  small 
estate  at  Buxted.  He  was  born  in  the  year  1780,  and  soon  after  thiit 
date  his  parents  removed  to  the  Abbey  Farm  at  Robertsbridge.  Tnero 
he  passed  his  early  years,  and  there  obtained  such  education  as  a 
dame*s  school  could  afford.  This  of  course  was  limited  to  very  rudi- 
mentary English.  He  was  not  a  particularly  apt  scholar  :  he  hated  hi,? 
books — but  liked  cricket. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


375 


When  little  more  than  nineteen,  he  married  a  daughter  of  Mr.  Dawes, 
of  Ewhurst.  Farming  in  the  Weald  of  Sussex  was  then,  as  now,  :\ 
laborious  and  unreraunerative  occupation ;  and  as  an  interesting  record 
of  the  habits  of  his  class  at  that  period,  it  may  be  stated,  that  *  on  the 
morning  of  his  nedding-day  he  loent  into  a  uoodwith  his  father'' s  team  for 
a  load  of  hop-poles^  was  after ucard.i  marned  in  a  lohite  *  round-f rocky- 
and  returned  to  his  vsual  work  the  next  morning.  He  commenced  busi- 
ness ?\  Stonehouse,  in  Buxted,  a  farm  of  between  100  and  200  acres. 
Banking  was  in  those  days  in  its  infancy,  and  travelling  notoriously 
unsafe ;  f  so  his  good  and  prudent  mother  sewed  up  beneath  the  lining 
of  his  waistcoat  the  one-pound  note  which  he  carried  from  Roberts- 
bridge  to  Buxted  to  meet  the  valuation  of  his  farm.  When  settled 
in  his  little  homestead,  his  household  arrangements  were  of  the  sim- 
plest kind.  One  boy,  one  girl,  and  one  horse,  formed  his  staff;  yet  he 
throve  and  prospered.  And  no  wonder :  for  hot?i  himself  and  his 
young  icife  often  rose  at  three  in  the  morning;  he  to  thrash  by  candle- 
light  in  his  barn^  she  to  feed  or  prepare  her  poulti*y  for  the  market.  His 
principle  was — '  earn  a  shilling,  and  spend  elevenpence;'  and  hence, 
no  doubt,  his  subsequent  success. 

After  two  years'  farming  he  took  a  small  mill  at  Lamberhurst, 
where  a  journeymau  miller,  Saunders  Ditton,  gave  him  all  the  instruc- 
tion that  he  ever  received  in  the  manufacture  and  business  in  which  he 
was  afterwards  so  extensively  engaged.  Hard  work  was  still  a  neces- 
sity ;  the  mill  by  night,  the  market  and  his  customers  by  day,  de- 
manded all  his  time;  and  on  one  occasion,  overcome  by  cold  and  fa- 
tigue, he  crept  for  warmth  into  his  meal-bin,  where  he  fell  asleep,  and 
would  certainly  have  been  suffocated  but  for  the  timely  arrival  of  Dit- 
ton. This  worthy  man  afterwards  followed  his  master  to  Bishopston, 
and  survived  him — a  pensioner  in  his  old  age. 

At  this  time  the  Bishopston  'i'ide-mills  were  in  the  occupation  of 
Messrs.  Barton  and  Catt.  The  former  ex(;hangod  with  Mr.  Catt,  of 
Lamberhurst,  who  went  into  partnership  with  his  cousin  Edmund. 
The  power  of  the  mill  was  then  only  five  pair  of  stones,  though  he 
ultimately  increased  it  to  sixteen.J  In  this  much  more  important 
sphere  the  same  habits  of  industry  still  marked  his  char.icter,  amidst 
all  disadvantages.  It  was  war-time  ;  corn  was  of  inferior  quality  and 
high  price  ;  and  privateering  ])revented  trading  by  water.  His  cousin 
and  ho  were  not  suited  to  each  other,  and  dissolved  p.irtnership  ;  but, 
by  the  aid  of  a  loan  from  his  worthy  friends  and  neighbours.  Mr. 
Cooper,  of  Norton,  and  Mr.  Faracombe,  of  Bishopston,  he  wjis  enabled 
to  secure  the  whole  of  the  business  to  himself.  Subsequently  Mr. 
Edmund  Cooper,  the  son  of  his  friend,  became  his  partner  in  the  mills, 
and  the  business  was  for  many  years  carried  on  under  the  title  of  Catt 
and  Cooper. 

"  During  this  partnership  a  lease  was  obtained^  from  the  Earl  of  Shef- 
field, of  the  waste  land'^  between  the  Mills  and  Newhacen  harbour.  This 
was  embanked  and  reclaimed  as  arable  land  at  first,  and  subsequently 
partly  used  as  a  reservoir  of  additional  water  power.    Mr.  Catt  took 

♦  Italics  mine  thrcughont. 

t  Now  a  days  the  travelling  Is  of  connse  '  notoriously  safe  '  !  but  what  shall  we  say  of 

the  bankint?  ? 

X  The  oldept  ?(  j/irfmill  on  record  in  this  country  (I  speik  under  correction)  stood  in  thii 
parish,  and  was  given  by  Bishop  Soflfrid  to  the  see  of  Chichepter  about  the  jcai  1199. 
The  largest  tcatermiW  ever  conbtructcd  in  Sussex  was  that  of  Mr.  Catt. 


S76 


FOES  CLAVIGEBA. 


great  interest  in  the  work  ;  laboured  at  it  himself  icitJi  spade  and  har  - 
row ;  and  to  it  he  always  referred  as  the  main  cause  of  his  success  in 
life.  In  the  third  year  a  crop  of  oats  was  grown  on  the  arable  portion, 
which  repaid  the  expenses  of  reclamation  and  ioduced  him  to  increase 
the  power  of  the  mill  as  mentioned  above.  Mr.  Cooper  retired  from 
the  concern  by  agreement,  and  afterwards,  under  the  firm  of  William 
Catt  and  Sons,  in  conjunction  with  his  children,  Mr.  Catt  completed 
fifty  years  of  business  at  Bishopston.  During  a  considerable  portion  of 
those  years  he  had  also  a  large  stake  with  other  sons  in  West  Street 
Brewery,  Brighton. 

His  faithful  wife  died  in  1823,  leaving  him  the  responsible  legacy 
of  eleven  children — the  youngest  being  not  an  hour  old.  This  bereave- 
ment seemed  to  stimulate  him  to  renewed  exertion  and  to  extraordinary 
regard  for  little  savings.  He  wbidd  always  stop  to  pick  up  a  nail  or  any 
scrap  of  old  iron  that  lay  in  the  road^  and  in  the  repeated  enlargements 
and  construction  of  Ms  mills  he  teas  his  own  architect  and  surveyor  ;  he 
was  always  pleased  with  the  acquisition  of  a  bit  of  wreck  timber,  any 
old  materials  from  Blatchington  barracks,  or  from  the  dismantled  man- 
sion of  Bishopston  Place,  formerly  the  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle. 
Yet  he  was  ever  bountiful  as  a  host,  liberal  to  his  neighbours,  and 
charitable  to  his  dependants  and  the  deserving  poor. 

To  a  man  of  Mr.  Catt's  experience  in  life,  ordinary  amusements 
would  have  few  charms.  His  business  was  his  jjleasure,  yet  he 
delighted  in  his  garden,  and  the  culture  of  pears  afl'orded  him  much 
recreation.  A  more  bleak  and  unpromising  place  for  horticulture  than 
the  Bishopston  Mills  could  hardly  exist;  but  by  the  aid  of  good  walls, 
and  the  observation  of  wind  effects,  he  was  eminently  successful,  and 
no  garden  in  Sussex  produced  a  greater  variety,  or  finer  specimens,  of 
that  pleasant  fruit.  His  maxim  on  this  subject  was,  ^Aiin  to  get  a  good 
pear  all  the  year  round.'' 

*'  In  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  Mr.  Catt  retired  from  active  business 
and  resided  at  Newhaven,  where  he  died  in  1853,  in  the  seventy-third 
year  of  his  age,  leaving  behind  him  not  only  the  good  name  which  an 
honourable  life  deserves,  but  a  substantial  fortune  for  his  somewhat 
numerous  descendants." 


irORS  CLAVIGERA. 


LETTER  LIT. 

I  MUST  steadily  do  a  little  bit  more  autobiography  in  every 
Fors,  now,  or  I  shall  never  bring  myself  to  be  of  age  before 
I  die — or  have  to  stop  writing, — for  which  last  turn  of 
temper  or  fortune  my  friends,  without  exception,  (and  I 
hope — one  or  two  of  my  enemies,)  are,  I  find,  praying  with 
what  devotion  is  in  them. 

My  mother  had,  as  she  afterwards  told  me,  solemnly 
devoted  me  to  God  before  I  was  born  ;  in  imitation  of 
Hannah. 

Very  good  women  are  remarkably  apt  to  make  away  with 
their  children  prematurely,  in  this  manner  :  the  real  mean- 
ing of  the  pious  act  being,  that,  as  the  sons  of  Zebedee  are 
not,  (or  at  least  they  hope  not),  to  sit  on  the  right  and  left 
of  Christ,  in  His  kingdom,  their  own  sons  may  perhaps,  they 
think,  in  time  be  advanced  to  that  respectable  position  in 
eternal  life  ;  especially  if  they  ask  Clirist  very  humbly  for  it 
every  day  and  they  always  forget  in  the  most  na'ive  way 
that  the  position  is  not  His  to  give  ! 

^  Devoting  me  to  God,'  meant,  as  far  as  my  mother  knew 
herself  what  she  meant,  that  she  would  trv  to  send  me  to 
college,  and  make  a  clergyman  of  me  :  and  I  was  accord- 
ingly bred  for  'the  Cliurch.'  My  father,  who — rest  be  to 
his  soul — had  the  exceedino-lv  bad  habit  of  vieldinor  to  mv 
mother  in  large  things  and  taking  his  own  way  in  little  ones, 
allowed  me,  without  saying  a  word,  to  be  thus  withdrawn 
from  the  sherry  trade  as  an  unclean  thing  ;  not  without 
some  pardonable  participation  in  my  mother's  ultimate  views 
for  me.  For,  many  and  many  a  year  afterwards,  I  remember, 
while  he  was  speaking  to  one  of  our  artist  friends,  who 
admired  Raphael,  and  greatly  regretted  my  endeavours  to 
interfere  with  that  popular  taste, — while  my  father  and  he 
were  condoling  with  each  other  on  my  having  been  im- 
pudent enough  to  think  I  could  tell  the  public  about  Turner 
and  Raphael, — instead  of  contenting  myself,  as  I  ought,  with 


ST8 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


explaining  tlie  way  of  their  soals'  salvation  to  them — and 
what  an  amiable  clergyman  was  lost  in  me, — Yes,  said  my 
father,  with  tears  in  his  eyes — (true  and  tender  tears — as 
ever  father  shed,)  "  He  would  have  been  a  Bishop." 

Luckily  for  me,  my  mother,  under  these  distinct  impres« 
sions  of  her  own  duty,  and  with  such  latent  hopes  of  my 
future  eminence,  took  me  very  early  to  church  ; — where,  in 
spite  of  my  quiet  habits,  and  my  mother's  golden  vinaigrette, 
iilways  indulged  to  me  there,  and  there  only,  with  its  lid  un- 
clasped that  I  might  see  the  wreathed  open  pattern  above 
the  sponge,  I  found  the  bottom  of  the  pew  so  extremely  dull 
a  place  to  keep  quiet  in,  (my  best  story-books  being  also 
taken  away  from  me  in  the  morning,)  that — as  I  have  some- 
where said  before — the  horror  of  Sunday  used  even  to  cast 
its  prescient  gloom  as  far  back  in  the  week  as  Friday — and 
all  the  glory  of  Monday,  with  church  seven  days  removed 
again,  was  no  equivalent  for  it. 

Notwithstanding,  I  arrived  at  some  abstract  in  my  own 
mind  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Howell's  sermons  ;  and  occasionally — 
in  imitation  of  him,  preached  a  sermon  at  home  over  the  red 
sofa  cushions  ; — this  performance  being  always  called  for  by 
my  mother's  dearest  friends,  as  the  great  accomplishment  of 
my  childhood.  The  sermon  was — I  believe — some  eleven 
words  long  ; — very  exemplary,  it  seems  to  me,  in  that  re- 
spect— and  I  still  think  must  have  been  the  purest  gospel, 
for  I  know  it  began  with  '  People,  be  good.' 

We  seldom  had  company,  even  on  week  days  ;  and  I  was 
never  allowed  to  come  down  to  dessert,  until  much  later  in 
life — when  I  was  able  to  crack  nuts  neatly.  I  was  then  per- 
mitted to  come  down  to  crack  other  people's  nuts  for  them  ; 
(I  hope  they  liked  the  ministration) — but  never  to  have  any 
myself  ;  nor  anything  else  of  dainty  kind,  either  then  or  at 
other  times.  Once,  at  Hunter  Street,  I  recollect  my  mother's 
giving  me  three  raisins,  in  the  forenoon — out  of  the  store 
cabinet ;  and  I  remember  perfectly  tlie  first  time  I  tasted 
custard,  in  our  lodgings  in  Norfolk  Street — where  we  had 
gone  while  the  house  was  being  painted,  or  cleaned,  or  some- 
tiiing.    My  father  was  dining  in  the  front  room,  and  did  not 


FOltS  CLAVIGERA. 


finish  his  custard  ;  and  my  mother  brought  me  the  bottom  of 
it  into  the  back  room. 

I've  no  more  space  for  garrulity  in  this  letter,  having 
several  past  bits  of  note  to  bring  together. 

Bolton  Bridge,  Mth  January^  1875. 

I  have  been  driving  by  the  old  road*  from  Ooniston  here, 
through  Kirby  Lonsdale,  and  have  seen  more  ghastly  signs  of 
modern  temper  than  I  yet  liad  believed  possible. 

The  valley  of  the  Lune  at  Kirby  is  one  of  the  lov^eliest  scenes 
in  England — therefore,  in  the  world.  Whatever  moorland 
hill  and  sweet  river,  and  English  forest  foliage  can  be  at 
their  best,  is  gathered  there  ;  and  chiefly  seen  from  the  steep 
bank  which  falls  to  the  stream  side  from  the  upper  part 
of  the  town  itself.  There,  a  path  leads  from  the  churchyard, 
out  of  wliich  Turner  made  his  drawing  of  the  valley,  along 
the  brow  of  the  wooded  bank,  to  open  downs  beyond  ;  a 
little  bye  footpath  on  the  right  descending  steeply  through 
the  woods  to  a  spring  among  the  rocks  of  the  shore.  I  do 
not  know  in  all  my  own  country,  still  less  in  France  or  Italy, 
a  place  more  naturally  divine,  or  a  more  priceless  possession 
of  true  "  Holy  Land." 

Well,  the  population  of  Kirby  cannot  it  appears,  in  conse- 
quence of  their  recent  civilization,  any  more  walk,  in  summer 
afternoons,  along  the  brow  of  this  bank,  without  a  fence.  I 
at  first  fancied  this  was  because  they  were  usually  unable  to 
take  care  of  themselves  at  that  period  of  the  day  :  but  saw 
presently  I  must  be  mistaken  in  that  conjecture,  because  the 
fence  they  have  put  up  requires  far  more  sober  minds  for 

*  Frightened,  (I  hear  it  was  guessed  in  a  gossiping  newspaper,)  by 
the  Shipton  accident,  and  disgusted  afterwards  by  unexpected  expenses. 
The  ingenious  British  public  cannot  conceive  of  anybody's  estimating 
danger  before  accidents  as  well  as  after  them,  or  amusing  himself 
by  driving  from  one  place  to  another,  instead  of  round  the  Park. 
There  was  some  grain  of  truth  in  the  important  rumour,  however.  I 
have  posted,  in  early  days,  up  and  down  England  (and  j^ome  other 
countries)  not  once  nor  twice  ;  and  1  grumbled,  in  Yorkshire,  at  being 
charged  twenty-pence  instead  of  eighteen-pence  a  mile.  But  the  pace 
was  good,  where  any  trace  of  roads  remained  under  casual  outcasting  of 
cinders  and  brickbats. 


380 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


son,  you  will  find  is  one  of  quite  the  oldest  words  in  Europe  ; 
vox  antiquissima,  a  most  ancient  word,  and  now  a  familiar 
one  among  active  nations.  French,  Pare,  Welsh,  the  same, 
Irish,  Pairc,  "  being*"  a  piece  of  ground  enclosed  and  stored 
with  wild  beasts  of  chase.  Man  wood,  in  his  Forest  Law, 
defines  it  thus,  "A  park  is  a  place  for  privilege  for  wild  beasts 
of  venery,  and  also  for  other  wild  beasts  that  are  beasts  of  the 
forest  and  of  the  chase,  and  those  wild  beasts  are  to  have  a 
firm  peace  and  protection  there,  so  that  no  man  may  hurt  or 
chase  them  within  the  park,  without  licence  of  the  owner  :  a 
park  is  of  another  nature  than  either  a  chase  or  a  w^arren  ; 
for  a  park  inust  be  eyiclosed^  and  may  not  lie  open — if  it  does, 
it  is  a  good  cause  of  seizure  into  the  King's  hands."  Or  into 
King  Mob's,  for  parliamentary  purposes — and  how  monstrous, 
you  think,  that  such  pleasant  habitations  for  wild  beasts 
should  still  be  walled  in,  and  in  peace,  while  you  have  no  room 
to — speak  in, — I  had  liked  to  have  said  something  else  than 
speak — but  it  is  at  least  polite  to  you  to  call  it  '  speaking.' 

Yes.  I  have  said  so,  myself,  once  or  twice  ; — nevertheless 
something  is  to  be  said  for  the  beasts  also.  What  do  you 
think  they  were  made  for?  All  these  spotty,  scaly,  finned, 
and  winged,  and  clawed  things,  that  grope  between  you  and 
the  dust,  that  flit  between  you  and  the  sky.  These  motes 
ill  the  air — sparks  in  the  sea — mists  and  flames  of  life.  The 
flocks  that  are  your  w^ealth — the  moth  that  frets  it  away. 
The  herds  upon  a  thousand  hills, — the  locust, — and  the  worm, 
and  the  wandering  plague  whose  spots  are  worlds.  The 
creatures  that  mock  you,  and  torment.  The  creatures  that 
serve  and  love  you,  (or  would  love  if  they  might,)  and  obey. 
The  joys  of  the  callow  nests  and  burrowed  homes  of  Earth. 
The  rocks  of  it,  built  out  of  its  own  dead.  What  is  the 
meaning  to  you  of  all  these, — what  their  worth  to  you  ? 

No  worth,  you  answer,  perhaps  ;  or  the  contrary  of  worth. 
In  fact,  you  mean  to  put  an  end  to  all  that.  You  will  keep 
pigeons  to  shoot — geese  to  make  pies  of — cocks  for  fighting 
— horses  to  bet  on — sheep  for  wool,  and  cows  for  cheese. 
As  to  the  rest  of  the  creatures,  you  owe  no  thanks  to  Noah  ; 
and  would  fain,  if  you  could,  order  a  special  deluge  for  their 


FORS  CLAVIGEEA. 


381 


benefit  ;  failing  that,  you  will  at  all  events  get  rid  of  the 
useless  feeders  as  fast  as  possible. 

Indeed,  there  is  some  difficulty  in  understanding  why  some 
of  them  were  made.  I  lost  great  part  of  my  last  hour  for 
reading,  yesterday  evening,  in  keeping  my  kitten's  tail  out 
of  the  candles,— a  useless  beast,  and  still  more  useless  tail — 
astonishing  and  inexplicable  even  to  herself.  Inexplicable, 
to  me,  all  of  them — heads  and  tails  alike.  "Tiger — tiger — 
burning  bright  " — is  this  then  all  you  were  made  for — this 
ribbed  hearthrug,  tawny  and  black  ? 

If  only  the  Rev.  James  McCosh  were  here  !  His  book  is  ; 
and  Fm  sure  I  don't  know  how^  but  it  turns  up  in  rearrang- 
ing my  library.  Method  of  the  Divine  Government  Physi- 
cal and  Moral."  Preface  begins.  "  We  live  in  an  age  in 
which  the  reflecting  portion  of  mankind  are  much  addicted 
to  the  contemplation  of  the  works  of  Nature.  It  is  the  ob- 
ject of  the  author  in  this  Treatise  to  interrogate  Nature  with 
the  view  of  making  her  utter  her  voice  in  answer  to  some  of 
the  most  important  questions  which  the  inquiring  spirit  of 
man  can  put."  Here  is  a  catechumen  for  you  ! — and  a 
catechist  !  Nature  with  her  hands  behind  her  back — Per- 
haps Mr.  McCosh  would  kindly  put  it  to  her  about  the  tiger. 
Farther  on,  indeed,  it  is  stated  that  the  finite  cannot  com- 
prehend the  infinite,  and  I  observe  that  the  author,  with  the 
shrinking  modesty  characteristic  of  the  clergy  of  his  persua- 
sion, feels  that  even  the  intellect  of  a  McCosh  cannot,  with- 
out risk  of  error,  embrace  more  than  the  present  method  of 
the  Divine  management  of  Creation.  Wherefore  "  no  man," 
he  says,  "  should  presume  to  point  out  all  the  ways  in  which 
a  God  of  unbounded  resources  might  govern  the  universe." 

But  the  present  way — (allowing  for  the  limited  capital,) — 
we  may  master  that,  and  pay  our  compliments  to  God  upon 
it  ?  We  will  hope  so  ;  in  the  meantime  I  can  assure  you,  this 
creation  of  His  will  bear  more  looking  at  than  you  have  given, 
yet,  however  addicted  you  may  be  to  the  contemplation  of 
Nature  ;  (though  I  suspect  you  are  more  addicted  to  the 
tasting  of  her,)  and  that  if  instead  of  being  in  such  a  hurry 
to  pull  park  railings  down,  you  would  only  beg  the  owners  to 


382 


FOES  CLAVIGERA. 


loveliest  bend  of  the  river  below  the  stepping-stones,  before 
I  found  myself  again  among  broken  crockery,  cinders, 
cockle-shells,  and  tinkers'  refuse  ; — a  large  old  gridiron 
forming  the  principal  point  of  effect  and  interest  among  the 
pebbles.  The  filth  must  be  regularly  carried  past  the 
Abbey,  and  across  the  Park,  to  the  place. 

But  doubtless,  in  Bolton  Priory,  amiable  school  teachers 
tell  their  little  Agneses  the  story  of  the  white  doe  ; — and 
duly  make  them  sing  in  psalm  tune,  the  hart  panteth 

after  the  waterbrooks/' 

Very  certainly,  nevertheless,  the  young  ladies  of  Luneside 
and  Wharf edale  don't  pant  in  the  least  after  their  water- 
brooks  ;  and  this  is  the  saddest  part  of  the  business  to  me. 
Pollution  of  rivers  ! — yes,  that  is  to  be  considered  also  ; — but 
pollution  of  young  ladies'  minds  to  the  point  of  never  caring 
to  scramble  by  a  riverside,  so  long-  as  they  can  have  their 
church-curate  and  his  altar-cloths  to  their  fancy, — this\sX\\e 
horrible  thing,  in  my  own  wild  w^ay  of  thinking.  That 
shingle  of  the  Lune,  under  Kirby,  reminded  me,  as  if  it  had 
been  yesterday,  of  a  summer  evening  by  a  sweeter  shore 
still  :  the  edge  of  the  North  Inch  of  Perth,  where  the  Tay  is 
wide,  just  below  Scone  ;  and  the  snowy  quartz  pebbles 
decline  in  long  banks  under  the  ripples  of  the  dark-clear 
stream. 

My  Scotch  cousin  Jessie,  eight  years  old,  and  I,  ten  years 
old,  and  my  Croydon  cousin,  Bridget,  a  slim  girl  of  fourteen, 
were  all  wading  together,  here  and  there  ;  and  of  course  get- 
ting into  deep  water  as  far  as  we  could, — my  father  and 
mother  and  aunt  watching  us — till  at  last,  Bridget,  having 
the  longest  legs,  and,  taking  after  her  mother,  the  shortest 
conscience, — got  in  so  far,  and  with  her  petticoats  so  high, 
that  the  old  people  were  obliged  to  call  to  her,  though 
hardly  able  to  call,  for  laughing  :  and  I  recollect  staring  at 
them,  and  wondering  what  they  were  laughing  at.  But 
alas,  by  Lune  shore,  now,  there  are  no  pretty  girls  to  be 
seen  holding  their  petticoats  up.  Nothing  but  old  sauce- 
pans and  tannin — or  worse — as  signs  of  modern  civilization. 

'  But  how  fine  it  is  to  have  iron  skewers  for  our  fences  ; 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


38.3 


and  no  trespassing,  (except  by  lords  of  the  manor  on  poor 
men's  ground),  and  pretty  legs  exhibited  where  they  can  be 
so  witliout  impropriety,  and  with  due  advertisement  to  the 
public  beforehand  ;  and  iron  legs  to  our  chairs,  also,  in  the 
style  of  Kensington  ! '  Doubtless  ;  but  considering  that 
Kensington  is  a  school  of  natural  Science  as  well  as  art,  it 
seems  to  me  that  these  Kirby  representations  of  the  Ophidia 
are  slightly  vague.  Perhaps,  however,  in  conveying  that 
tenderly  sagacious  expression  into  his  serpent's  head,  and 
burnishing  so  acutely  the  brandished  sting  in  his  tail,  the 
Kirbv  artist  has  been  under  the  theoloc^ical  instructions  ot* 
the  careful  Minister  who  has  had  his  church  restored  so 
prettily  ; — only  then  the  Minister  himself  must  have  })een, 
without  knowing  it,  under  the  directions  of  another  person, 
who  had  an  intimate  interest  in  the  matter.  For  there  is 
more  than  failure  of  natural  history  in  this  clumsy  hardware. 
It  is  indeed  a  matter  of  course  that  it  should  be  clumsy,  for 
the  English  have  always  been  a  dull  nation  in  decorative 
art  ;  and  I  find,  on  looking  at  things  here  afresh  after  long 
work  in  Italy,  that  our  most  elaborate  English  sepulchral 
work,  as  the  Cockayne  tombs  at  Ashbourne  and  the  Dudley 
tombs  at  Warwick,  (not  to  speak  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  in 
Westminster  !)  are  yet,  comj^ared  to  Italian  sculpture  of  the 
same  date,  no  less  barbarous  than  these  goose  heads  of  Kirby 
would  appear  beside  an  asp  head  of  Milan.  But  the  tombs 
of  Ashbourne  or  Warwick  are  honest,  though  blundering,  ef- 
forts to  imitate  what  was  really  felt  to  be  beautiful ;  whereas 
the  serpents  of  Kirby  are  ordered  and  shaped  by  the  least 
erected  spirit  that  fell,"  in  the  very  likeness  of  himself  ! 

For  observe  the  method  and  circumstance  of  their  manu- 
facture. You  dig  a  pit  for  ironstone,  and  heap  a  mass  of 
refuse  on  fruitful  land  ;  you  bhicken  your  God-given  sky, 
Hud  consume  your  God-given  fuel,  to  melt  the  iron  ;  you 
bind  your  labourer  to  the  Egyptian  toil  of  its  castings  and 
forgings  ;  then,  to  rehne  his  mind,  you  send  him  to  study 
Raphael  at  Kensington  ;  nnd  with  all  this  cost,  filth,  time, 
and  misery,  you  at  last  produce — tlie  devil's  tail  for  your 
suste«iance,  instead  of  an  honest  three-legged  stool. 


384 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


You  do  all  this  that  men  may  live — think  you  ?  Alas- 
no  ;  the  real  motive  of  it  all  is  that  the  fashionable  manu- 
facturer may  live  in  a  palace,  getting  his  fifty  per  cent,  com- 
mission on  the  work  which  he  has  taken  out  of  the  hands  of 
the  old  village  carpenter,  who  would  have  cut  two  stumps 
of  oak  in  two  minutes  out  of  the  copse,  which  would  have 
carried  your  bench  and  you  triumphantly, — to  the  end  of 
both  your  times. 

However,  I  must  get  back  to  my  bees'  heads  and  tails,  to- 
day ; — what  a  serpent's  are  like  in  their  true  type  of  Earthly 
Injustice,  it  may  be  wortli  our  while  to  see  also,  if  we  can 
understand  the  "  sad-eyed  justice  "  first. 

Sad-eyed  !  Little  did  Shakespeare  think,  I  fancy,  how 
many  eyes  the  sad-eyed  Justice  had  !  or  how  ill  she  saw  with 
them.  I  continuailv  notice  the  bees  at  Brantwood  flvins: 
rapturously  up  to  the  flowers  on  my  wall  paper,  and  knock- 
ing themselves  against  them,  again  and  again,  unconvince- 
able  of  their  fallacy  ;  and  it  is  no  compliment  to  the  wall 
paper  or  its  artist,  neither — for  the  flowers  are  only  conven- 
tional ones,  copied  from  a  radiant  Bishop's  cloak  of  the  fif- 
teenth century. 

It  is  curious  too,  that  although  before  coming  to  the  leaf- 
cutting  bee,  Bingley  expatiates  on  the  Poppy  bees'  luxurious 
tapestry,  cut  from  the  scarlet  poppy,  he  never  considers 
whether  she  could  see  it,  or  not,  underground — (unless  by 
help  of  the  fiery  glow-worms'  eyes) — and  still  less,  how  long 
the  cut  leaves  w^ould  remain  scarlet.  Then  I  am  told  won- 
derful things  of  the  clasping  of  the  curtains  of  her  little 
tabernacle  ; — but  when  the  curtains  dry,  and  shrink,  what 
then? 

Let  us  hear  what  he  tells  us  of  the  Rose  bee,  however — in 
full. 

"  These  bees  construct  cylindrical  nests  of  the  leaves  of 
the  rose  and  other  trees.  These  nests  are  sometimes  of  the 
depth  of  six  inches,  and  generally  consist  of  six  or  seven 
cells,  each  shaped  like  a  thimble.  *    They  are  formed  with 

*  Thej  are  round  at  the  end,  but  du  not  taper. 


FOES  CLAVIGERA, 


385 


the  convex  end  of  one  fitting  into  the  open  end  of  another. 
The  portions  of  the  leaf  of  which  they  are  made  are  not 
glued  together,  *  nor  are  they  any  otherwise  fastened,  than 
in  the  nicety  of  their  adjustment  to  each  other  ;  and  yet  they 
do  not  admit  the  liquid  honey  to  drain  through  them.  The 
interior  surface  of  each  cell  consists  of  tliree  pieces  of  leaf, 
of  equal  size,  narrow  at  one  end,  but  gradually  widening  to 
the  other,  where  the  width  equals  half  the  length.  One  side 
of  each  of  these  pieces,  is  the  serrated  margin  of  the  leaf. 
In  forming  the  cell,  the  pieces  of  leaf  are  made  to  lap  one 
over  the  other,  (the  serrated  side  always  outermost.)  till  a 
tube  is  thus  formed,  coated  with  three  or  four,  or  more  lay- 
ers. In  coating  these  tubes,  the  provident  little  animal  is 
careful  to  lay  the  middle  of  each  piece  of  leaf  over  the  mar- 
gins of  others,  so  as,  by  this  means,  both  to  cover  and 
strengthen  the  junctions.  At  the  closed  or  narrow  end  of 
the  cell,  the  leaves  are  bent  down  so  as  to  form  a  convex  ter- 
mination. When  a  cell  is  formed,  the  next  care  of  the  Bee 
is  to  till  it  with  honey  and  pollen,  which,  being  collected 
chiefly  from  the  thistles,  form  a  rose-coloured  paste.  With 
these  the  cell  is  filled  to  within  about  iialf  a  line  of  its  orifice  ; 
and  the  female  then  deposits  in  it  an  egg,  and  closes  it  with 
three  perfectly  circular  pieces  of  leaf,  which  coincide  so  ex- 
actly with  the  walls  of  the  cylindrical  cell,  as  to  be  retained 
in  their  situation  without  any  gluten. f  After  this  covering 
is  fitted  in,  there  still  remains  a  hollow,  which  receives  the 
convex  end  of  the  succeeding  cell.  In  this  manner  the 
patient  and  indefatigable  animal  proceeds,  till  her  whole 
^3ylinder  of  six  or  seven  cells  is  completed. 

This  is  generally  formed  under  the  surface  of  the  ground,]] 
in  a  tubular  passage,  which  it  entirely  fills,  except  at  the  en- 
trance. \i  the  labour  of  these  insects  be  interrupted,  or  the 
edifice  be  deranged,  they  exhibit  astonishing  perseverance  in 
settino-  it  airain  to  ri^fhts. 

Their  mode  of  cutting  pieces  out  of  the  leaves  for  their 
work,  deserves  particular  notice.  When  one  of  these  Bees 
selects  a  rose-bush  with  tin's  view,  she  flies  round  or  hovers 

*  An  Indiau  one,  patiently  investigrated  for  me  by  Mr.  Burgess,  wa« 
fastened  with  glue  which  entirely  defied  cold  water,  and  yielded  only 
to  the  kettle. 

f  She  bites  them  round  the  edge  roughly  enough ;  but  pushes  them 
down  with  a  tucked  up  rim,  quite  tight,  like  the  first  covering  of  a  pot 
of  preserve. 

X  Or  in  old  wood. 

Vol.  XL— 25 


386 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


over  it  for  some  seconds,  as  if  examining'  for  the  leaves  best 
suited  to  her  purpose.  When  she  has  chosen  one,  she  alights 
upon  it,  sometimes  on  the  upper,  and  sometimes  on  the  under 
surface,  or  not  unfrequently  on  its  edge,  so  that  the  margin 
passes  between  her  legs.  Her  first  attack,  which  is  generally 
made  the  moment  she  alights,  is  usually  near  the  footstalk, 
with  her  head  turned  towards  the  point.  As  soon  as  she  be= 
gins  to  cut,  she  is  wholly  intent  on  her  labour  ;  nor  does  she 
cease  until  her  work  is  completed.  The  operation  is  per- 
formed by  means  of  her  jaws,  with  as  much  expedition  as  sve 
could  exert  with  a  pair  of  scissors.  As  she  proceeds,  she 
holds  the  margin  of  the  detatched  part  between  her  legs  in 
such  a  manner,  that  the  section  keeps  giving  way  to  Iier, 
and  does  not  interrupt  her  progress.  She  makes  her  inciisioii 
in  a  curved  line,  approaching  the  midrib  of  the  leaf  at  first  ; 
but  when  she  lias  reached  a  certain  point,  she  recedes  from 
this  towards  the  margin,  still  cuttinof  in  a  curve.  When  siie 
has  nearly  detatched  from  the  leaf  the  portion  she  has  been 
employed  upon,  she  balances  her  little  wings  for  flight,  lest 
its  weight  should  carry  her  to  the  ground  ;  and  the  very- 
moment  it  parts,  she  flies  off  in  triumph,  carrying  it  in  a 
bent  position  between  her  legs,  and  perpendicularly  to  her 
body." 

Now  in  this  account,  the  first  thing  I  catch  at  is  the  clue 
to  the  love  of  bees  for  thistles.  Their  pollen  makes  a  rose- 
coloured  paste  with  their  honey  ; "  (I  think  some  of  my 
Scottish  friends  might  really  take  measures  to  get  some  pure 
thistle  honey  made  by  their  bees.  I  once  worked  all  the 
working  hours  I  had  to  spare  for  a  fortnight,  to  clear  a  field 
of  thistles  by  the  side  of  the  Tummel  under  Schehallien  : 
perhaps  Nature  meant,  all  the  while,  its  master  and  me  to 
let  it  alone,  and  put  a  hive  or  two  upon  it.) 

Secondly.  The  description  of  the  bee's  tubular  house, 
though  sufficiently  clear,  is  only  intelligible  to  me,  though  I 
know  something  of  geometry,  after  some  effort  ; — it  would 
be  wholly  useless  to  Agnes,  unless  she  were  shown  how  to 
be  a  leaf-cutting  bee  herself,  and  invited  to  construct,  or  en- 
deavour to  construct,  the  likeness  of  a  bee's  nest  with  paper 
and  scissors. 

What — in  school-hours  ? 


FOHS  CLAVIGEIiA. 


387 


Yes,  certainly, — in  the  very  best  of  school-hours  :  this 
would  be  one  of  her  advanced  lessons  in  Geometry. 

For  little  Agnes  should  assuredly  learn  tlie  elements  of 
Geometry,  but  she  should  at  first  call  it  '  Earth  measuring '  ; 
and  have  her  early  lessons  in  it,  in  laying  out  her  own  garden. 

Her  older  companions,  at  any  rate,  must  be  far  enough 
advanced  in  the  science  to  attempt  this  bee  problem  ;  of 
which  you  will  find  the  terms  have  to  be  carefully  examined, 
and  somewhat  completed.  So  much,  indeed,  do  they  stand 
in  need  of  farther  definition  that  I  should  have  supposed  the 
problem  inaccurately  given,  unless  I  had  seen  the  bee  cut  a 
leaf  myself.  But  1  have  seen  her  do  it,  and  can  answer  for 
the  absolute  accuracy  of  the  passage  describing  her  in  that 
operation. 

The  pieces  of  leaf,  you  read,  are  to  be  narrow  at  one  end, 
but  gradually  widen  to  the  other,  where  the  width  equals 
half  the  length. 

And  wo  have  to  cut  these  pieces  with  curved  sides  ;  for 
one  side  of  them  is  to  be  the  serrated  edge  of  a  rose  leaf,  and 
the  other  side  is  to  be  cut  in  a  curved  line  beginning  near  the 
root  of  the  leaf.  I  especially  noticed  this  curved  line  as  the 
bee  cut  it  ;  but  like  an  ass,  as  often  I  have  been  on  such 
occasions,  I  followed  the  bee  instead  of  gathering  the  rem- 
nant leaf,  so  that  1  can't  draw  the  curve  with  certainty. 

Now  each  of  my  four  volumes  of  Bingley  has  five  or  more 
plates  in  it.  These  plates  are  finished  line  engravings,  with, 
in  most  cases,  elaborate  landscape  backgrounds  ;  reeds  for 
the  hippopotamus,  trees  for  the  monkeys,  conical  mountains 
for  the  chamois,  and  a  magnificent  den  with  plenty  of  straw, 
for  the  lioness  and  cubs,  in  frontispiece. 

Any  one  of  these  landscape  backgrounds  required  the 
severe  labour  of  the  engraver's  assistant  for  at  least  three 
days  to  produce  it, — or  say  two  months'  hard  work,  for  the 
whole  twenty  and  odd  plates.  And  all  the  result  of  two 
months'  elaborate  work  put  together,  was  not  worth  to  me, 
nor  would  be  to  any  man,  woman,  or  child,  worth — what  ai\ 
accurate  outline  of  a  leaf-cutting  bee's  segment  of  leaf  would 
have  been,  drawn  with  truth  and  precision.  And  ten  minutes 


388 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


would  have  been  enough  to  draw  it ;  and  half  an  hour  to 
cut  it. 

But  not  only  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  old  book,  but  I  know 
it  is  not  in  the  grand  modern  Cuvier,  and  I  don't  believe  it 
is  findable  anywhere.  I  won't  go  on  with  Agnes's  lessons  at 
guess,  however,  till  I  get  some  help  from  kind  Dr.  Gray,  at 
the  British  Museum.  To-day,  I  must  content  myself  with  a 
closing  word  or  two  about  zoological  moralities. 

After  having,  to  my  best  ability,  thus  busied  and  in- 
formed little  Agnes  concerning  her  bees  and  their  opera- 
tions, am  I  farther  to  expatiate  on  the  exemplary  character 
of  the  bee?  Is  she  to  learn  ''How  doth,"  etc.  (and  indeed 
there  never  was  a  country  in  which  more  than  in  her  own,  it 
was  desirable  that  shinins^  hours  should  be  taken  advantag^e 
of  when  they  come)  ?  But,  above  all,  am  1  to  tell  her  of  the 
Goodness  and  Wisdom  of  God  in  making  such  amiable  and 
useful  insects? 

Well,  before  I  proceed  to  ask  her  to  form  her  very  im- 
portant opinions  upon  the  moral  character  of  God,  I  shall  ask 
her  to  observe  that  all  insects  are  not  equally  moral,  or  useful. 

It  is  possible  she  may  have  noticed — beforehand — some,  of 
whose  dispositions  she  may  be  doubtful  ;  something,  here- 
after, I  shall  have  to  tell  her  of  locust  and  hornet,  no  less 
than  of  bee  ;  and  although  in  general  I  shall  especially  avoid 
putting  disagreeable  or  ugly  things  before  her  eyes,  or  into 
her  mind,  I  should  certainly  require  her  positively,  once  for 
all,  to  know  the  sort  of  life  led  by  creatures  of  at  least 
alloyed  moral  nature, — such,  for  instance,  as  the  '  Turner 
Savage'  which,  indeed,  "lives  in  the  haunts  of  men,  whom 
it  never  willingly  offends  ;  but  is  the  terror  of  all  smaller 
insects.  It  inhabits  holes  in  the  earth  on  the  side  of  hills 
and  cliffs  ;  and  recesses  that  it  forms  for  itself  in  the  mud- 
walls  of  cottages  and  outhouses.  The  mud-wall  of  a  cottage 
at  Peterborough,  in  Northamptonshire,  was  observed  to  be 
frequented  by  these  creatures,  and  on  examination  it  was 
found  to  be  wrought,  by  their  operations,  into  the  appear- 
ance oi  Honeycomb." 

The  Appearance  only,  alas  I  for  although  these  creatures 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA. 


389 


thus  like  to  live  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a  Bishop,  and 
though  "  there  are  none  which  display  more  affection  for 
their  offspring," — they  by  no  means  live  by  collection  of 
treasures  of  sweet  dew.  "They  are  excessively  fierce,  and, 
without  hesitation,  attack  insects  much  larger  than  them- 
selves. Their  strength  is  very  great,  their  jaws  are  hard 
and  sharp,  and  their  stings  are  armed  with  poison,  which 
suddenly  proves  fatal  to  most  of  the  creatures  with  which 
they  engage.  The  ^  Sphex  '  (generic  name  of  the  family) 
seizes,  with  the  greatest  boldness,  on  the  creature  it  attacks, 
giving  a  stroke  with  amazing  force,  then  falling  off,  to  rest 
from  the  fatigue  of  the  exertion,  and  to  enjoy  the  victory. 
It  keeps,  however,  a  steady  eye  on  the  object  it  has  struck, 
until  it  dies,  and  then  drags  it  to  its  nest  for  the  use  of  its 
young.  The  number  of  insects  which  this  creature  destroys,  is 
almost  beyond  conception,  fifty  scarcely  serving  it  for  a  meal. 
The  mangled  remains  of  its  prey,  scattered  round  the  mouth 
of  its  retreat,  sufficiently  betray  the  sanguinary  inhabitant. 
The  eyes,  the  filament  that  serves  as  a  brain,  and  a  small  part 
of  the  contents  of  the  body,  are  all  that  the  Sphex  devours.'* 
I  cannot,  therefore,  insist,  for  the  present,  upon  either 
pointing  a  moral,  or  adorning  a  tale,  for  Agnes,  with  ento- 
mological instances  ;  but  the  name  of  the  insect,  at  which 
the  (insect)  world  might  grow  pale,  if  it  were  capable  of  pal- 
lor,— might  be  made,  at  least,  memorable,  and  not  uninstruc- 
tive,  to  the  boys  in  tlie  Latin  class  ;  by  making  them  first 
understand  the  power  of  the  preposition  '  ex,'  in  the  two 
pleasant  senses  of  examen,  and  the  one  unpleasant  sense  of 
'examiner' — and  then  observe,  (carefully  first  distinguishing 
between  play  with  letters  and  real  derivation,)  that  if  you  put 
R  for  Right,  before  ex,  you  have  *  Rex  '  ;  if  you  put  L,  for 
Love,  before  ex,  you  have  '  lex'  ;  if  you  put  G,  for  George, 
and  R,  for  Rural,  before  ex,  you  have  *  grex '  ;  and  then  if 
you  put  S,  for  Speculation,  P,  for  Peculation,  and  H,  the 
immortal  possessor  of  Pie,  before  ex,  you  have  '  Sphex  '  ; 
pleasing  and  accurate  type  of  the  modern  carnivorous  Econ- 
omist, who  especially  discerns  of  his  British  public,  '  the  eyes 
and  small  filament  that  serves  as  a  brain.' 


390 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


"  The  Parsonage,  Werrington,  Peterborough, 

"  March  4,  1875, 

My  Dear  Sir, — I  have  no  doubt  you  know  better  than  I  do  what 
Gospel  is  the  more  widel}^  preached,  for  while  you  have  been  wandering", 
freer  than  a  bee,  from  place  to  place,  and  from  church  to  church,  I  have 
been  '  entangled  '  from  daj^  to  day  in  stuffy  rooms  among  ignorant  and 
immoral  people,  in  crowded  parishes  in  London  and  elsewhere  ;  and  on 
Sundays  have  listened  chiefly  to  the  gathered  voices  of  the  same  ignor- 
ant people,  led  by  my  own. 

But,  not  to  move  from  the  ground  of  ascertained  fact,  I  have  a 
right  to  say  that  I  know  that  the  morality  of  the  parishes  best  known 
to  me  has  been  made  better,  and  not  worse,  by  the  shepherding  of  the 
Pastors. 

"  I  have  heard  and  read  a  good  deal,  in  clerical  circles,  and  clerical 
books,  of  doctrines  of  '  substitution  *  and  '  vicarious  righteousness,'  such 
as  you  rightly  condemn  as  immoral ;  but  if  all  the  sermons  preached  in 
the  English  Church  on  any  given  Sunday  were  fully  and  fairly  reported, 
I  question  if  a  dozen  would  contain  the  least  trace  of  these  doctrines 
Amidst  all  the  isms  and  dogmas  by  which  Clerics  are  entangled,  I 
find  the  deep  and  general  conviction  getting  clearer  and  clearer  utter- 
ance, that  the  one  supremely  lovely,  admirable  and  adorable  thing, — 
the  one  thing  to  redeem  and  regenerate  human  life,  the  one  true  Gos- 
pel for  mankind, — is  the  Spirit  and  Life  of  Jesus  Christ. 

'*  As  to  your  terrible  charge  against  the  Pastors,  that  they  preach  for 
hire,  I  need  only  quote  your  own  opinion  in  this  month's  FoJ's,  that  all 
honest  minstrels  and  authors,  manifestly  possessing  talent  for  their 
business,  should  be  allowed  to  claim  '  for  their  actual  toil,  in  perform- 
ance of  their  arts,  modest  reward,  and  daily  bread.' 

"  Surely  the  labourer  who  spends  his  life  in  speaking  salutary  truth  is 
not  less  worthy  of  his  hire  than  he  who  sings  or  writes  it  ? 
The  reward  offered  to  most  Pastors  is  '  modest'  enough. 

I  am  very  faithfully  yours, 

Edward  Z.  Lyttel. 

John  Ruskin,  Esq." 

I  willingly  insert  my  correspondent's  second  letter,  but  will  not  at 
present  answer  it,  except  private^.  I  wonder,  in  the  meantime,  whether 
he  will  think  the  effect  of  the  ministry  of  Felix  Neff  on  the  mind  of 
the  sweet  English  lady  whose  letter  next  follows,  moral,  or  immoral? 
A  portion  of  whose  letter,  I  should  have  said  ;  its  opening  touches  on 
household  matters  little  to  her  mind,  to  which  her  first  exclamation 
refers. 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


391 


**  How  sorrowful  it  all  is  !  Yet,  I  don't  feel  so  naughty  about  it  as  I 
did  on  Saturday,  because  yesterday  I  read  the  life  of  Felix  Neff,  who 
went  to  live  by  his  own  wish  at  that  dismal  Dormillense  in  the  high 
Alps,  amongst  the  wretched  people  who  were  like  very  unclean  animals, 
and  for  whom  he  felt  such  sublime  pity  that  he  sacrificed  himself  to  im- 
prove them;  and  as  I  read  of  that  terrible  Alpine  desert,  with  eight 
months*  hopeless  dreariness,  and  of  the  wretched  food,  and  filthy  hovels 
in  which  the  miserable  people  lived,  I  looked  up  at  my  good  fire  and 
clean  room,  with  dear  white  Lily  lying  so  soft  on  my  lap,  and  the  snow- 
drops outside  the  window,  and  I  really  did  feel  ashamed  of  having  felt 
so  grumbly  and  discontented  as  I  did  on  Saturday.  So  good  Felix 
Netf's  good  work  is  not  done  yet,  and  he  will  doubtless  help  others  as 
long  as  the  world  lasts." 

The  following  letter  is  an  interesting  and  somewhat  pathetic  example 
of  religious  madness  ;  not  a  little,  however,  connected  with  mismanage- 
ment of  money.  The  writer  has  passed  great  part  of  his  life  in  a  con- 
scientious endeavour  to  teach  what  my  correspondent  Mr.  Lyttel  would 
I  think  consider  ' '  salutary  truth  '* ;  but  his  intense  egotism  and  absence 
of  imaginative  power  hindered  him  from  perceiving  that  many  other 
people  were  doing  the  same,  and  meeting  with  the  same  disappointments. 
Gradually  he  himself  occupied  the  entire  centre  of  his  horizon  ;  and  he 
appoints  himself  to  **  judge  the  United  States  in  particular,  and  the 
world  in  general.'' 

The  introductory  clause  of  the  letter  refers  somewhat  indignantly  to 
a  representation  I  had  irreverently  made  to  him  that  a  prophet  should 
rather  manifest  his  divine  mission  by  providing  himself  miraculously 
with  meat  and  drink,  than  by  lodging  in  widows'  houses  without  in  any- 
wise multiplying  their  meal  for  them  ;  and  then  leaving  other  people  to 
pay  his  bill. 

So  long  as  you  deliberately  refuse  to  help  in  any  way  a  man  who 
(you  have  every  reason  to  know)  possesses  more  of  the  righteousness  of 
God  than  yourself,  (when  you  have  ample  means  to  do  so,)  how  can  you 
be  said  to  "  do  the  will  of  3'our  Father  which  is  in  Heaven '  V  or  how  can 
you  expect  to  receive  understanding  to  '  know  of  the  doctrine  *  of  the 
Saviour,  (or  of  my  doctrine,)  *  whether  it  be  of  God,  or  whether  I  speak 
of  myself?  If  you  possessed  a  g.vutine  *  faith,'  you  would  exercise 
humanity  towards  such  a  man  as  myself,  and  leave  the  result  with  God  ; 
and  not  presumptuously  decide  that  it  was  'wrong*  to  relieve  *a  right- 
eous man  '  in  distress,  lest  you  should  encourage  him  in  delusions  which 
you  choose  to  suppose  him  to  be  labouring  under. 

People  seem  to  suppose  that  it  is  the  Saviour  who  will  judge  the 
world,  if  any  one  does.  He  distinctly  declares  that  He  will  not.  *  If 
any  one  hear  my  words,  and  believe  not,  I  judge  7iim  not  ;  for  1  came 
not  to  judge  the  wor/d^  but  to  mve  the  world.  He  that  rcjecteth  me,  and 
receiveth  not  my  words,  hath  one  that  jndgeth  Jam  :  the  2Cord  that  1 
have  spoken,  the  same  shall  judge  him  in  the  last  day.'*  John  xii.  47,  48. 
1  represent  that  '  WORD  '  which  the  Saviour  spoke,  and  I  have  already 
judged,  and  condemned,  this  country,  and  the  United  States,  in  par- 
ticular •  and  Christendom,  and  the  World  in  general.    I  have  for  twenty 


392 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


years  been  a  preacher  of  '  the  Righteousness  of  God '  to  this  generation 
(as  Noah  was  for  a  hundred  years  to  his  generation),  and  1  have  proved 
by  actual  experiment  that  none  among  the  men  of  this  generation  can 
be  induced  to  '  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven  '  until  the  predicted  '  time 
of  trouble,  such  as  was  not  since  there  was  a  nation,'  comes  suddenly, 
and  compels  those  who  are  ready  to  enter  the  kingdom  of  God,  to  do  so 
at  once  ;  and  I  know  not  how  soon  after  I  leave  this  country  the 
'  trouble  '  will  come  ;  perhaps  immediately,  perhaps  in  about  a  year  s 
time  ;  but  come  it  must ;  and  the  sooner  it  comes,  the  sooner  it  will  be 
over,  I  suppose. 

Yours  faithfully." 

The  following  specimen  of  the  kind  of  letters  which  the  judge  of 
the  United  States  in  particular,  and  the  World  in  general,"  leaves  the 
people  favoured  by  his  judgment  to  send  to  his  friends,  may  as  well 
supplement  his  own  letter : — 

"  Mr.  (J.  of  U.S.  in  p.  and  the  W.  in  g.)*s  name  will,  I  trust,  excuse 
me  to  you  for  writing;  but  my  house  entirely  failed  me,  and  I,  with  my 
child,  are  now  really  in  great  want.  I  write  trusting  that,  after  your 
former  kindness  to  me,  you  will  feel  disposed  to  send  mo  a  little  assist- 
ance. 

I  would  not  have  written,  but  I  am  seriously  in  need. 
*'  Please  address  to  me,''  etc. 

Whether,  however,  the  judge  of  the  world  in  general  errs  most  in 
expecting  me  to  pay  the  necessary  twopences  to  his  hosts,  or  the  world 
in  general  itself,  in  expecting  me  to  pay  necessary  twopences  to  its  old 
servants  when  it  has  no  more  need  of  them,  may  be  perhaps  questiona- 
ble. Here  is  a  paragraph  cut  out  of  an  application  for  an  hospital  vote, 
which  I  received  the  other  day. 

Mr.  A. ,  aged  seventy-one,  has  been  a  subscriber  to  the  Pension  Fund 
forty-five  years,  the  Almshouse  Fund  eighteen  years,  and  the  Orphan 
Fund  four  years.  He  is  now,  in  consequence  of  his  advanced  age,  and 
the  infirmities  attendant  on  a  dislocated  shoulder,  asthma,  and  failing 
sight,  incapable  of  earning  sufficient  for  a  subsistence  for  himself  and 
wife,  who  is  afflicted  with  chronic  rheumatic  gout.  He  was  appren- 
ticed to  Mr.  B.,  and  has  worked  for  Mr.  C.  D.  forty  years,  and  his 
earnings  at  present  are  very  small. 

Next,  here  is  a  piece  of  a  letter  disclosing  another  curious  form  of 
modern  distress,  in  which  the  masters  and  mistresses  become  depend- 
ent for  timely  aid  on  their  servants.  This  is  at  least  as  old,  however, 
as  Miss  Edgeworth's  time  ;  I  think  the  custom  is  referred  to  at  tho 
toilette  of  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  in  Patronage, 

Every  day  makes  me  bitterly  believe  more  and  more  what  you  say 
about  the  wickedness  of  working  by  fire  and  steam,  and  the  harm  and 


FOBS  CLAVIORRA. 


393 


Insidious  sappinj^  of  true  life  thafc  nomes  from  large  mills  and  all  that 
is  connected  with  them.  One  of  my  servants  told  my  sister  to-day 
(with  an  apology)  that  her  mother  had  told  her  in  her  letter  to  ask  me 
if  I  would  sell  her  my  children's  old  clothes,  etc. — that  indeed  many 
ladies  did —her  mother  had  often  bought  things.  Oh  !  it  made  me 
feel  horrible.  We  try  to  buy  strong  clothes,  and  mend  them  to  the 
last,  and  then  sometimes  give  them  away ;  but  selling  clothes  to  poor 
people  seems  to  me  dreadful.  I  never  thought  ladies  and  gentlemen 
would  sell  their  clothes  even  to  shops — till  we  came  to  live  hero,  and 
happened  to  know  of  its  being  done.  It  surely  must  be  wrong  and 
bad,  or  I  should  not  feel  something  in  me  speaking  so  strongly  against 
it,  as  mean  and  unholy  ' 

A  piece  of  country  gossip  on  bees  and  birds,  with  a  humiliating  pas- 
sage about  my  own  Coniston  country,  may  refresh  us  a  little  after 
dwelling  on  these  serious  topics. 

A  humble  cow  is  I  fan^y  more  pro])orly  a  humbled  cow — it  is  so 
called  in  Durham — a  cow  whose  horn  is  no  louger  set  up  on  high.  A 
humble  or  bumble  bee  is  there  called  a  '  bumbler.'  To  bumble  in  Dui^ 
ham  means  to  go  buzzing  about  ;  a  fussy  man  would  be  called  a  great 
bumbler.  But  don  t  believe  it  has  no  sting  :  it  can  stiug  worse  than  a 
honey  bee,  and  all  but  as  badly  as  a  wasp.  They  used  to  tell  us  as 
children  that  'bumblers'  did  not  sting,  but  I  know  from  experience 
that  they  do.  We  used  as  children  to  feel  that  we  knew  that  the  little 
yellow  mason  bee  (?)  did  not  sting,  but  I  have  no  true  knowledge  on 
that  point.  Do  you  care  to  have  the  common  village  names  of  birds? 
I  am  afraid  I  can  only  remember  one  or  two,  but  they  are  universally 
used  in  the  north. 

*'The  wren  which  makes  the  hanging  nest  lined  with  feathers  is 
called  the  feather  poke  ;  yellow-hammer,  yellow-yowley  ;  golden- 
crested  wren,  Christian  wren;  white-ihrout,  Nanny  white-throat; 
hedge -sparrow.  Dicky  Diky.  I  could  find  more  if  >ou  cared  for  thera. 
To  wind  up,  I  will  send  you  an  anecdote  1  find  among  father's  writ- 
ings, and  which  refers  to  your  country.  He  is  speaking  of  some  time 
early  in  18l)0.  'Cock-fighting  was  then  in  all  its  glory.  When  I  was 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Ulverston,  in  18 — ,*  I  was  told  that  about  the 
time  of  which  I  am  writing,  a  grave  rcdesiastical  question  had  been 
settled  by  an  appeal  to  a  battle  with  cocks.  The  chapelry  of  Penning- 
ton was  vacant,  but  there  was  a  dispute  who  should  present  a  clerk  to 
the  vacant  benefice, — the  vicar  of  Ulverston,  the;  mother-church,  the 
churchwardens,  the  four-and-twenty,  or  the  parishioners  at  large, — ■ 
and  recourse  was  had  to  a  Welch  Main.'  " 

Finally,  the  following  letter  is  worth  preserving.  It  succinctly 
states  the  iu\pression  on  the  minds  of  the  majority  of  booksellers  that 
they  ought  to  be  able  to  oblige  their  customers  at  my  expense.  Per- 
haps in  time,  the  customers  may  oblige  the  booksellers  by  paying  them 
something  for  their  trouble,  openly,  instead  of  insisting  on  not  paying 
them  anything  unless  they  don't  know  how  much  it  is. 


*  lie  doeu  uut  give  the  date. 


394 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


*^  Mr.  George  Allen. 

Sir, — We  will  thank  you  to  send  us  Ruskin's 

Aratra  Pentelici    £0    19  0 

The  Eagle's  Nest    0     9  6 

Relations  between  Angela  and  Tintoret   0  10 


£19  6 

And  continue  Account  next  year  Fors  Cla- 
vigera    0     7  0 


Cheque  enclosed.  £1    16  6 


*'It  cannot  be  too  frequently  referred  to  by  the  trade,— the  unjusti- 
fiable mode  Ruskin  has  adopted  in  the  sale  of  his  books.  It  may  be 
profitable  to  you  (as  we  hope  it  is),  but  to  the  general  trade  it  is  noth- 
ing but  a  swindle.  Our  customer,  for  instance  (whom  we  cannot  afford 
to  disoblige),  pays  us  for  this  order  just  £1  16«.  6d.  ;  and  we  must 
come  back  on  him  for  expense  of  remitting,  else  we  shall  lose  bj  the 
transaction. 

Your  obedient  Servaat." 


FOES  CLAVIGEEA. 


305 


LETTER  LIII. 

Brantwood,  OoodFHday,  1875. 

1  AM  ashamed  to  go  on  with  my  own  history  to-day  ;  for 
though,  as  already  seen,  I  was  not  wholly  unacquainted  with 
the  practice  of  fasting,  at  times  of  the  year  when  it  was  not 
customary  with  Papists,  our  Lent  became  to  us  a  kind  of 
moonlight  Christmas,  and  season  of  reflected  and  soft  fes- 
tivity. For  our  strictly  Protestant  habits  of  mind  rendering 
us  independent  of  absolution,  on  Shrove  Tuesday  we  were 
chiefly  occupied  in  the  preparation  of  pancakes, — my  nurse 
being  dominant  on  that  day  over  the  cook  in  all  things,  her 
especially  nutritive  art  of  browning,  and  fine  legerdemain  in 
turning,  pancakes,  being  recognized  as  inimitable.  The 
interest  of  Ash-Wednesday  was  mainly — whether  the  bits  of 
egg  should  be  large  or  small  in  the  egg-sauce  ; — nor  do  I 
recollect  having  any  ideas  connected  with  the  day's  name, 
until  1  was  puzzled  by  the  French  of  it  when  I  fell  in  love 
with  a  Roman  Catholic  French  girl,  as  hereafter  to  be  re- 
lated : — only,  by  the  wa}',  let  mo  note,  as  I  chance  now  to 
remember,  two  others  of  my  main  occupations  of  an  exciting 
character  in  Hunter  Street  :  watching,  namely,  the  dustn^en 
clear  out  the  ash-hole,  and  the  coalmen  fill  the  coal-cellar 
through  the  hole  in  the  pavement,  which  soon  became  tome, 
when  surrounded  by  its  cone  of  debris,  a  sublime  re])resenta- 
tion  of  the  crater  of  a  volcanic  mountain.  Of  these  imagi- 
native delights  I  have  no  room  to  speak  in  this  T^ors  ;  nor  of 
the  debates  which  used  to  be  held  for  the  two  or  three  days 
preceding  Good  Friday,  whether  the  hot-cross-buns  should 
be  plain,  or  have  carraway  seeds  in  them.  For,  my  nurse 
not  being  here  to  provide  any  such  dainties  for  me,  and  the 
black-plague  wind  which  has  now  darkened  the  spring  for 


396 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


five  years,*  veiling  all  the  hills  with  sullen  cloud,  I  am 
neither  in  a  cheerful  nor  a  religious  state  of  mind  ;  and  am 
too  much  in  the  temper  of  the  disciples  who  forsook  Him, 
and  fled,  to  be  able  to  do  justice  to  the  childish  innocence  of 
belief,  which,  in  my  mother,  was  too  constant  to  need  resus- 
citation, or  take  new  colour,  from  fast  or  festival. 

Yet  it  is  only  by  her  help,  to-day,  that  I  am  able  to  do  a 
piece  of  work  required  of  me  by  the  letter  printed  in  the 
second  article  of  this  month's  correspondence.  It  is  from  a 
man  of  great  worth,  conscientiousness,  and  kindliness;  but 
is  yet  so  perfectly  expressive  of  the  irreverence,  and  inca- 
pacity of  admiration,  which  maintain  and,  in  great  part, 
constitute,  the  modern  liberal  temper,  that  it  makes  me  feel, 
more  than  anything  I  ever  yet  met  with  in  human  words,  how 
much  I  owe  to  my  mother  for  having  so  exercised  me  in  the 
Scriptures  as  to  make  me  grasp  them  in  what  my  correspond- 
ent would  call  their  'concrete  whole';  and  above  all, 
taught  me  to  reverence  them,  as  transcending  all  thought, 
and  ordainiris:  all  conduct. 

This  she  effected,  not  by  her  own  sayings  or  personal 
authority;  but  simply  by  compelling  me  to  read  the  book 
thoroughly,  for  myself.  As  soon  as  I  was  able  to  read  with 
fluency,  she  began  a  course  of  Bible  work  with  me,  which 
never  ceased  till  I  went  to  Oxford.  She  read  alternate  verses 
with  me,  watching,  at  first,  every  intonation  of  my  voice, 
and  correcting  the  false  ones,  till  she  made  me  understand 
the  verse,  if  within  my  reach,  rightly,  and  energetically.  It 
might  be  beyond  me  altogether  ;  that  she  did  not  care  about; 
but  she  made  sure  that  as  soon  as  I  got  hold  of  it  at  all,  I 
should  get  hold  of  it  by  the  right  end. 

In  this  way  she  began  with  the  first  verse  of  Genesis,  and 
went  straight  through  to  the  last  verse  of  the  Apocalypse  5 
hard  names,  numbers,  Levitical  law,  and  all  ;  and  began  again 
at  Genesis  the  next  day  ;  if  a  name  was  hard,  the  better  the 

*  See  my  first  notice  of  it  in  the  beginning  of  the  Fors  of  August 
1871  ;  and  further  account  of  it  in  appendix  to  my  Lecture  on  Glaciers^ 
given  at  the  London  Inscitution  this  year. 


F0R8  CLAVIGBEA. 


397 


exercise  in  pronunciation, — if  a  chapter  was  tiresome,  the 
better  lesson  in  patience, — if  loathsome,  the  better  lesson  in 
faith  that  there  was  some  use  in  its  being  so  outspoken. 
After  our  chapters,  (from  two  to  three  a  day,  according  to 
their  length,  the  first  thing  after  breakfast,  and  no  interrup- 
tion from  servants  allowed, — none  from  visitors,  who  either 
joined  in  the  reading  or  had  to  stay  upstairs, — and  none 
from  any  visitings  or  excursions,  except  real  travelling),  I 
had  to  learn  a  few  verses  by  heart,  or  repeat,  to  make  sure  I 
had  not  lost,  something  of  what  was  already  known  ;  and, 
with  the  chapters  above  enumerated,  (Letter  XLII.*),  I  had 
to  learn  the  whole  body  of  the  fine  old  Scottish  paraphrases, 
which  are  good,  melodious,  and  forceful  verse  ;  and  to  which, 
together  with  the  Bible  itself,  I  owe  the  first  cultivation  of 
my  ear  in  sound. 

It  is  strange  that  of  all  the  pieces  of  the  Bible  which  my 
mother  thus  taught  me,  that  which  cost  me  most  to  learn, 
and  which  was,  to  my  child's  mind,  chiefly  repulsive — the 
119th  Psalm — has  now  become  of  all  the  most  precious  to 
me,  in  its  overflowing  and  glorious  passion  of  lovo  for  the 
Law  of  God  :  "  Oii,  how  love  I  Thy  law  !  it  is  my  meditation 
all  the  day  ;  I  have  refrained  my  feet  from  every  evil  way, 
that  I  might  keep  Thy  word"; — as  opposed  to  the  ever- 
echoing  words  of  the  modern  money-loving  fool  :  "  Oh,  how 
hate  I  Thy  law  !  it  is  my  abomination  all  the  day  ;  my 
feet  are  swift  in  running  to  mischief,  and  I  have  done 
all  the  things  I  ought  not  to  have  done  and  left  un- 
done all  I  ought  to  have  done  ;  have  mercy  upon  me, 
miserable  sinner, — and  grant  that  I,  worthily  lamenting  my 
sins  and  acknowledging  my  wretchedness,  may  obtain  of 
Thee,  the  God  of  all  mercy,  perfect  remission  and  forgive- 
ness,— and  give  me  my  long  purse  here  and  my  eternal 
Paradise  there,  all  together,  for  Christ's  sake,  to  whom,  with 

*  Will  the  reader  be  kind  enough,  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
lines  of  page  212,  to  put,  with  his  pen,  a  semicolon  after  *age/  a  com- 
ma after  '  unclean',  and  a  semicolon  after  *  use  '  ?  He  will  find  tha 
sentence  thus  take  a  different  meaning. 


398 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


Thee  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  be  all  honour  and  glory,"  eto. 
And  the  letter  of  rrty  liberal  correspondent,  pointing  out,  in 
the  defence  of  usury  (of  which  he  imagines  himself  acquainted 
with  the  history  !)  how  the  Son  of  David  hit  his  father  in  the 
exactly  weak  place,  puts  it  in  my  mind  at  once  to  state  some 
principles  respecting  the  use  of  the  Bible  as  a  code  of  law, 
which  are  vital  to  the  action  of  the  St.  George's  Company 
in  obedience  to  it. 

All  the  teaching  of  God,  and  of  the  nature  He  formed 
round  Man,  is  not  only  mysterious,  but,  if  received  with  any 
warp  of  mind,  deceptive,  and  intentionally  deceptive.  The 
distinct  and  repeated  assertions  of  this  in  the  conduct 
and  words  of  Christ  are  the  most  wonderful  things,  it  seems 
to  me,  and  the  most  terrible,  in  all  the  recorded  action  of 
the  wisdom  of  Heaven.    "To  (His  disciples)  "it  is 

given  to  know  the  mysteries  of  the  kingdom, — but  to  others, 
in  parables,  that,  hearing,  they  might  not  understand,"  Now 
this  is  written  not  for  the  twelve  only,  but  for  all  disciples  of 
Christ  in  all  ages, — of  whom  the  sign  is  one  and  unmistake- 
able  :  "  They  have  forsaken  a^^that  they  have  ;  while  those 
who  "  say  they  are  Jews  and  are  not,  but  do  lie,"  or  who  say 
they  are  Christians  and  are  not,  but  do  lie,  try  to  compromise 
with  Christ, — to  give  Him  a  part,  and  keep  back  a  part  ; — 
this  being  the  Lie  of  lies,  the  Ananias  lie,  visited  always 
^y[th  spiritual  death.* 

There  is  a  curious  chapter  on  almsgiving,  by  Miss  Yonge, 
in  one  of  the  late  numbers  of  the  Monthly  Packet,  (a  good 
magazine,  though,  on  the  whole,  and  full  of  nice  writing), 
which  announces  to  her  disciples,  that  "at  least  the  tenth  of 
tiieir  income  is  God's  part."  Now,  in  the  name  of  the  Devil, 
and  of  Baal  to  back  him, — are  nine  parts,  then,  of  all  we 
liave — our  own  ?  or  theirs  ?  The  tithe  may,  indeed,  be  set 
aside  for  some  special  purpose — for  the  maintenance  of  a 
priesthood — or  as  by  the  St.  George's  Company,  for  distant 
labour,  or  any  other  purpose  out  of  their  own  immediate 

*  Isaiah  xxviii.  17  and  18. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


399 


ranffe  of  action.  But  to  the  Charitv  or  Alms  of  men — to 
Love,  and  to  the  God  of  Love,  all  their  substance  is  due — 
and  all  their  strength — and  all  their  time.  That  is  the  first 
commandment  :  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  with  all  thy 
strength  and  soul.  Yea,  says  the  false  disciple — but  not 
with  all  my  money.  And  of  these  it  is  written,  after  that 
thirty-third  verse  of  Luke  xiv.  :  Salt  is  good  ;  but  if  the 
salt  have  lost  his  savour,  it  is  neither  fit  for  the  land  nor  the 
dunghill.    He  that  hath  ears  to  hear,  let  him  hear." 

Now,  in  Holbein's  great  sermon  against  wealth,  the  en- 
graving, in  the  Dance  of  Death,  of  the  miser  and  beggar, 
he  chose  for  his  text  the  verse  :  He  that  stoppeth  his  ears 
at  the  cry  of  the  poor,  he  also  shall  cry  himself,  and  shall  not 
be  heard."  And  he  shows  that  the  ear  is  thus  deafened  bv 
being  filled  with  a  murmuring  of  its  own  :  and  how  the  ear 
thus  becomes  only  as  a  twisted  shell,  with  the  sound  of  the 
far-away  ocean  of  Hell  in  it  for  ever,  he  teaclies  us,  in  the 
figure  of  the  fiend  which  1  engraved  for  you  in  the  seventh 
of  these  letters,*  abortive,  fingerless,  contemptible,  mechani- 
cal, incapable  ; — blowing  the  winds  of  death  out  of  its  small 
machine  :  Behold,  this  is  your  God,  you  modern  Israel, 
which  has  brought  you  up  out  of  the  land  of  Egypt  in  which 
your  fathers  toiled  for  bread  witli  their  not  abortive  hands  ; 
and  set  your  feet  in  the  large  room,  of  Usury,  and  in  the 
broad  road  to  Death  ! 

Now  the  moment  that  the  Mammon  devil  gets  his  bellows 
put  in  men's  ears — however  innocent  they  may  be,  however 
free  from  actual  stain  of  avarice,  they  become  literally  deaf 
to  the  teaching  of  true  and  noble  men.  My  correspondent 
imagines  himself  to  have  read  Shakespeare  and  Goethe  ; — 
he  cannot  understand  a  sentence  of  them,  or  he  would  have 
known  the  meaning  of  the  Merchant  of  l^enice,\  and  of  the 
vision  of  Plutus,  and  speech  of  Mephistopheles  on  the  Empe- 

*  The  whole  woodcut  is  given  in  facsimile  in  the  fifth  part  of  Aiiadne 
Florentina. 

+  See  Muiiera  Puheria^  pp.  99  to  103;  and  Ariadne  Florentina^  Lecfr 
are  VI. 


400 


FOBS  CLAVIGEBA. 


ror's  paper-money  *  in  the  second  part  of  JFhmst,  and  of  the 
continual  under-current  of  similar  teaching  in  it,  from  its 
opening  in  the  mountain  sunrise,  presently  commented  on 
by  the  Astrologer,  under  the  prompting  of  Mephistopheles, 
— "the  Sun  itself  is  pure  Gold," — to  the  ditch-and-grave- 
digging  scene  of  its  close.  He  cannot  read  Xenophon,  nor 
Lucian, — nor  Plato,  nor  Horace,  nor  Pope, — nor  Homer,  nor 
Chaucer — nor  Moses,  nor  David.  All  these  are  mere  voices 
of  the  Night  to  him  ;  the  bought  bellows-blower  of  the 
Times  is  the  only  piper  who  is  in  tune  to  his  ear. 

And  the  woe  of  it  is  that  all  the  curse  comes  on  him 
merely  as  one  of  the  unhappy  modern  mob,  infected  by  the 
rest  ;  for  he  is  himself  thoroughly  honest,  simple-hearted, 
and  upright  :  only  mischance  made  him  take  up  literature  as 
a  means  of  life  ;  and  so  brought  him  necessarily  into  all  the 
elements  of  modern  insolent  thought  :  and  now,  though 

*  ^*Narr. 

Fiinftausend  Kronen  waren  mir  zu  Handen. 
Meph. 

Zweiheiniger  Schlauch^  bist  wieder  auf erstanden  ? 
NAim. 

Da  seht  nur  her,  ist  das  wohl  Geldes  werth  ? 
Meph. 

Du  hast,  daf  Lir  was  Schlund  und  Bauch  begehrt. 
Narr. 

Und  kauf  en  kann  ich  Acker,  Haus,  und  Vieh  ? 
Mepii. 

Versteht  sich !  biete  nur,  das  fehlt  dir  nie  I 
Narr. 

Und  Schloss  mit  Wald  und  Jagd,  und  Fischbach  ? 
Meph. 

Traun  ! 

Ich  mochte  dich  gestrengen  Herrn  wohl  schaun. 
Narr. 

Heute  Abend  wieg'  ich  mich  im  Grundbesitz.  {(ib.) 

Meph.  (solus.) 
Wer  zweifelt  noch  an  unfres  Narr  en  Witz  /  " 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


401 


David  and  Solomon,  Noah,  Daniel,  and  Job,  altogether  say 
one  thing,  and  the  correspondent  of  the  Times  another,  it  is 
David,  Solomon,  and  Daniel  wlio  are  Narrs  to  him. 

Now  the  Parables  of  the  New  Testament  are  so  constructed 
that  to  men  in  this  insolent  temper,  they  are  necessarily  xms^ 
leading  It  is  very  awful  that  it  should  be  so  ;  but  that  is 
the  fact.  Why  prayer  should  be  taught  by  the  story  of  the 
unjust  judge  ;  use  of  present  opportunity  by  that  of  the 
unjust  steward  ;  and  use  of  the  gifts  of  God  by  that  of  the 
hard  man  who  reaped  where  he  had  not  sown, — there  is  no 
human  creature  wise  enough  to  know  ; — but  there  are  the 
traps  set  ;  and  every  slack  judge,  cheating  servant,  and 
gnawing  usurer  may,  if  he  will,  approve  himself  in  these. 

*'Thou  knewest  that  I  was  a  hard  man."  Yes — and  if 
God  were  also  a  hard  God,  and  reaped  where  He  had  not 
sown — the  conclusion  would  be  true  that  earthly  usury 
was  risrht.    But  w^iich  of  God's  sfifts  to  us  are  7iot  His  own  ? 

The  meaning  of  the  parable,  heard  with  ears  unbesotted, 
is  this  : — Yoa^  among  hard  and  unjust  men,  yet  suffer 
their  claim  to  the  return  of  what  they  never  gave  ;  you  suffer 
them  to  reap  where  they  have  not  strewed. — But  to  me, 
the  Just  liOrd  of  your  life — whose  is  tlie  breath  in  your  nos- 
trils, whose  the  fire  in  your  blood,  who  gave  you  light 
and  thought,  and  the  fruit  of  earth  and  the  dew  of 
heaven,— to  me,  of  all  this  gift,  will  you  return  no  fruit 
but  only  the  dust  of  your  bodies,  and  the  wreck  of  your 
souls  ?  " 

Nevertheless,  the  Parables  have  still  their  living  use,  as 
well  as  their  danger  ;  but  the  Psalter  has  become  practically 
dead  ;  and  the  form  of  repeating  it  in  the  daily  service  only 
deadens  the  phrases  of  it  by  familiarity.  I  have  occasion  to- 
day, before  going  on  with  any  work  for  Agnes,  to  dwell  on 
another  piece  of  this  writing  of  the  father  of  Christ, — which, 
read  in  its  full  meaning,  w\\\  be  as  new  to  us  as  the  first- 
heard  song  of  a  foreign  land. 

I  will  print  it  first  in  the  Latin,  and  in  the  letters  and  form 
in  ^vhich  it  was  read  by  our  Christian  sires. 
Vol.  11. —26 


402  FOBS  GLAVIOERA. 

The  Eighth  Psalm.    Thirteenth  Century  Text** 

ixrttth^  'btimxxim  m%itt  qxa 
airmirabil^  t^t  mmtn  tmxct 
in  nmfrma:  tmz.     (^mmxcm  tit 

tth%.  6*  xrrje  mfejttium  t  kjdm 
rium  yffri»ti  kuir^m  pjrtjer  iwr 
ittir0s    tiwra  ut   trxstntirH  iniminT 

^uia  jErisitas  txm.    ^inuisti  >euttr 
pulxrwrnu   ab  nnjriis,  gl0ria:  t 
ncrn  totam%\i  rum  i  j»tit«x»ti  jeunt 
suj'fr  0pxra  jitjntinim  tnar,  ©mia, 
subjfjeisti  gnb  jrrbils  fju»,  06^»  t  bxr. 

jri.    330lum8  tt\i  i  pisrr8  morris  ij 
pmbulant  gimitns  maris.  g^mr 
Jr^mhtus   jT0«tjer   quam  »imi 
rabiU        m\\\t\\  \\x\m  in  uniOsa: 

*  I  have  written  it  out  from  a  perfect  English  psalter  of  early  thir- 
teenth-century work,  with  St.  Edward,  St.  Edmund,  and  St.  Cuthbert 
in  its  calendar  ;  it  probably  having  belonged  to  the  cathedral  of  York. 
The  writing  is  very  full,  but  quick  ;  meant  for  service  more  than 
beauty  ;  illuminated  sparingly,  but  with  extreme  care.  Its  contractions 
are  curiously  varied  and  capricious :  thus,  here  in  the  fifth  verse,  c  in 
constituisti  stands  for  *  con  '  merely  by  being  turned  the  wrong  way.  I 
prefer  its  text,  nevertheless,  to  that  of  more  elaborate  MSS. ,  for  when 
very  great  attention  is  paid  to  the  writing,  there  are  apt  to  be  mistakes 
in  the  words  In  the  best  thirteenth -century  service-book  I  have, 
*  tuos  '  in  the  third  verse  is  written  'meos.' 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA.  403 

I  translate  literally  ;  the  Septuagint  confirming  the  Vul- 
gate in  the  differences  from  our  common  rendering,  several 
of  which  are  important. 

1.  Oh  Lord,  our  own  Lord,  how  admirable  is  thy  Name 

in  all  the  earth  ! 

2.  Because  thy  magnificence  is  set  above  the  heavens. 

3.  Out  of  the  mouth  of  children  and  sucklings  thou  hast 

perfected  praise,  because  of  thine  enemies,  that  thou 
mightest  scatter  the  enemy  and  avenger. 

4.  Since  I  see  thy  heavens,  the  work  of  thy  fingers,  the 

moon  and  the  stars  which  thou  hast  founded, 

5.  What  is  man  that  thou  rememberest  him,  or  the  son  of 

man,  that  thou  lookest  on  him  ? 

6.  Thou  hast  lessened  him  a  little  from  the  angels  ;  thou 

hast  crowned  him  with  glory  and  honour,  and  hast  set 
him  over  all  the  works  of  thy  hands. 

7.  Thou  hast  put  all  things  under  his  feet  ;  sheep,  and  all 

oxen — and  the  flocks  of  the  plain. 

8.  The  birds  of  the  heaven  and  the  fish  of  the  sea,  and  all 

that  walk  in  the  paths  of  the  sea. 

9.  Oh  Lord,  our  own  Lord,  how  admirable  is  thy  Name  in 

all  the  earth  !  " 

Note  in  Verses  1  and  9. — Domine,  Dominus  noster  ;  our 
own  Lord  ;  Kvptc,  6  Kupios  i7fta)v  ;  claiming  thus  the  Father- 
hood. The  ^  Lord  our  Governour  '  of  the  Praver  Book  en- 
tirely  loses  the  meaning.  How  admirable  is  Thy  Name  \ 
Oavfjiaa-Tov,  '  wonderful,'  as  in  Isaiah,  "  His  name  shall  be 
called  Wonderful,  the  Counsellor."  Aofain  our  translation 
^  excellent '  loses  the  meaning. 

Verse  2. — Thy  magnificence.  Literally,  *  thy  greatness  in 
working '  (Gk.  /xeyoXoTrpcTrcta — splendour  in  aspect),  distin- 
guished from  mere  ^  glory '  or  greatness  in  fame. 


404 


FORS  CLAVIOERA. 


Verse  3. — Sidney  has  it  : 

**  From  sucklings  hath  thy  honour  sprung, 
Thy  force  hath  flowed  from  babies*  tongue." 

The  meaning  of  this  difficult  verse  is  given  by  implication  in 
Matt.  xxi.  16.  And  again,  that  verse,  like  all  the  other  great 
teachings  of  Christ,  is  open  to  a  terrific  misinterpretation  ; — - 
namely,  the  popular  evangelical  one,  that  children  should  be 
teachers  and  preachers, — ("  cheering  mother,  cheering  father, 
from  the  Bible  true").  The  lovely  meaning  of  the  words  of 
Christ,  which  this  vile  error  hides,  is  that  children,  remaining 
children^  and  uttering,  out  of  their  own  hearts,  such  things 
as  their  Maker  puts  there,  are  pure  in  sight,  and  perfect  in 
praise.* 

Verse  4. — The  moon  and  the  stars  which  thou  hast  founded 
— '  fundasti ' — e^c/xcXtWas.  It  is  much  more  than  'ordained' ; 
the  idea  of  stable  placing  in  space  being  the  main  one  in 
David's  mind.  And  it  remains  to  this  day  the  wonder  of 
wonders  in  all  wise  men's  minds.  The  earth  swings  round 
the  sun, — yes,  but  what  holds  the  sun  ?  The  sun  swings 
round  something  else.    Be  it  so, — then,  what  else  ? 

Sidney  : — 

*'When  I  upon  the  heavens  do  look, 
Which  all  from  thee  their  essence  took, 
When  moon  and  stars  my  thouglit  beholdeth. 
Whose  life  no  life  but  of  thee  holdeth/* 

Verse  5. — That  thou  lookest  on  him  ;  iTncrKeTTTrj  avTov,  '  art 
a  bishop  to  him.'  The  Greek  word  is  the  same  in  the  verse 
"I  was  sick  and  ye  visited  me. " 

Verse  6. — Thou  hast  lessened  him  ; — perhaps  better,  thou 
hast  made  him  but  by  a  little,  less,  than  the  angels  ;  i7XaT- 
Tojcra?  avTov  ^paxv  ru  The  inferiority  is  not  of  present  posi- 
tion merely,  but  of  scale  in  being. 

Verse  7. — Sheep,  and  all  oxen,  and  the  flocks  of  the  plain: 
KTqvrj  Tov  tt^Slov.    Beasts  for  service  in  the  plain,  traversing 

*  Compare  the  Crown  of  Wild  Olim^  p.  57 ;  and  put  in  the  fifth  line 
of  that  page,  a  comma  after  ^  heaven,'  and  in  the  eighth  line  a  semicO' 
Ion  after  *  blessing.' 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


405 


great  spaces, — camel  and  horse.  '  Pecora,'  in  Vulgate,  in- 
cludes all  'pecunia,'  or  property  in  animals. 

Verse  8. — In  the  Greek,  that  walk  the  paths  of  the  seas" 
is  only  an  added  description  of  fish,  but  the  meaning  of  it  is 
without  doubt  to  give  an  expanded  sense — a  generalization 
of  fish,  so  as  to  include  the  whale,  seal,  tortoise,  and  their 
like.  Neither  whales  nor  seals,  however,  from  what  I  hear  of 
modern  fishing,  are  likely  to  walk  the  paths  of  the  sea  much 
longer  ;  and  Sidney's  verse  becomes  mere  satire  : — 

The  bird,  free  burgesse  of  the  aire, 

The  fish,  of  sea  the  native  heire, 

And  what  things  els  of  waters  traceth 

The  unworn  pathes,  his  rule  embraceth. 

Oh  Lord,  that  ruTRt  our  mortal  lyne, 

How  through  the  world  thy  name  doth  shine  !  *' 

These  being,  as  far  as  T  can  trace  them,  the  literal  meanings 
of  each  verse,  the  entire  purport  of  the  psalm  is  that  the 
Name,  or  knowledge  of  God  was  admirable  to  David,  and  the 
power  and  kingship  of  God  recognizable  to  him,  through 
the  power  and  kingship  of  man.  His  vicegerent  on  the  earth, 
as  the  angels  are  in  heavenly  places.  And  that  final  purport 
of  the  psalm  is  evermore  infallibly  true, — namely,  that  when 
men  rule  the  earth  rightly,  and  feel  the  power  of  their  own 
souls  over  it,  and  its  creatures,  as  a  beneficent  and  authorita- 
tive one,  they  recognize  the  power  of  higher  spirits  also  ; 
and  the  Name  of  God  becomes  *  hallowed  *  to  them,  admi- 
rable and  wonderful  ;  but  if  they  abuse  the  earth  and  its 
creatures,  and  become  mere  contentious  brutes  upon  it,  in- 
stead of  order-commanding  kings,  the  Name  of  God  ceases 
to  be  admirable  to  them,  and  His  power  to  be  felt  ;  and 
gradually,  license  and  ignorance  prevailing  together,  even 
what  memories  of  law  or  Deity  remain  to  them  become  in- 
tolerable ;  and  in  the  exact  contrary  to  David's — My  soul 
thirsteth  for  God,  for  the  Living  God  ;  when  shall  I  come 
and  appear  before  God  ?  " — you  have  the  consummated  desire 
and  conclusive  utterance  of  the  modern  republican  : 


**S'il  y  avait  un  Dieu,  il  faudrait  le  fusilier.'* 


406 


FOBS  CLAVIGEItA. 


Now,  whatever  chemical  or  anatomical  facts  may  appear  to 
our  present  scientific  intelligences,  inconsistent  with  the  Life 
of  God,  the  historical  fact  is  that  no  happiness  nor  power  has 
ever  been  attained  by  human  creatures  unless  in  that  thirst 
for  the  presence  of  a  Divine  King  ;  and  that  nothing  but 
weakness,  misery,  and  death  have  ever  resulted  from  the  de° 
sire  to  destrov  their  King-,  and  to  have  thieves  and  murderers 
released  to  them  instead.  Also  this  fact  is  historically  cer- 
tain,— that  the  Life  of  God  is  not  to  be  discovered  by  reason- 
ing, but  by  obeying  ;  that  on  doing  what  is  plainly  ordered, 
the  wisdom  and  presence  of  the  Orderer  become  manifest  ; 
that  only  so  His  way  can  be  known  on  earth,  and  His  saving 
health  among  all  nations  ;  and  that  on  disobedience  always 
follows  darkness,  the  forerunner  of  death. 

And  now  for  corollary  on  the  eighth  Psalm,  read  the  first 
and  second  of  Hebrews,  and  to  the  twelfth  verse  of  the  third, 
slowly;  fitting  the  verse  of  the  psalm — "  lunam  et  Stellas 
quae  tu  fundasti,"  with  ''Thou,  Lord,  in  the  beginning  hast 
laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth  "  ;  and  then  noting  how  the 
subjection  which  is  merely  of  the  lower  creatures,  in  the 
psalm,  becomes  the  subjection  of  all  things,  and  at  last  of 
death  itself,  in  the  victor v  foretold  to  those  who  are  faithful 
to  their  Captain,  made  perfect  through  sufferings  ;  their  Faith, 
observe,  consisting  primarily  in  closer  and  more  constant  obe- 
dience than  the  Mosaic  law  required, — "  For  if  the  word 
spoken  by  angels  was  stedfast,  and  every  transgression  and 
disobedience  received  its  just  recompence  of  reward,  how  shall 
we  escape,  if  we  neglect  so  great  salvation  !  "  The  full  argu- 
ment  is  :  "Moses,  with  but  a  little  salvation,  saved  you  from 
earthly  bondage,  and  brought  you  to  an  earthly  land  of  life  ; 
Christ,  with  a  great  salvation,  saves  you  from  soul  bondage, 
and  brings  you  to  an  eternal  land  of  life  ;  but,  if  he  who  de- 
spised the  little  salvation,  and  its  lax  law,  (left  lax  because  of 
the  hardness  of  your  hearts),  died  without  mercy,  how  shall 
we  escape,  if  now,  with  hearts  of  flesh,  we  despise  so  great 
salvation,  refuse  the  Eternal  Land  of  Promise,  and  break  the 
stricter  and  relaxless  law  of  Christian  desert-pilgrimage?'^ 
And  if  these  threatenings  and  promises  still  remain  obscure 


FORS  clavigeha. 


407 


to  us,  it  is  only  because  we  have  resolutely  refused  to  obey 
the  orders  which  were  not  obscure,  and  quenched  the  Spirit 
which  was  already  given.  How  far  the  world  around  us 
may  be  yet  beyond  our  control,  only  because  a  curse  has 
been  brouo^ht  upon  it  bv  our  sloth  and  infidelitv,  none  of  us 
can  tell  ;  still  less  may  we  dare  either  to  praise  or  accuse  our 
Master,  for  the  state  of  the  creation  over  which  He  appointed 
us  kings,  and  in  which  we  have  chosen  to  live  as  swine.  One 
thing  we  know,  or  may  know,  \i  we  will, — that  the  heart 
and  conscience  of  man  are  divine  ;  that  in  his  perception  of 
evil,  in  his  recognition  of  good,  he  is  himself  a  God  manifest 
in  the  flesh  ;  that  his  joy  in  love,  his  agony  in  anger,  his 
indignation  at  injustice,  his  glory  in  self-sacrifice,  are  all 
eternal,  indisputable  proofs  of  liis  unity  with  a  great  Spiritual 
Head  ;  that  in  these,  and  not  merely  in  his  more  availing 
form,  or  manifold  instinct,  he  is  king  over  tlie  lower  animate 
world  ;  that,  so  far  as  he  denies  or  forfeits  these,  he  dis- 
honours the  Name  of  his  Father,  and  makes  it  unholy  and  un- 
admirable  in  the  earth  ;  that  so  far  as  he  confesses,  and  rules 
by,  these,  he  hallows  and  makes  admirable  the  Name  of  his 
Father,  and  receives,  in  his  sonship,  fulness  of  power  with 
Him,  whose  are  the  kingdom,  the  power,  and  the  glory, 
world  without  end. 

And  now  we  may  go  back  to  our  bees'  nests,  and  to  our 
school-benches,  in  peace  ;  able  to  assure  our  little  Agnes, 
and  the  like  of  her,  that,  whatever  hornets  and  locusts  and 
serpents  may  have  been  made  for,  this  at  least  is  true, — that 
we  may  set,  and  are  commanded  to  set,  an  eternal  difference 
between  ourselves  and  them,  by  neither  carrying  daggers  at 
our  sides,  nor  poison  in  our  mouths  :  and  that  the  choice  for 
us  is  stern,  between  being  kings  over  all  these  creatures,  by 
innocence  to  which  they  cannot  be  exalted,  or  more  weak, 
miserable  and  detestable  than  they,  in  resolute  guilt  to  which 
they  cannot  fall. 

Of  their  instincts,  I  believe  we  have  rather  held  too  high 
than  too  low  estimate,  because  we  have  not  enough  re- 
cognized or  respected  our  own.  AVe  do  not  differ  from  the 
lower  creatures  by  not  possessing  instinct,  but  by  possessing 


408 


FOliS  CLAVIQERA. 


will  and  conscience,  to  order  our  innate  impulses  to  the  best 
ends. 

The  great  lines  of  Pope  on  this  matter,  however  often 
quoted  fragmentarily,  are  I  think  scarcely  ever  understood 
in  their  conclusion.*  Let  us,  for  once,  read  them  to  theif 
end  : — 

**  See  him,  from  Nature,  rising  slow  to  Art, 
To  copy  instinct  then  was  reason's  part. 
Thus  then  to  man  the  voice  of  Nature  spake : 
Go, — from  the  creatures  thy  instructions  take, 
Learn  from  the  birds  what  food  the  thickets  yield, 
Learn  from  the  beasts  the  physic  of  the  field, 
Thy  arts  of  building  from  the  bee  receive. 
Learn  of  the  mole  to  plough,  the  worm  to  weave. 
Here  too  all  forms  of  social  union  find. 
And  hence  let  reason,  late,  instruct  mankind. 
Here  subterranean  works  and  cities  see, 
There,  towns  aerial  on  the  waving  tree ; 
Learn  each  small  people's  genius,  policies, 
The  ants'  republic,  and  the  realm  of  bees : 
How  those  in  common  all  their  wealth  bestow. 
And  anarchy  without  confusion  know ; 
And  these  for  ever,  though  a  monarch  reign. 
Their  separate  cells  and  properties  maintain. 
Mark  what  unvaried  laws  preserve  each  state — 
Laws  wise  as  nature,  and  as  fixed  as  fate  ; 
In  vain  thy  reason  finer  webs  shall  draw, 
Entangle  justice  in  her  net  of  law, 
And  right,  too  rigid,  harden  into  wrong— 
StilJ  for  the  strong  too  weak,  the  weak,  too  strong. 
Yet  go,  and  thus  o*er  all  the  creatures  sway. 
Thus  let  the  wiser  make  the  rest  obey, 
And  for  those  arts  mere  instinct  could  afford 
Be  crowned  as  monarchs,  or  as  gods  ador'd." 

There  is  a  trace,  in  this  last  couplet,  of  the  irony^ 
and  chastising  enforcement  of  humiliation,  which  generally 
characterize  the  Essay  on  Man ;  but,  though  it  takes  this 
colour,  the  command  thus  supposed  to  be  uttered  by  the 

*  I  am  sensitive  for  oth^r  writers  in  this  point,  my  own  readers  being 
in  the  almost  universal  practice  of  choosing  any  bit  they  may  happen  to 
fancy  in  what  I  say,  without  ever  considering  what  it  was  said  for. 


F0R8  GLAVIGERA, 


m 


voice  of  Nature,  is  intended  to  be  wholly  earnest.  "In  the 
arts  of  which  I  sot  you  example  in  the  unassisted  instinct  of 
lower  animals,  I  assist  you  by  the  added  gifts  of  will  and 
reason  :  be  therefore,  knowingly,  in  the  deeds  of  Justice, 
kings  under  the  Lord  of  Justice,  while  in  the  works  of  your 
hands,  you  remain  happy  labourers  under  his  guidance 

Who  taught  the  nations  of  the  field  and  wood 
To  shun  their  poison,  and  to  choose  their  food, 
Prescient,  the  tides  or  tempests  to  withstand, 
Build  on  the  wave,  or  arch  beneath  the  sand." 

Nor  has  ever  any  great  work  been  accomplished  by  human 
creatures,  in  which  instinct  was  not  the  principal  mental 
agent,  or  in  which  the  methods  of  design  could  be  defined  by 
rule,  or  apprehended  by  reason.  It  is  therefore  that  agency 
through  mechanism  destroys  the  powers  of  art,  and  senti- 
ments of  religion,  together. 

And  it  will  be  found  ultimately  by  all  nations,  as  it  was 
found  long  ago  by  those  who  have  been  leaders  in  human 
force  and  intellect,  that  the  initial  virtue  of  the  race  consists 
in  the  acknowledgment  of  their  own  lowly  nature,  and  sub- 
mission to  the  laws  of  hiofher  beinof.  Dust  thou  art,  and 
unto  dust  shalt  thou  return,"  is  the  first  truth  we  have  to 
learn  of  ourselves  ;  and  to  till  the  earth  out  of  which  we  wero 
taken,  our  first  duty  :  in  tliat  labour,  and  in  the  relations 
which  it  establishes  between  us  and  the  low^er  animals,  are 
founded  the  conditions  of  our  highest  faculties  and  felicities  : 
and  without  that  labour,  neither  reason,  art,  nor  peace,  are 
possible  to  man. 

But  in  that  labour,  accepting  bodily  death,  appointed  tons 
in  common  with  the  lower  creatures,  in  noble  humility  ;  and 
kindling  day  by  day  the  spiritual  life,  granted  to  us  bej^ond 
that  of  the  lower  creatures,  in  noble  pride,  all  wisdom,  peace, 
and  unselfish  hope  and  love,  may  be  reached,  on  earth,  as  in 
heaven,  and  our  lives  indeed  be  but  a  little  lessened  from 
those  of  the  angels. 

As  I  am  finishing  this  Fors^  I  note  in  the  journals  accounts 
of  new  insect-plague  on  the  vine  ;  and  the  sunshine  on  my 


410 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


own  hills  this  morning  (7th  April),  still  impure,  is  yet  the 
first  which  I  have  seen  spread  from  the  daybreak  upon  them 
through  all  the  spring  ;  so  dark  it  has  been  with  blight  of 
storm, — so  redolent  of  disease  and  distress  ;  of  which,  and 
its  possible  causes,  my  friends  seek  as  the  only  Avise  judg- 
ment, that  of  the  journals  aforesaid.  Here,  on  the  other 
hand,  are  a  few  verses*  of  the  traditional  wisdom  of  that 
king  whose  political  institutions  were  so  total  a  failure,  (ac- 
cording to  my  supremely  sagacious  correspondent),  which 
nevertheless  appear  to  me  to  reach  the  roots  of  these,  and 
of  many  other  hitherto  hidden  things. 

His  heart  is  ashes,  his  hope  is  more  vile  than  earth,  and 
his  life  of  less  value  than  clay. 

Forasmuch  as  he  knew  not  his  Maker,  and  him  that  in- 
spired into  him  an  active  soul,  and  breathed  in  him  a  living 
spirit. 

But  they  counted  our  life  a  pastime,  and  our  time  here  a 
market  for  gain  ;  for,  say  they,  we  must  be  getting  every 
way,  though  it  be  by  evil  means.f  Yea,  they  worshipped 
those  beasts  also  that  are  most  hateful  ;  (for  being  compared 
together,  some  are  worse  than  others,J  neither  are  they 
beautiful  in  respect  of  beasts,)  but  they  went  without  the 
praise  of  God,  and  his  blessing. 

Therefore  by  the  like  were  they  punished  worthily,  and  by 
the  multitude  of  beasts  tormented. 

And  in  this  thou  madest  thine  enemies  confess,  that  it  is 
thou  who  deliverest  them  from  all  evil. 

But  thy  sons  not  the  very  teeth  of  venomous  dragons  over- 
came :  for  thy  mercy  was  ever  by  them,  and  healed  them. 

*  Collated  out  of  Sa<pientia  xv.  and  xvi. 

f  Compare  Jeremiah  ix.  6  ;  in  the  Septuagint,  to«os  htX  rlKc^^KoX  $6\os 
irrl  d6\<{} :  "  usury  on  usury,  and  trick  upon  trick." 

I  The  instinct  for  the  study  of  parasites,  modes  of  disease,  the  lowei 
forms  of  undeveloped  creatures,  and  the  instinctive  processes  of  diges- 
tion and  generation,  rather  than  the  varied  and  noble  habit  of  life, — 
which  shows  itself  so  grotesquely  in  modern  science,  is  the  precise 
counterpart  of  the  forms  of  idolatry  (as  of  beetle  and  serpent,  rather 
than  of  clean  or  innocent  creatures,)  which  were  in  great  part  the 
cause  of  final  corruption  in  ancient  mythology  and  morals. 


FORS  CLAVIOKRA, 


411 


For  thou  hast  power  of  life  and  death  ;  thou  leadest  to  the 
gates  of  hell,  and  bringest  up  again. 

For  the  ungodly,  that  denied  to  know  thee,  were  scourged 
by  the  strength  of  thine  arm  :  with  strange  rains,  hails,  and 
showers,  were  they  persecuted,  that  they  could  not  avoid, 
for  through  fire  were  they  consumed. 

Instead  whereof  thou  feddest  thine  own  people  with  angels* 
food,  and  didst  send  them,  from  heaven,  bread  prepared  with- 
out their  labour,  able  to  content  everv  man's  delio^ht,  and 
agreeing  to  every  taste. 

For  thy  sustenance  declared  thy  sweetness  unto  thy  cliil- 
dren,  and  serving  to  the  appetite  of  the  eater,  tempered  it- 
self to  every  man's  liking. 

For  the  creature  that  serveth  thee,  who  art  the  Maker, 
increaseth  his  strength  against  the  unrighteous  for  their 
punishment,  and  abateth  his  strength  for  tlie  benefit  of  such 
as  put  their  trust  in  thee. 

Therefore  even  then  was  it  altered  into  all  fashions,  and 
was  obedient  to  thy  grace,  that  nourisheth  all  things,  ac- 
cording to  the  desire  of  them  that  had  need  : 

That  thy  children,  O  Lord,  whom  thou  lovest,  might  know 
that  it  is  not  the  growing  of  fruits  that  nourisheth  man  : 
but  that  it  is  thy  word,  which  preserve tli  them  that'put  their 
trust  in  thee. 

For  that  which  was  not  destroyed  of  the  fire,  being  warmed 
with  a  little  sunbeam,  soon  melted  away. 

That  it  might  be  known,  that  we  must  prevent  tlie  sun 
to  give  thee  thanks,  and  at  the  dayspring  pray  unto  thee.' 


412  FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 

NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


"  The  Parsonage,  Werrington,  Peterborough,  April  1,  1875^ 

My  dear  Sir, — Your  lady  correspondent  brings  out  in  her  own  ex^ 
perience  that  sound  Christian  truth,  of  which  the  condemnable  doc- 
trines of  '  substitution  '  and  *  vicarious  righteousness  *  are  but  the 
perversions.  Her  experience  shows  how  true  it  is  that  one  man  may  so 
live  and  suffer  that  others  shall  be  morally  the  better  for  his  life  and 
suffering. 

Such  a  man's  righteousness  is  '  imputed  '  because  really  imparted  * 
to  those  who  have  faith  in  him. 

Of  Felix  Neff  I  know  less  than  I  ought,  but  if  his  ministry  tended  to 
bring  more  sweetness  and  light  into  your  correspondent's  life,  surely  kis 
influence  in  her  mind  is  moral  and  healthful. 

I  am  very  faithfully  yours, 

"  Edward  Z.  Lyttel. 

John  Ruskin,  Esq. " 

I  transgress  the  laws  of  courtesy,  in  printing,  without  asking  the 
writer's  permission,  part  of  a  letter  which  follows  :  but  my  correspond- 
ent is  not,  as  far  as  I  know  him,  a  man  who  shrinks  from  publicity,  or 
who  would  write  in  a  private  letter  anything  on  general  subjects  which 
he  would  be  unwilling  openly  to  maintain  ;  while  the  letter  itself  is  so 
monumental  as  a  type  of  the  condition  to  which  the  modern  average 
literary  mind  has  been  reduced,  in  its  reading  of  authoritative  classical 
authors,  and  touches  so  precisely  on  points  which  it  happens  to  be  my 
immediate  business  to  set  at  rest  in  the  minds  of  many  of  my  readers, 
that  I  cannot  but  attribute  to  the  third  Fors  the  direct  inspiration  of 
the  epistle— and  must  leave  on  her  hands  what  blame  may  be  attached 
to  its  publication.  I  had  been  expressing  some  surprise  to  my  corre- 
spondent (an  acquaintance  of  long  standing)  at  his  usually  bright  and 
complacent  temper  ;  and  making  some  enquiry  about  his  views  re- 
specting modern  usury,  knowing  him  to  have  read,  at  least  for  literary 
purposes,  large  portions  of  the  Old  Testament.    He  replies, — 

* '  I  am  sure  I  would  not  be  wiser  if  I  were  *  more  uncomfortable  *  in 
my  mind  ;  J  am  perfectly  sure,  if  T  can  ever  do  good  to  any  mortal,  it 
will  be  by  calm  working,  patient  thinking,  not  by  running,  or  ragir.g, 
or  weeping,  or  wailing.    But  for  this  humour,  which  I  fancy  I  caught 

*  If  my  good  correspondent  will  try  practically  the  difference  in  the  effect  on  the 
minds  of  the  next  two  bea:gnrs  he  meets,  between  imputing  a  penny  to  the  one,  and  im- 
j>artinri  It  to  the  other,  he  will  receive  a  profitable  lesson  both  in  religion  and  English. 

Of  Felix  Neff's  influence,  i>ast  and  present,  I  will  take  other  occasion  to  speak, 


FOBS  GLAVIQEBA. 


413 


from  Shakespeare  and  Goethe,  the  sorrovr  of  the  world  would  drive 
me  mad. 

''You  ask  what  I  think  *  the  Psalmist'  means  by  *  usury. '  I  find 
from  Cruden  thar  usury  is  mentioned  only  in  the  fifteenth  Psalm. 
That  is  a  notable  and  most  beautiful  lyric  ;  quite  sufficient  to  demon- 
strate the  superiority,  in  spirituality  and  morality,  of  the  Hebrew 
religion  to  anything  Greek.  But  the  bit  about  usury  is  pure  nonsense 
— the  only  bit  of  noosr-nse  in  the  piece.  Nonsense,  because  the  singer 
has  no  notion  whatever  of  the  employment  of  money  for  the  common 
benefit  of  lender  and  borrower.  As  the  Hebrew  monarchy  was  politi- 
cally a  total  and  disastrous  faihire,  I  should  not  expect  any  opinion 
worth  listening  to  from  a  psalmist,  touching  directly  or  indirectly  on 
the  organisation  of  industry.  Jesus  Christ  and  Matthew  the  publican 
lived  in  a  time  of  extended  intercourse  and  some  commerce;  accord- 
ingly, in  Matthew  xxv. ,  verse  27,  you  have  a  pei  feet  statement  of  the 
truth  about  usury  :  *  Thou  oughtest  to  have  put  my  money  to  the  ex- 
changers, and  at  my  coming  I  should  have  received  mine  own  with  usury.' 
Ricardo  with  all  Lombard  Street  to  help  him,  could  not  improve  upon 
that.  A  legitimate,  useful,  profitable  use  of  money  is  to  accommodate 
strangers  who  come  with  money  that  will  not  circulate  in  the  country. 
The  exchanger  gives  them  current  money ;  they  pay  a  consideration 
for  the  convenience  ;  and  out  of  this  comes  the  legitimate  profit  to  be 
divided  between  lender  and  borrower.  The  rule  which  applies  to  one 
fruitful  use  of  money  will  apply  to  a  thousand,  and.  betwcvm  wise 
lending  and  honest  borrowing,  swamp  and  forest  become  field  and 
garden,  and  mountains  wave  with  corn.  Some  professor  or  other  had 
written  what  seemed  outrageous  rubbish  ;  you  confuted  or  thrust 
aside,  in  an  early  Fo)'S,  that  rubbish  ;  but  aga.nst  legitimate  interest, 
usury,  call  it  what  you  like,  I  have  never  heard  any  argument.  Mr. 
Siilar's  tracts  I  have  never  seen, — he  does  not  advertise,  and  I  havo 
not  the  second  sight. 

*'  My  view  of  the  grievous  abuses  in  the  publishing  and  bookselling 
trades  has  not  altered.  But,  since  writing  you  first  on  the  subject,  I 
have  had  careful  conversations  with  publishers,  and  have  constantly 
pondered  the  matter  ;  aud  though  I  do  not  see  my  way  to  any  com- 
plete reform,  I  cannot  entertain  hope  from  your  metlio<ls. 

I  am  tired,  being  still  very  weak.  It  would  ouly  bother  you  if  I 
went  on.  Nothing  you  have  ever  written  has,  I  think,  enabled  me  to 
get  so  near  comprehending  you  as  your  picture  of  yourself  learning  to 
read  and  write  in  last  Fovs.  You  can  see  an  individual  concrete  fact 
better  than  any  man  of  the  generation  ;  but  an  invisible  fact,  an  ab- 
straction, an  averar/e^  you  have,  I  fancy,  been  as  incapable  of  seeing  as 
of  seeing  through  a  stone  wall.  Political  Economy  is  the  science  of 
social  averages. 

Ever  affectionately  and  faithfully  yours. 

**P.  S.  (Sunday  morning).  Some  fancy  has  been  haunting  me  in 
the  night  of  its  being  presumptuous,  or  3'^our  thinking  it  })iesumi)tu- 
ous,  in  me  to  say  that  David,  or  whoever  wrote  the  fifteenth  Psalm, 
spoke,  on  the  subject  of  interest,  pure  nonsense.  After  carefully  going 
over  the  matter  again,  I  believe  that  I  am  accurately  correct.  Not 
knowing  what  lending  and  borrowing,  as  a  normal  industrial  transac- 
tion, or  trading  transaction,  was,  the  Psalmist  spoke  in  vague  ethical 


414 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


terms,  meaning  '  you  should  be  friendly  to  your  neighbour  * ;  just  as  a 
lady  economist  of  to-day  might  shriek  against  the  pawn-shop,  which, 
with  all  its  defects,  had,  in  capacity  of  Poor  Man  s  Bank,  saved  many 
a  child,  or  woman,  or  man,  from  sheer  starvation.  Not  understanding 
the  matter,  the  Psalmist  could  not  distinguish  between  use  and  abuse, 
and  so  talked  nonsense.  It  is  exquisitely  interesting  to  me  to  observe 
that  Christ  hits  the  Psalmist  exactly  on  the  point  where  he  goes 
wrong.  Tc>  apyvpiov  avrov  ovk  ^donKey  diri  tSko?,  says  the  Psalmist  ;  Uourjpe 
djv\€  ....  €^€1  ovv  ^aXelu  rh  apyvpLou  jaov  to7s  rpaire^iraiSy  Kal 
iX^iav  eyj)  eKop.io'xjuLyjy  hv  rh  iuhu  arvv  tSkw^  says  Christ.  The  use  of  the 
scune  icord  in  the  Septuagint  (the  only  Old  Testament  circulating  in 
Palestine  in  Christ's  time)  and  in  the  Gospels  of  Matthew  and  Luke,  to 
denote  in  the  one  case  what  no  good  man  would  take,  in  the  other, 
what  it  was  a  flagrant  dereliction  of  duty  oiot  to  secure,  is  most  pre- 
cious as  illustrating  the  sim])ie  common  sense  with  which  Christ  used 
the  old  Scriptures,  and  the  infinite  falsi t}^  of  the  m.odern  doctrine  of 
infallibility,  v/hether  of  church,  book,  or  man.  One  of  those  tran- 
scendencies of  Tightness  which  I  find  in  Fors  (amid  things  about  Mar- 
montel  and  Drury  Lane,  a  id  Darwin  and  Huxley,  worthy  only  of  a 
Psalmist  or  pretty  economist  of  fifteen)  was  your  idea  of  policemen- 
bishops.  I  always  agree  als  j  with  what  you  say  about  the  entirely  ob- 
solete and  useless  bishops  at  £5000  a-year  But  what  I 

was  going  to  say  is,  that  you  ought  to  ask  your  bishop,  or  the  whole 
bench  of  them,  to  find  a  place,  in  their  cart-loads  of  sermons,  for  one 
on  *  usury,'  *  as  condemmed  by  the  Psalmist  and  enjoined  by  Christ. 
Compare  Luke  xix.,  ver.  23.  The  only  sound  basis  of  banking  is  the 
fruitful,  it  dustrial  use  of  money.  I  by  no  means  maintain  that  the 
present  banking  system  of  Europe  is  safe  and  sound." 

I  submitted  the  proof  of  this  Fors  to  my  correspondent,  and  think 
it  due  to  him  and  to  my  readers  to  print,  with  the  above  letter, 
also  the  following  portions  of  that  which  he  sent  in  gentle  reply.  So 
far  as  I  have  misconceived  or  misrepresented  him,  he  knows  me  to  be 
sorry.  For  the  rest,  our  misconceptions  of  each  other  are  of  no  moment : 
the  misconception,  by  either,  of  the  nature  of  profit  by  the  loan  of 
money,  or  tools,  is  of  moment  to  every  one  over  whom  we  have  in- 
fluence ;  we  neither  of  us  have  any  business  to  be  wrong  in  that  matter  ; 
and  there  are  few  on  which  it  is  more  immediately  every  man's  business 
to  be  right. 

'*  Remonstrance  were  absurd,  where  misconception  is  so  total  as 
yours.  My  infidelity  is  simply  that  I  worship  Christ,  thanking  every 
one  who  gives  me  any  glimpse  that  enables  me  to  get  nearer  Christ  s 
meaning.  In  this  light,  v.hat  you  say  of  a  hidden  sense  or  drift 
in  the  parables  interests  me  profoundly  ;  but  the  more  I  think  of 
the  question  of  interest,  the  more  T  feel  persuaded  that  Christ  distin- 
guished the  use  from  the  abuse.  Tradition,  almost  certainly  authentic, 
imputes  to  Him  the  saying  yiv^crQe  rpair^^irai  BoicijuLOL  (see  M.  Arnold  s 
article  in  March  Contempordvy),  and  1  don't  see  how  there  can  be 
honourable  bankers, — men  living  honourably  by  banking, — if  all  taking 


the  uote  at  p.  117. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


415 


of  interest  is  wrong.  You  speak  of  my  *  supreme  confidence  '  in  my  own 
opinions.  I  absolutely  have  confidence  only  in  the  resolution  to  keep 
my  eyes  open  for  lii^ht  and,  if  I  can  help  it,  not  to  be  to-day  exactly 
v/here  I  was  yesterday.  1  have  not  only  read,  but  lived  in,  (as  a  very 
atmosphere)  the  works  of  men  whom  you  say  I  went  to  because  some- 
body said  ifc  was  fine  to  do  so.  They  have  taught  me  some  compre- 
hensiveness, some  tolerance,  some  moderation  iu  judging  even  the  mob. 
They  have  taught  me  to  consume  my  own  smoke,  and  it  is  this  con- 
sumption of  my  own  smoke  which  you  seem  to  have  mistaken  lor  con- 
fidence in  my  opinions.  Which  prophet,  from  Moses  to  Carlyle,  would 
not  you  confess  to  have  been  sometimes  iu  the  wrong?  I  said  that  I 
worship  Christ.  In  Him  I  realize,  so  far  as  I  can  realize,  God.  There- 
fore I  speak  not  of  Him.  But  the  very  key -stone  of  any  arch  of  notions 
in  my  mind  is  that  inspiration  is  one  of  the  mightiest  and  most  blessed 
of  forces,  one  of  the  most  real  of  facts,  but  that  infallibility  is  the  error 
of  errors.  From  no  prophet,  from  no  book,  do  I  take  what  I  please 
and  leave  what  I  please ;  but,  applying  all  the  lights  I  have,  I  loarn 
from  each  as  wisely  as,  with  my  powers  and  my  lights,  is  possible  for  me. 

"Affectionately  yours.'* 

I  have  received,  with  the  respects  of  the  author,"  a  pamphlet  on 
the  Crystal  Palace ;  which  tells  me,  in  its  first  sentence,  that  the 
Crystal  Palace  is  a  subject  which  every  cultivated  Englishman  has  at 
heart ;  in  its  second,  that  the  Crystal  Palace  is  a  household  word,  and 
is  the  loftiest  moral  triumph  of  the  world ;  and  in  its  third,  that  the 
Palace  is  declining,  it  is  said, — verging  towards  decay.  I  have  not 
heard  anything  for  a  long  time  which  has  more  pleased  me  ;  and  beg 
to  assure  the  author  of  the  pamphlet  iu  question  that  I  never  get  up  at 
Herne  Hill  after  a  windy  night  without  looking  anxiously  towards  Nor- 
wood in  the  hope  that  '  the  loftiest  moral  triumph  of  the  world '  may 
have  been  blown  away. 

I  find  the  following  lovely  little  scene  translated  into  French  from 
the  Dutch,  (M.  J.  Rigeveld,  Amsterdam,  C.  L.  Brinkman,  1875,)  iu  a 
valuable  little  periodical  for  ladies,  VEspemnce^  of  Geneva,  in  which 
the  entirely  gv)od  purpose  of  t!ie  editor  will,  I  doubt  not,  do  wide  ser- 
vice, in  spite  of  her  adoption  of  the  popular  error  of  the  desirability  of 
feminine  independence. 

'*A  PROPOS  D'UNE  PAIKE  DE  GANTS. 

*"Qu'y  a-t-il  Elise?'  dit  Madame,  en  se  tournant  du  cote  d'une 
fen6tre  ouverte,  ou  elle  entend  quelque  bruit.  '  Oh  !  moins  que  rieu, 
mainan !  *  repond  sa  fille  a  nce,  en  train  de  faire  la  toilette  des  cadets, 
pour  la  promenade  et  le  concert.  *  Ce  que  c'est,  mamau  V  '  crie  un  des 
petits  garc^ous,  '  c'esl:  que  Lolotte  ne  vent  pas  mettre  des  gants.'  *  Elle 
dit  qu'elle  a  assez  chaud  sans  ccla,  reprend  un  autre,  et  qu'elle  ne 
trouve  pas  mcnne  joli  d'avoir  des  gants.'  Et  chacun  de  rire.  Un  des 
rapporteurs  continue  :  *  Elise  veut  qu'elle  le  fasse  par  cons  enance  ;  rna.s 
Lolotte  protend  que  la  peau  humaine  est  plus  couvenable  qu'une  peau 
de  rat.*    Cette  boutade  excite  de  uouveau  Thilaritii  de  la  comi>3gnie. 


416 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


*  Quelle  idee,  Lolotte,'  dit  son  pere  d*un  ton  enjoue :  '  montre-tol 
done ! ' 

Apparemment  Lolotfce  n'est  pas  d'humeur  a  obeir  ;  mais  les  gargona 
ne  lui  laissent  pas  le  choix  et  le  poussent  en  avant.  La  voila  done,  notre 
heroine.  C'est  une  fillette  d  environ  quatorze  ans,  dont  los  yeux  pe til- 
lent  d'esprit  et  de  vie ;  on  voit  qu'elle  aime  a  user  largement  de  la  lib- 
erte  que  lui  laisse  encore  son  age,  pour  dire  son  opinion  sur  tout  ce  qui 
lui  passe  par  la  tete  sans  consequence  aucune.  Mais  bien  qu  elle  soit 
forte  dans  son  opinion  anti-gantiere,  l  eafant  est  tant  soit  pen  confuse, 
et  ne  parait  pas  portee  a  defendre  sa  cause  en  presence  d'un  etranger. 

*  Quoi  done,'  lui  dit  son  pere,  en  la  prenact  par  la  taille,  '  tu  ne  veux 
pas  porter  des  gants,  parce  qu'ils  sonfc  faits  de  peaux  de  rats !  Je  ne  te 
croyais  pas  si  folle.  Le  rat  est  mort  et  oublie  depuis  longtemps,  et  sa 
peau  est  glacee.' — ^  Non,  papa,  ce  n'est  pas  9a.' — '  Qu'est-ce  done,  men 
enfant  ?  Tu  est  trop  grande  fiUe  pour  ces  manieres  sans  facon.  Ne 
veux-tu  pas  etre  une  demoiselle  comme  il  faut.'  '  Et  ces  petites  mains 
qui  toucheut  si  bien  du  piano,'  reprend  le  visiteur,  desireux  de  faire 
oublier  la  gene  que  cause  sa  presence,  par  un  mob  gracieux.  'Ne 
veux-tu  pas  pliitot  renoncer  a  la  musique,  et  devenir  sarcleuse  ? '  lui 
demande  son  pere. — *  Non,  papa,  point  du  tout.  Je  ne  puis  pas  dire  au 
juste  ma  pensee  .  .  .  /  Et  elle  se  degagea  doucement  de  ses  bras  ;  et 
en  se  sauvant,  grommela  :  '  Morfc  aux  gants,  et  vive  la  civilisation ! ' 
On  rit  encore  un  peu  de  Tenfant  bizarre;  puis  on  parle  d'autres  choses, 
et  Ton  se  prepare  pour  la  promenade.  Lolotte  a  mis  les  gants  en  ques- 
tion, *  pour  plaire  a  raaman,'  et  personne  ne  s'en  occupe  plus. 

"  Mais  1 'etranger  avait  saisi  au  passage  sa  derniere  phrase,  qui  sans 
cesse,  lui  revenait  a  I'esprit.  Se  reprochait-il  devant  cette  enfant 
naive  sa  complicite  a  1' interpretation  futile  que  son  hole  avait  donnce 
de  la  civilisation  f  Tant  est,  que  pendant  le  cours  de  la  soiree,  se  trou- 
vant  un  moment  en  tete-a-tete  avec  Lolotte,  il  revint  a  1  histoire  des 
gants.  II  tacha  de  riiparer  sa  gaucherie  et  fit  si  bien,  qu'il  gagna  la 
confiance  de  la  petite.  *  Sans  doute,  j'en  conviens,  dit-il,  il  f aut  plus 
pour  etre  civilise  que  de  porter  des  gants,  mais  il  faut  se  soumettre  a 
eertaines  convenances  que  les  gens  comme  il  faut.  .  .  'C'est  9a, 
Monsieur,  dit-elle,  en  lui  coupant  la  parole,  quelle  est  done  la  chance 
des  gens  qui  voudraient  se  civiliser,  mais  qui  n'ont  pas  d  argent  pour 
acheter  des  gants  ?  '  C'etait-la  sa  peine.  *  Chere  enfaat ! '  dit-il  tout 
bas.  Et  I  homme,  si  eloquent  d'ordiuaire,  pressa  la  petite  main  sous 
le  gant  obligatoire,  parce  que  pour  le  moment  les  paroles  lui  manqua- 
ient  pour  repondre.  .  .  .  Est-ce  etonnant  que,  malgre  lui,  plus 
tard  en  s' occupant  de  la  question  sociale,  il  pensa  souvent  a  cette  jeune 
fille  ? 

"  Et  vous,  lecteurs,  que  pensez-vous  d'elle  et  de  sa  question  gan- 
tiere  ?  Vous  parait-elle  un  enf antillage,  ou  bien  la  considerez-vous  tout 
bonnement  comme  une  exageration  ?  Vous  attachez-vous  a  la  surface, 
on  bien  y  cherchez-vous  un  sens  plus  profond,  comme  I'ami  visiteur? 
Ne  croyez-vous  pas  aussi  que  dans  ce  temps  de  '  besoins  multiplies,'  ur) 
des  plus  grands  services  que  les  classes  superieures  puissent  rend  re  au 
peuple,  serait  de  faire  distinction  entre  tons  ces  besoins  et  de  precher 
d'exemple  ?  " 

This  bit  of  letter  must  find  room— bearing  as  it  does  on  last  Fori 
subject : — 


F0R8  OLAVIGEIiA. 


417 


*'  I  was  asking  a  girl  this  morning  if  she  still  took  her  long  walks  ; 
and  she. said  she  was  as  fond  of  them  as  ever,  but  that  they  could  only 
walk  in  the  town  now — the  field  or  country  walks  were  not  safe  fot 
ladies  alone.  Indeed,  I  fancy  the  girls  lose  all  care  for,  or  knowledge  of 
the  spring  or  summer — except  as  they  Vjring  new  fashions  into  the  shop 
windows,  not  fresh  flowers  any  more  here  into  the  fields.    It  is  pitiable 

to  live  in  a  place  like  this — even  worse  than  in  .    For  here  the 

process  of  spoiling  country  is  going  on  under  one's  eyes  ; — in   it 

was  done  long  ago.  And  just  nov\%  wlieu  the  feeling  of  spring  is  upon 
one,  it  is  hard  to  have  the  sky  darkeued,  and  the  air  poisoned.  But  I 
am  wasting  time  in  useless  grumbling.    Only  listen  to  this: — after  all 

our  sacrifices,  and  with  all  our  money  and  civilization  1  can't  tell 

you  now  ;  it  must  wait."  [Very  well ;  but  don't  keep  it  waiting  longer 
than  you  need.] 

I  have  had  some  good  help  about  bees'  tongues  from  a  young  corre- 
spondent at  Merrow  Grange,  Guildford,  and  a  very  clear  drawing,  to 
which  the  subjoined  piece  of  his  last  letter  refers ;  but  I  must  not  lose 
myself  in  microscopic  questions  just  now  : — 

The  author  of  The  Microscope  keeps  to  the  old  idea  of  bees  sucking 
honey  and  not  *  licking  it  up,'  for  he  says,  '  The  proboscis,  being  cylin- 
drical, extracts  the  juice  of  the  i^ower  in  a  somewhat  similar  way  to 
that  of  the  butterfly.'  And  of  tne  tongue  he  says,  '  If  a  bee  is  atten- 
tively observed  as  it  settles  upon  a  flower,  the  activity  and  promptitude 
with  which  it  uses  the  apparatus  is  truly  surprising  ;  it  lengthens  the 
tongue,  applies  it  to  the  bottom  of  the  petals,  then  shortens  it,  bending 
and  turning  it  in  all  directions,  for  the  purpose  of  exploring  the  interior 
and  removing  the  pollen,  which  it  packs  in  the  pockets  in  its  hind  legs, 
(by,  he  supposes,  the  two  shorter  feelers,)  and  forniH  the  chief  food  for 
the  working-bees.'  He  says  that  when  the  waxen  walls  of  the  cells  are 
completed  they  are  strengthened  by  a  varui-h  collected  from  the  buds 
of  the  poplar  and  other  trees,  which  tliey  smear  over  the  cells  by  the 
aid  of  the  wonderful  apparatus.  That  part  of  the  proboscis  that  looks 
something  like  a  human  head,  he  says,  can  be  considerably  enlarged 
.  .  .  and  thus  made  to  contain  alargt  r  quantity  of  the  collected  juice 
of  the  flowers ;  at  the  same  time  it  is  in  this  cavity  that  the  nectar  is 
transformed  into  pure  honey  by  some  peculiar  chemical  process.'  " 

*  Note  on  page  414. — My  correspondent  need  not  be  at  a  loss  for 
sermons  on  usury.  When  the  Christian  Church  was  living,  there  was 
no  lack  of  such.  Here  are  two  specimens  of  their  tenor,  furnished  me 
by  one  of  Mr.  Sillar's  pamphlets  : — 

Extract  from  the  Exposition  upon  the  First  Epistle  to  the 

TlIESSALONIANS,  ClI.  IV.  VER.  6.     By  BlSIlOP  JeWELL. 

Usury  is  a  kind  of  lending  of  mone3\  or  corn,  or  oil,  or  wine,  or  of 
any  other  thing,  wherein,  upon  covenant  and  bargain,  we  receive  again 
the  whde  principal  which  we  delivered,  and  som-ewhat  viore  for  the  use 
and  occupying  of  the  same:  as,  if  I  lend  one  hundred  pounds,  and  for 
it  covenant  to  receive  one  hundred  and  five  pounds,  or  any  other  sum 
greater  than  was  the  sum  which  I  did  leud.    This  ii  that  that  we  oall 

Vol.  II.— 37 


418 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


usury ,  euch  a  kind  of  bargaining  as  no  good  man,  or  godly  man,  evei 
used  ;  such  a  kind  of  bargaining  as  all  men  that  ever  feared  God*s 
judgment  have  always  abhorred  and  condemned.  It  is  filthy  gaim^. 
and  a  work  of  darkness :  it  is  a  monster  in  nature;  the  overthrow  of 
mighty  kingdoms;  the  destruction  of  flourishing  states;  the  decay  of 
weaMhy  cities  ;  the  'plagues  of  the  world,  and  the  misery  of  the  people.  It 
is  theft ;  it  is  the  murdering  of  our  brethren  ;  it  is  the  curse  of  God^  and 
the  curse  of  the  people.  This  is  usury  :  by  these  signs  and  tokens  you, 
may  know  it :  for  wheresoever  it  reigneth,  all  those  mischiefs  ensue. 
But  how,  and  how  many  ways,  it  may  be  wrought,  I  will  not  declare : 
it  were  horrible  to  hear;  and  I  come  now  to  reprove  usury,  and  not  to 
teach  it. 

Tell  me,  thou  wretched  wight  of  the  world,  thou  unkind  creature, 
which  art  past  all  sense  and  feeling  of  God  ;  which  knowest  the  will  of 
God,  and  doest  the  contrary  :  how  darest  thou  come  into  the  church  ? 
It  is  the  church  of  that  God  which  hath  said,  '  Thou  shalt  take  no 
usury '  ;  and  thou  knowest  He  hath  so  said.  How  darest  thou  read 
or  hear  the  word  of  God  ?  It  is  the  word  of  that  God  which  con- 
demneth  usury  ;  and  thou  knowest  He  doth  condemn  it.  How  darest 
thou  come  into  the  company  of  thy  brethren?  Usury  is  the  plague, 
and  destruction,  and  undoing  of  thy  brethren  ;  and  this  thou  knowest. 
How  darest  thou  look  upon  thy  children?  thou  makest  the  wrath  of 
God  fall  down  from  heaven  upon  them  ;  thy  iniquity  shall  be  punished 
in  them  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation  :  this  thou  knowest.  How 
darest  thou  look  up  into  heaven  ?  thou  hast  no  dwelling  there ;  thou 
shalt  have  no  place  in  the  tabernacle  of  the  Highest :  this  thou  knowest. 
Because  thou  robbest  the  poor,  deceivest  the  simple,  and  eatest  up  the 
widows'  houses:  therefore  shall  thy  children  be  naked,  and  beg  their 
bread  ;  therefore  shalt  thou  and  thy  riches  perish  together." 

Extract  from  the  Farewell  Sermon  preachkd  in  the  Church 
OF  St.  Mary  Woolnoth,  Lombard  Street,  by  the  Rev. 
David  Jones,  when  the  present  system  was  in  its  infancy. 

"  And  the  Pharisees  also,  who  were  covetoiip,  heard  all  these  things,  and  they  derided 
him."— Luke  xvi.  14. 

'*I  do  openly  declare  that  every  minister  and  every  church- warden 
throughout  all  England  are  actually  perjured  and  foresworn  by  the 
109th  canon  of  our  church,  if  they  suffer  any  usurer  to  come  to  the 
bacrament  till  he  be  reformed,  and  there  is  no  reformation  without 
restitution. 

«  4r  ♦  «  « 

**  And  that  you  may  know  what  usury  is  forbid  by  the  word  of  God, 
turn  to  Ezekiel  xviii.  8,  13,  and  you  will  find  that,  whoever  giveth  upon 
usury  or  taketh  any  increase, — Mark  it^ — he  that  taketh  any  increase 
above  the  principal, — not  six  in  the  hundred,  but  let  it  be  never  so 
little,  and  never  so  moderate, — he  that  taketh  any  increase,  is  a  usurer, 
and  such  a  one  as  shall  surely  die  for  his  usury,  and  his  blood  shall  be 
upon  his  own  head.  This  is  that  word  of  God  by  which  you  shall  all 
be  saved  or  damned  at  the  last  day,  and  all  those  trifling  and  shuffling 
distinctions  that  covetous  usurers  ever  invented  shall  never  be  able  to 
excuse  your  damnation. 

Heretofore  all  usurious  olergymen  were  degraded  from  Holy  Orders, 


FOBS  CLAVIQERA, 


419 


and  all  usurious  laymen  were  excommunicated  in  their  lifetime,  and 
hindered  Christian  burial  after  death,  till  their  heirs  had  made  restitu- 
tion for  all  they  had  gotten  by  usury." 

As  this  sheet  is  going  to  press  I  receive  a  very  interesting  letter  from 
*'a  poor  mother."  That  no  wholesome  occupation  is  at  present  offered 
in  England  to  youths  of  the  temper  she  describes,  is  precisely  the 
calamity  which  urged  my  endeavour  to  found  the  St.  George's  Com- 
pauy.  But  if  she  will  kindly  tell  me  the  boy's  age,  and  whether  the 
want  of  perseverance  she  regrets  in  him  has  ever  been  tested  by  giving 
him  sufficient  motive  for  consistent  exertion,  I  will  answer  what  I  can, 
in  next  Fori. 


420 


FOBS  CLAVIGBIiA. 


LETTER  LIV. 

Before  going  on  with  my  own  story  to-day,  I  must  fasten 
down  a  main  principle  about  doing  good  work,  not  yet  enough 
made  clear. 

It  has  been  a  prevalent  notion  in  the  minds  of  well-disposed 
persons,  that  if  they  acted  according  to  their  own  conscience, 
they  must,  therefore,  be  doing  right. 

But  they  assume,  in  feeling  or  asserting  this,  either  that 
there  is  no  Law  of  God,  or  that  it  cannot  be  known  ;  but 
only  felt,  or  conjectured. 

"I  must  do  what  I  think  right."  How  often  is  this  sen- 
tence uttered  and  acted  on — bravely— nobly — innocently  ; 
but  always — because  of  its  egotism — erringly.  You  must 
not  do  what  you  think  right,  but,  whether  you  or  anybody 
think,  or  don't  think  it,  what  is  right. 

"I  must  act  according  to  the  dictates  of  my  conscience." 

By  no  means,  my  conscientious  friend,  unless  you  are 
quite  sure  that  yours  is  not  the  conscience  of  an  ass. 
I  am  doing  my  best — what  can  man  do  more  ?  " 

You  might  be  doing  much  less,  and  yet  much  better  : — 
perhaps  you  are  doing  your  best  in  producing,  or  doing,  an 
eternally  bad  thing. 

All  these  three  sayings,  and  the  convictions  they  express, 
are  wise  only  in  the  mouths  and  minds  of  wise  men  ;  they 
are  deadly,  and  all  the  deadlier  because  bearing  an  image  and 
superscription  of  virtue,  in  the  mouths  and  minds  of  fools. 

"  But  there  is  every  gradation,  surely,  between  wisdom 
and  folly  ?  " 

No.  The  fool,  whatever  his  wit,  is  the  man  who  doesn't 
know  his  master — who  has  said  in  his  heart — there  is  no 
God — no  Law. 

The  wise  man  knows  his  master.  Less  or  more  wise,  he 
perceives  lower  or  higher  masters  ;  but  always  some  creature 


FOHS  CLAVIOERA, 


421 


larger  than  himself — some  law  holier  than  his  own.  A  law 
to  be  sought — learned,  loved — obeyed  ;  but  in  order  to  its 
discovery,  the  obedience  must  be  begun  first,  to  the  best  one 
knows.  Obey  something ^  and  you  will  have  a  chance  some 
day  of  finding  out  what  is  best  to  obey.  But  if  you  begin 
by  obeying  nothing,  3'ou  will  end  by  obeying  Beelzebub  and 
all  his  seven  invited  friends. 

Which  being  premised,  I  venture  to  continue  the  history 
of  my  own  early  submissions  to  external  Force. 

The  Bible  readings,  described  in  my  last  letter,  took  place 
always  in  the  front  parlour  of  the  house,  which,  when  I  was 
about  five  years  old,  my  father  found  himself  able  to  buy  the 
lease  of,  at  Ilerne  Hill.  The  piece  of  road  between  the  Fox 
tavern  and  the  Heme  Hill  station,  remains,  in  all  essential 
points  of  character,  unchanged  to  this  day  :  certain  Gothic 
splendours,  lately  indulged  in  by  our  wealthier  neighbours, 
being  the  only  serious  innovations  ;  and  these  are  so  gra- 
ciously concealed  by  the  fine  trees  of  their  grounds,  that  the 
passing  viator  remains  unappalled  by  them  ;  and  I  can  still 
walk  up  and  down  the  piece  of  road  aforesaid,  imagining 
myself  seven  years  old. 

Our  house  was  the  fourth  part  of  a  group  which  stand 
accurately  on  the  top  or  dome  of  the  hill,  where  the  ground 
is  for  a  small  space  level,  as  the  snows  arc  (I  understand)  on 
the  dome  of  Mont  Blanc  ;  presently  falling,  however,  in  what 
may  be,  in  the  London  clay  formation,  considered  a  precipi- 
tous slope,  to  our  valley  of  Chamouni  (or  of  Dulwich)  on  the 
east ;  and  with  a  softer  descent  into  Cold  Arbour,  (nautically 
aspirated  into  Harbour)-lane  on  the  west  :  on  the  south,  no 
less  beautifully  declining  to  the  dale  of  the  Effra,  (doubtless 
shortened  from  Effrena,  siofnifvino:  the  "Unbridled"  river  : 
recently,  I  regret  to  say,  bricked  over  for  the  convenience 
of  Mr.  Biffin,  the  chemist,  and  others),  while  on  the  north, 
prolonged  indeed  with  slight  depression  some  half  mile  or 
so,  and  receiving,  in  the  parish  of  Lambeth,  the  chivalric 
title  of  '  Champion  Hill,'  it  plunges  down  at  last  to  efface 
itself  in  the  plains  of  Peckham,  and  the  rustic  solitudes  of 
Goose  Green. 


422 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


The  group,  of  which  our  house  was  the  quarter,  consisted 
of  two  precisely  similar  partner-couples  of  houses, — gardens 
and  all  to  match  ;  still  the  two  highest  blocks  of  building 
seen  from  Norwood  on  the  crest  of  the  ridge  ;  which,  even 
within  the  time  I  remember,  rose  with  no  stinted  beauty  of 
wood  and  lawn  above  the  Dulwich  fields. 

The  house  itself,  three-storied,  with  garrets  above,  com- 
manded, in  those  comparatively  smokeless  days,  a  very 
notable  view  from  its  upper  windows,  of  the  Norwood  hills 
on  one  side,  and  the  winter  sunrise  over  them  ;  and  of  the 
valley  of  the  Thames,  with  Windsor  in  the  distance,  on  the 
other,  and  the  summer  sunset  over  these.  It  had  front  and 
back  garden  in  sufficient  proportion  to  its  size  ;  the  front, 
richly  set  with  old  evergreens,  and  well  grown  lilac  and 
laburnum  ;  the  back,  seventy  yards  long  by  twenty  wide, 
renowned  over  all  the  hill  for  its  pears  and  apples,  which  had 
been  chosen  with  extreme  care  by  our  predecessor,  (shame 
on  me  to  forget  the  name  of  a  man  to  whom  I  owe  so  much  !) 
— and  possessing  also  a  strong  old  mulberry  tree,  a  tall 
white-heart  cherry  tree,  a  black  Kentish  one,  and  an  almost 
unbroken  hedge,  all  round,  of  alternate  gooseberry  and  cur- 
rant bush  ;  decked,  in  due  season,  (for  the  ground  was  wholly 
beneficent,)  with  magical  splendour  of  abundant  fruit :  fresh 
green,  soft  amber,  and  rough-bristled  crimson  bending  the 
spinous  branches  ;  clustered  pearl  and  pendant  ruby  joyfully 
discoverable  under  the  large  leaves  that  looked  like  vine. 

The  differences  of  primal  importance  which  I  observed  be- 
tween the  nature  of  this  garden,  and  that  of  Eden,  as  I  had 
imagined  it,  were,  that,  in  this  one,  all  the  fruit  was  for- 
bidden ;  and  there  were  no  companionable  beasts  :  in  other 
respects  the  little  domain  answered  every  purpose  of  Para- 
dise to  me  ;  and  the  climate,  in  that  cycle  of  our  years,  al- 
lowed me  to  pass  most  of  my  life  in  it.  My  mother  never 
gave  me  more  to  learn  than  she  knew  I  could  easily  get 
learnt,  if  I  set  myself  honestly  to  work,  by  twelve  o'clock. 
She  never  allowed  anything  to  disturb  me  when  my  task 
was  set  ;  if  it  was  not  said  rightly  by  twelve  o'clock,  I  was 
kept  in  till  I  knew  it,  and  in  general,  even  when  Latin 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


423 


Grammar  came  to  supplement  the  Psalms,  I  was  my  own 
master  for  at  least  an  liour  before  dinner  at  half-past  one, 
and  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon.  My  mother,  herself  find- 
ing her  chief  personal  pleasure  in  her  flowers,  was  often 
planting  or  pruning  beside  me, — at  least  if  I  chose  to  stay 
beside  her,  I  never  thought  of  doing  anything  behind  her 
back  which  I  would  not  have  done  before  her  face  ;  and  her 
presence  was  therefore  no  restraint  to  me  ;  but,  also,  no  par- 
ticular pleasure  ;  for,  from  having  always  been  left  so  much 
alone,  I  had  generally  my  own  little  affairs  to  see  after  ;  and 
on  the  whole,  by  the  time  I  was  seven  years  old,  was  already 
getting  too  independent,  mentally,  even  of  my  father  and 
mother  ;  and  having  nobody  else  to  be  dependent  upon,  be- 
gan to  lead  a  very  small,  perky,  contented,  conceited,  Cock- 
Robinson-Crusoe  sort  of  life,  in  the  central  point  which  it 
appeared  to  me,  (as  it  must  naturally  appear  to  geometrical 
animals)  that  I  occupied  in  the  universe. 

This  was  partly  the  fault  of  my  father's  modesty  ;  and 
partly  of  his  pride.  He  had  so  much  more  confidence  in  my 
mother's  judgment  as  to  such  matters  than  in  his  own,  that 
he  never  ventured  even  to  help,  much  less  to  cross  her,  in  the 
conduct  of  my  education  ;  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  fixed 
purpose  of  making  an  ecclesiastical  gentleman  of  me,  with 
the  superfinest  of  manners,  and  access  to  the  highest  circles 
of  fleshly  and  spiritual  societ)',  the  visits  to  Croydon,  where 
I  entirely  loved  my  aunt,  and  young  baker-cousins,  became 
rarer  and  more  rare  :  the  society  of  our  neighbours  on  the 
hill  could  not  be  had  without  breaking  up  our  regular  and 
sweetly  selfish  manner  of  living  ;  and  on  the  whole,  I  had 
nothing  animate  to  care  for,  in  a  childish  way,  but  myself, 
some  nests  of  ants,  which  the  gardener  would  never  leave 
undisturbed  for  me,  and  a  sociable  bird  or  two  ;  though  I 
never  had  the  sense  or  perseverance  to  make  one  really  tame. 
But  that  was  partly  because,  if  ever  I  managed  to  bring  one 
to  be  the  least  trustful  of  me,  the  cats  got  it. 

Under  these  favourable  circumstances,  what  powers  of  im- 
agination I  possessed,  either  fastened  themselves  on  inani- 
mate things — the  sky,  the  leaves,  and  pebbles,  observable 


424 


FORS  CLAVIOERA, 


within  the  walls  of  Eden,  or  caught  at  any  opportunity  of 
flight  into  regions  of  romance,  compatible  with  the  objec- 
tive realities  of  existence  in  the  nineteenth  century,  within  a 
mile  and  a  quarter  of  Camberwell  Green. 

Herein  my  father,  happily,  though  with  no  definite  inten- 
tion other  than  of  pleasing  me,  when  he  found  he  could  do 
so  without  infringing  any  of  my  mother's  rules,  became  my 
guide.  I  was  particularly  fond  of  watching  him  shave  ;  and 
was  always  allowed  to  come  into  his  room  in  the  morning 
(under  the  one  in  which  I  am  now  writing),  to  be  the  mo- 
tionless witness  of  that  operation.  Over  his  dressing-table 
hung  one  of  his  own  water-colour  drawings,  made  under  the 
teaching  of  the  elder  Nasmyth.  (I  believe,  at  the  High 
School  of  Edinburgh.)  It  was  done  in  the  early  manner  of 
tinting,  which,  just  about  the  time  when  my  father  was  at  the 
High  School,  Dr.  Munro  was  teaching  Turner ;  namely,  in 
grey  under-tints  of  Prussian  blue  and  British  ink,  washed 
with  warm  colour  afterwards  on  the  lights.  It  represented 
Conway  Castle,  with  its  Frith,  and,  in  the  foreground,  a  cot- 
tage, a  fisherman,  and  a  boat  at  the  water's  edge. 

When  my  father  had  finished  shaving,  he  always  told  me 
a  story  about  this  picture.  The  custom  began  without  any 
initial  purpose  of  his,  in  consequence  of  my  troublesome  curi- 
osity whether  the  fisherman  lived  in  the  cottage,  and  where  he 
was  going  to  in  the  boat.  It  being  settled,  for  peace'  sake,  that 
he  did  live  in  the  cottage,  and  was  going  in  the  boat  to  fish 
near  the  castle,  the  plot  of  the  drama  afterwards  gradually 
thickened  ;  and  became,  I  believe,  involved  with  that  of  the 
tragedy  of  Douglas,  and  of  the  Castle  Spectre,  in  both  of 
w^hich  pieces  my  father  had  performed  in  private  theatricals, 
before  my  mother,  and  a  select  Edinburgh  audience,  wlien  he 
was  a  boy  of  sixteen,  and  she,  at  grave  twenty,  a  model  house- 
keeper, and  very  scornful  and  religiously  suspicious  of  theat- 
ricals. But  she  was  never  weary  of  telling  me,  in  later 
years,  how  beautiful  my  father  looked  in  his  Highland  dress, 
with  the  high  black  feathers. 

I  remember  nothing  of  the  story  he  used  to  tell  me,  now  ; 
but  I  have  the  picture  still,  and  hope  to  leave  it  finally  in 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


425 


the  Oxford  schools,  where,  if  I  can  complete  my  series  of 
illustrative  work  for  general  reference,  it  will  be  of  some 
little  use  as  au  example  of  an  old-fashioned  method  of 
water-colour  drawing  not  without  its  advantages  ;  and,  at 
the  same  time,  of  the  dangers  incidental  in  it  to  young  stu- 
dents, of  making  their  castles  too  yellow,  and  their  fisher- 
men too  blue. 

In  the  afternoons,  when  my  father  returned,  (always  punc- 
tually) from  his  business,  he  dined,  at  half-past  four,  in  the 
front  parlour,  my  mother  sitting  beside  him  to  hear  the  events 
of  the  day,  and  give  counsel  and  encouragement  with  re- 
spect to  the  same  ; — chiefly  the  last,  for  my  father  was  apt 
to  be  vexed  if  orders  for  sherry  fell  the  least  short  of  their  due 
standard,  even  for  a  day  or  two.  I  was  never  present  at  this 
time,  however,  and  only  avouch  what  I  relate  by  hearsay 
and  probable  conjecture  ;  for  between  four  and  six  it  would 
have  been  a  grave  misdemeanour  in  me  if  I  so  much  as  ap- 
proached the  parlour  door.  After  that,  in  summer  time,  we 
were  all  in  the  garden  as  long  as  the  day  lasted  ;  tea  under 
the  white-heart  cherry  tree  ;  or  in  winter  and  rough  weather, 
at  six  o'clock  in  the  drawing-room, — I  having  my  cup  of 
milk,  and  slice  of  bread-and-butter,  in  a  little  recess,  with  a 
table  in  front  of  it,  wholly  sacred  to  me  ;  and  in  which  I  re- 
mained in  the  evenings  as  an  Idol  in  a  niche,  while  my  mother 
knitted,  and  my  father  read  to  her,— and  to  me,  so  far  as  I 
chose  to  listen. 

The  series  of  the  Wayerley  novels,  then  drawing  towards 
its  close,  was  still  the  chief  source  of  delight  in  all  households 
caring  for  literature  ;  and  I  can  no  more  recollect  the  time 
when  I  did  not  know  them  than  when  I  did  not  know  the 
Bible  ;  but  I  have  still  a  vivid  remembrance  of  my  father's 
intense  expression  of  sorrow  mixed  with  scorn,  as  he  threw 
down  Count  Robert  of  Paris,  after  reading  three  or  four 
pages  ;  and  knew  that  the  life  of  Scott  was  ended  :  the  scorn 
being  a  very  complex  and  bitter  feeling  in  him, — partly,  in- 
deed, of  the  book  itself,  but  chiefly  of  the  wretches  who 
were  tormenting  and  selling  the  wrecked  intellect,  and  not  a 
little,  deep  down,  of  the  subtle  dishonesty  which  had  essen- 


426 


FORS  GLAVIGERA. 


tially  caused  the  ruin.  My  father  never  could  forgive  Scott 
his  concealment  of  the  Ballantyne  partnership. 

I  permit  myself,  without  check,  to  enlarge  on  these  trivial 
circumstances  of  my  early  days,  partly  because  I  know  that 
there  are  one  or  two  people  in  the  world  who  will  like  to  hear 
of  them  ;  but  chiefly  because  I  can  better  assure  the  general 
reader  of  some  results  of  education  on  after  life,  by  one  ex- 
ample in  which  I  know  all  my  facts,  than  by  many,  in  which 
every  here  and  there  a  link  might  be  wanting. 

And  it  is  perhaps  already  time  to  mark  what  advantage  and 
mischief,  by  the  chances  of  life  up  to  seven  years  old,  had 
been  irrevocably  determined  for  me. 

I  will  first  count  my  blessings  (as  a  not  unwise  friend  once 
recommended  me  to  do,  continually  ;  whereas  I  have  a  bad 
trick  of  always  numbering  the  thorns  in  my  fingers,  and  not 
the  bones  in  them). 

And  for  best  and  truest  beginning  of  all  blessings,  I  had  been 

taught  the  perfect  meaning  of  Peace,  in  thought,  act,  and  word. 

I  never  had  heard  mv  father's  or  mother's  voice  once  raised 

»/ 

in  any  question  with  each  other  ;  nor  seen  an  angry,  or  even 
slightly  hurt  or  offended  glance  in  the  eyes  of  either.  I  had 
never  heard  a  servant  scolded,  nor  even  suddenly,  passion- 
ately, or  in  any  severe  manner,  blamed.  I  had  never  seen  a 
moment's  trouble  or  disorder  in  any  household  matter  ;  nor 
anj^thing  whatever  either  done  in  a  hurry,  or  undone  in  due 
time.  I  had  no  conception  of  such  a  feeling  as  anxiety  ;  my 
father's  occasional  vexation  in  the  afternoons,  when  he  had 
only  got  an  order  for  twelve  butts  after  expecting  one  for 
fifteen,  as  I  have  just  stated,  was  never  manifested  to  me ; 
and  itself  related  only  to  the  question  whether  his  name 
would  be  a  step  higher  or  lower  in  the  year's  list  of  sherry 
exporters  ;  for  he  never  spent  more  than  half  his  income,  and 
therefore  found  himself  little  incommoded  by  occasional  va- 
riations in  the  total  of  it.  I  had  never  done  any  wrong  that 
I  knew  of — beyond  occasionally  delaying  the  commitment  to 
heart  of  some  improving  sentence,  that  I  might  watch  a  wasp 
on  the  window  pane,  or  a  bird  in  the  cherry  tree  ;  and  I  had 
never  seen  any  grief. 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


427 


Next  to  this  quite  priceless  gift  of  Peace,  I  had  received 
the  perfect  understanding  of  the  natures  of  Obedience  and 
Faith.  I  obeyed  word,  or  lifted  finger,  of  father  or  mother, 
simply  as  a  ship  her  helm  ;  not  only  without  idea  of  resist- 
ance, but  receiving  the  direction  as  a  part  of  my  own  life  and 
force,  a  helpful  law,  as  necessary  to  me  in  every  moral  action 
as  the  law  of  gravity  in  leaping.  And  my  practice  in  Faith 
was  soon  complete  :  nothing  was  ever  promised  me  that 
was  not  given  ;  nothing  ever  threatened  me  that  was  not  in- 
flicted, and  nothing  ever  told  me  that  was  not  true. 

Peace,  obedience,  faith  ;  these  three  for  chief  good  ;  next 
to  these,  the  habit  of  fixed  attention  with  both  eyes  and  mind 
— on  which  I  will  not  farther  enlarge  at  this  moment,  this 
being  the  main  practical  faculty  of  my  life,  causing  Mazzini 
to  say  of  me,  in  conversation  authentically  reported,  a  year 
or  two  before  his  death,  that  I  had  "  the  most  analytic  mind 
in  Europe."  An  opinion  in  which,  so  far  as  I  am  acquainted 
with  Europe,  I  am  myself  entirely  disposed  to  concur. 

Lastly,  an  extreme  perfection  in  palate  and  all  other  bodily 
senses,  given  by  the  utter  prohibition  of  cake,  wine,  comfits, 
or,  except  in  carefullest  restriction,  fruit  ;  and  by  fine  prep- 
aration of  what  food  was  friven  me.  Such  I  esteem  the 
main  blessings  of  my  childhood  ; — next,  let  me  count  the 
equally  dominant  calamities. 

First,  that  I  had  nothing  to  love. 

My  parents  were — in  a  sort — visible  powers  of  nature  to 
me,  no  more  loved  than  the  sun  and  the  moon  :  only  I  should 
have  been  annoyed  and  puzzled  if  either  of  them  had  gone 
out ;  (how  much,  now,  when  both  are  darkened  !) — still  less 
did  I  love  God  ;  not  that  I  had  any  quarrel  with  Him,  or  fear 
of  Ilim  ;  but  simply  found  what  people  told  me  was  His  ser- 
vice, disagreeable  ;  and  what  people  told  me  was  His  book, 
not  entertaining.  I  had  no  companions  to  quarrel  with, 
neither  ;  nobody  to  assist,  and  nobody  to  thank.  Not  a  ser- 
vant was  ever  allowed  to  do  anything  for  me,  but  what  it 
was  their  duty  to  do  ;  and  why  should  I  have  been  grateful 
to  the  cook  for  cooking,  or  the  gardener  for  gardening, — 
when  the  one  dared  not  give  me  a  baked  potatoe  without 


42S 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


asking  leave,  and  the  other  would  not  let  my  ants'  nests 
alone,  because  they  made  the  walks  untidy  ?  The  evil  con- 
sequence of  all  this  was  not,  however,  what  might  perhaps 
have  been  expected,  that  I  grew  up  selfish  or  unaffectionate  ; 
but  that,  when  affection  did  come,  it  came  with  violence  ut- 
terly rampant  and  unmanageable,  at  least  by  me,  who  never 
before  had  anything  to  manage. 

For  (second  of  chief  calamities)  I  had  nothing  to  endure. 
Danger  or  pain  of  any  kind  I  knew  not  :  my  strength  was 
never  exercised,  my  patience  never  tried,  and  my  courage 
never  fortified.  Not  that  I  was  ever  afraid  of  anything, — 
either  ghosts,  thunder,  or  beasts  ;  and  one  of  the  nearest 
approaches  to  insubordination  which  I  was  ever  tempted  into 
as  a  child,  was  in  passionate  effort  to  get  leave  to  play  with 
the  lion's  cubs  in  Wombwell's  menagerie. 

Thirdly.  I  was  taught  no  precision  nor  etiquette  of  man- 
ners ;  it  was  enough  if,  in  the  little  society  we  saw,  I  re- 
mained unobtrusive,  and  replied  to  a  question  without  shy- 
ness :  but  the  shyness  came  later,  and  increased  as  I  grew 
conscious  of  the  rudeness  arising  from  the  want  of  social  dis- 
cipline, and  found  it  impossible  to  acquire,  in  advanced  life, 
dexterity  in  any  bodily  exercise,  skill  in  any  pleasing  accom- 
plishment, or  ease  and  tact  in  ordinary  behaviour. 

Lastly,  and  chief  of  evils.  My  judgment  of  right  and 
wrong,  and  powers  of  independent  action,*  were  left  entirely 
undeveloped  ;  because  the  bridle  and  blinkers  were  never 
taken  off  me.  Children  should  have  their  times  of  being  off 
duty,  like  soldiers  ;  and  when  once  the  obedience,  if  required, 
is  certain,  the  little  creature  should  be  very  early  put  for 
periods  of  practice  in  complete  command  of  itself  ;  set  on 
the  barebacked  horse  of  its  own  will,  and  left  to  break  it  bv 
its  own  strength.  But  the  ceaseless  authority  exercised  over 
my  youth  left  me,  when  cast  out  at  last  into  the  world,  un- 
able for  some  time  to  do  more  than  drift  with  its  elements. 
My  present  courses  of  life  are  indeed  not  altogether  of  that 
compliant  nature  ;  but  are,  perhaps,  more  unaccommodating 

*  Action,  observe,  I  say  here ;  in  thought  I  was  too  independent,  as 
I  said  above. 


F0R8  GLAVIGERA, 


429 


than  they  need  be  in  the  insolence  of  reaction  ;  and  the  result 
upon  me,  of  the  elements  and  the  courses  together,  is,  in 
sum,  that  at  my  present  age  of  fifty-six,  while  I  have  indeed 
the  sincerest  admiration  for  the  characters  of  Phocion,  Cin- 
cinnatus,  and  Caractacus,  and  am  minded,  so  far  as  I  may, 
to  follow  the  example  of  those  worthy  personages,  my  own 
private  little  fanc}'^,  in  which,  for  never  having  indulged  me, 
I  am  always  quarrelling  with  my  Fortune,  is  still,  as  it 
always  was,  to  find  Prince  Ahmed's  arrow,  and  marry  the 
Fairy  Paribanou. 

My  present  verdict,  therefore,  on  the  general  tenour  of  my 
education  at  that  time,  must  be,  that  it  was  at  once  too 
formal  and  too  luxurious  ;  leaving  my  character,  at  the  most 
important  moment  for  its  construction,  cramped  indeed,  but 
not  disciplined  ;  and  only  by  protection  innocent,  instead  of 
by  practice  virtuous.  My  mother  saw  this  herself,  and  but 
too  clearly,  in  later  years  ;  and  whenever  I  did  anything 
wrong,  stupid,  or  hard-hearted, — (and  I  have  done  many 
things  that  were  all  three), — always  said,  *  It  is  because  you 
were  too  much  indulofed.' 

So  strongly  do  1  feel  this,  as  I  sip  my  coffee  tin's  morning, 
(May  24tli),  after  being  made  profoundly  miserable  last 
night,  bcKiause  1  did  not  think  it  likely  I  should  be  accepted 
if  1  made  an  olTer  to  any  one  of  three  beautiful  vouno-  ladies 
who  were  crushing  and  rending  my  heart  into  a  mere  sham- 
rock leaf,  the  whole  afternoon  ;  nor  had  any  power  to  do, 
what  I  should  have  liked  better  still,  send  Giafar  (without 
Zobeide's  knowing  anything  about  it)  to  superintend  the 
immediate  transport  to  my  palace  of  ail  three  ; — that  I  am 
afraid,  if  it  were  left  to  me  at  present  to  institute,  without 
help  from  kinder  counsellors,  the  education  of  the  N'^ounger 
children  on  St.  George's  estate,  the  methods  of  the  old  woman 
who  lived  in  a  shoe  would  be  the  first  that  occurred  to  me  as 
likely  to  conduce  most  directly  to  their  future  worth  and  felicity. 

And  I  chanced,  as  Fors  would  have  it,  to  fall,  but  last 
week,  as  I  was  arranging  some  books  bought  two  years  ago, 
and  forgotten  ever  since, — on  an  instance  of  the  use  of  ex- 
treme severity  in  education,  which  cannot  but  commend  itself 


430 


FOBS  GLAVIGEBA. 


to  the  acceptance  of  every  well  informed  English  gentle* 
woman.  For  all  well  informed  English  gentlewomen,  and 
gentle-maidens,  have  faithful  respect  for  the  memory  of  Lady 
Jane  Grey. 

But  I  never  myself,  until  the  minute  when  I  opened  that 
book,  could  at  all  understand  Lady  Jane  Grey.  I  have  seen 
a  great  deal,  thank  Heaven,  of  good,  and  prudent,  and  clever 
girls  ;  but  not  among  the  very  best  and  wisest  of  them  did 
I  ever  find  the  slightest  inclination  to  stop  indoors  to  read 
Plato,  when  all  their  people  were  in  the  Park.  On  the  con- 
trary,  if  any  approach  to  such  disposition  manifested  itself, 
I  found  it  was  always,  either  because  the  scholastic  young 
person  thought  that  somebody  might  possibly  call,  suppose 
— myself,  the  Roger  Ascham  of  her  time, — or  suppose  some- 
body else — who  would  prevent  her,  that  day,  from  reading 
"  piu  avanti,"  or  because  the  author  who  engaged  her  atten- 
tion, so  far  from  being  Plato  himself,  was,  in  many  essential 
particulars,  anti-Platonic.  And  the  more  I  thought  of  Lady 
Jane  Grey,  the  more  she  puzzled  me. 

Wherefore,  opening,  among  my  unexamined  books,  Roger 
Ascham's  Scholemccster^  printed  by  John  Daye,  dwelling  over 
Aldersgate,  An.  1571,  just  at  the  page  where  he  gives  the 
original  account  of  the  thing  as  it  happened,  1  stopped  in 
my  unpacking  to  decipher  the  black  letter  of  it  with  atten- 
tion ;  which,  by  your  leave,  good  reader,  you  shall  also  take 
the  trouble  to  do  yourself,  from  this,  as  far  as  I  can  manage 
to  give  it  you,  accurate  facsimile  of  the  old  page.  And  trust 
me  that  I  have  a  reason  for  practising  you  in  these  old 
letters,  though  I  have  no  time  to  tell  it  you  just  now. 

g^nbr  axxt  t^^m^Xt,  b\zi^tt  hbt  xrr  fmt  ioi^  fjjotkt 
moxt  in  a  cYtVtjt  for  bntm  aw5r  Imning,  g  fmU  glM^ 
jfort:  fal^ir]^  mag  In  \m)s  ftrit]^  %fsxat  iilmutty  t  UMtsbjti 
\mi\  xanstt  pro&te.  g^fcu  g  fxitxA  mto  Germanie  g  tmt 
in  grxrlr-csfate  in  %timtm\ixt,  ia  ta£f  mg  Imbt  at  il^id  nfs- 
hit  ITab'g  Jane  Grey^  Jto  b:$\ssxtt  |  foras  zuuVin%  xmcl^  Jst- 


FORS  CLAVIGERA, 


431 


all  tjje  \amt)ioVist,  %txAlmm  zrCis  i&txAltfxitmtxtf  fam 
Igunting  in  il}t  ^ark^:  ^  fmnh  ^tt  in  Ijtt  c^vcmbtt,  m- 
iins  Phsedon  Platonis  in  6mie,  I  tjat  fxfit^  ss  mnc1}  it- 
litt,  as  Rxrmt  jintljeman  fxianlii  a  wttrff  lale  m  Bocase. 
gift^  galtttatian,  anJr  Jmrfit  irxrw^,  Jtohl^  Bijmt  jotj-er  iatt,  g 
askeir  ^^r,  firl^j  %]iu  fjjtnxlb  Imt  %nc\  yastimf  in  t)it  f  arte? 
i>miU»0  B^-et  zmiatttif  run :  ^  foisa^f,  all  l]^m  Bp0rt  in  tjjc 
^arb,  is  6ut  a  85ralr0fDr  la  tl^al  pl-easuw  J  3  ^^^^o : 

gllaa,  000b  faWtt  t^tj  ntfrfr  Celt  Jto^at  tntt  yUasuw  mmt/' 
Thus  far,  except  in  the  trouble  of  reading  black  letters,  I 
have  given  you  nothing  new,  or  even  freshly  old.  All  this 
we  have  lieard  of  the  young  lady  a  hundred  times  over.  But 
next  to  this,  comes  something  wliich  I  fancy  will  be  unex- 
pected by  most  of  my  readers.  For  the  fashion  of  all  liter- 
ary students,  catering  for  the  public,  has  hitherto  been  to 
pick  out  of  their  author  whatever  bits  they  thought  likely  to 
be  acceptable  to  Demos,  and  to  keep  everything  of  suspicious 
taste  out  of  his  dish  of  hashed  hare.  Nay,  *  he  pares  his 
apple  that  will  cleanly  eat,'  says  honest  George  Herbert.  I 
am  not  wholly  sure,  however,  even  of  that  ;  if  the  apple  it- 
self be  clean  off  the  bough,  and  the  teeth  of  little  Eve  and 
Adam,  what  teeth  should  be,  it  is  quite  questionable  whether 
the  good  old  fashion  of  alternate  bite  be  not  the  method  of 
finest  enjoyment  of  flavour.  But  the  modern  frugivorous 
public  will  soon  have  a  steam-machine  in  Covcnt  Garden, 
to  pick  the  straw  out  of  their  strawberries. 

In  accordance  with  which  popular  principle  of  natural  se- 
lection, the  historians  of  Lady  Jane's  life,  finding  this  first 
opening  of  the  scene  at  Brodegate  so  entirely  charming  and 
graceful,  and  virtuous,  and  moral,  and  ducal,  and  large- 
landed-estate-ish — without  there  being  the  slightest  sugges- 
tion in  it  of  any  principle,  to  which  any  body  could  possibly 
object, — pounce  upon  it  as  a  flawless  gem  ;  and  clearing  from 
it  all  the  objectionable  matrix,  with  delicate  skill,  set  it  forth 
— changed  about  from  one  to  another  of  the  finest  cases  of 
velvet  eloquence  to  be  got  up  for  money — in  the  corner  shop 
— London  and  Ryder's,  of  the  Bond  Street  of  Vanity  Fair. 


i32 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


But  I,  as  an  old  mineralogist,  like  to  see  my  gems  in  the 
rock  ;  and  always  bring  away  the  biggest  piece  I  can  break 
with  the  heaviest  hammer  I  can  carry.  Accordingly,  I  vent- 
ure to  beg  of  you  also,  good  reader,  to  decipher  farther  this 
piece  of  kindly  Ascham's  following  narration  : 

J^ttJr  J^0j&y  tumt  "^ztavLxatt  tj)xa{\  U  iYm  ):itt'^t  IxLtiia- 
\tb%t  xrf  ^Immxt^  t  hsbvii  Vxts  t\n^^  allnrje  xtm  mits  it, 
injg  wxrt  ntang  iassxatxit  Irui  feerg  itfxit  ram  ^vAt  »tta:gtt^lr 
i\mmta.  g  Mil  MI  g0ir,  timtl^  %\ttr  m)s  itU  g^ii  a  ixti% 
h^Yit);!  ^txc\nx\tt  bill  xanbtl  ^xit  of  t^t  smtt%i  It-' 
nt&ttti  il^rtt  tbtt  &ah  Qubt  is,  t^al  ^tt  %tnt  tat  no  sl^aryii 
nnir  %tbtxt  ^uxmttn,  nnb  %a  gmth  n  ul^oohmmhx,  ^ox  fer|l 
^  in  yxmxtct  titlgtx  of  htbtx  ox  mot^tXt  k'^dl^tx  ^ 
spafc^,  ltt)gt  «il^iw,  git,  jjtimbr,  ox  ga,  mk,  Wxnhtf  bt  m^ru,  ox 
gjrir,  br^  jstoxring,  glit^ingt  irjntrmg,  fc0ing  angtl^ing  thf  ^ 
iximt  tot  tt,  m  it  Jtom,  in  gurlj  lonjgP,  m^asurjet  i  numb-er, 
jelr^it  %o  ^j^txhctl^t  as  6abf  ntalr;e  il^t  tirxrrllr,  xrr  jells  <g  am  %a 
sl^arplj  taxnttrbr,  »0  mulls:  i^xtuixithf  gta  j^r^sinllij  S0mje- 
ixmt%,  bjii^  pinrl^^s,  ng^r^s,  anir  iobht%t  anJr  ^tl^jer  J&ragfS 
jbI;i4T  ^  luill  itot  name  far  tlje  Iganox  3  bijaw  t^i,  80  jfoitl^- 
0ut  mtmxxt  xnimxl^txtiif  t|rat  ^  tl^rnlic  sHf^  in  T^tllt  till 
iimt  tomt  tl^at  ^  iitust  jg[0^  t0  M.  Elmer  b)^o  ttulitll^  xatt 
no  gtxiiliff  no  ^Itn^mtlrr,  bjiil}  %xxtli  Mxt  nllxxxtxatitti  to  ItKX- 
txhxcj  tijat  ^  iYxxilt  all  tlgt  tixat  n0t]^in0,  fol^il-ea  ^  am  Jtoit)^ 
bim,  ^nir  J0|^rn  ^  am  cnilttf  fxo  ]^im,  ^  fall  0tt  tofjpriirg,  b^- 
rarst,  fx^Y^^^otbtx  tr0^  rls  but  Itarninj,  is  full  0f  jmfe, 
tr0ubl^,  fcari^^  anJr  bljoh  misIiRing  trnt0  mtt,  ^nh  t^m  mgf 
hoolt  i^at]^  bjcxn  «0  nxnclg  mjr  $lcnmxtf  t  hxixxcfct^  Jrailg  ta  nxt 
moxt  pIxasuriJ  t  m0r>e,  g  in  rrsg^rt  0f  it,  all  0tl;jer  yl-easwr-es, 
in  btxjf  itthc,  btt  but  trifljes  t  tr0ubl£s  nxito  xixn. 

Lady  Jane  ceases,  Ascham  speaks  :  g  xtxtii 

btx  tj^is  tnllt  glairlg,  lotlt  brrnnsi^  it  is  S0  Mrtj^g  0f  tatmo- 
xrr  i  bjcraus>e  als0  it  toas  t^t  last  talK^  tj^at  tbtx  ^  Jinb,  anir 
i^t  last  tim^,  t^at  tbtx  |  sa^or  t^ut  mUt  i  bjoxilijsi  laJ^jj." 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


433 


Now,  for  the  clear  understanding  of  this  passage, — I  ad- 
jure you,  gentle  reader,  (if  you  are  such,  and  therefore  capa- 
ble of  receiving  adjuration) — in  the  name  of  St.  George  and 
all  saints, — of  Edward  III.  and  all  knights, — of  Alice  of 
Salisbury  and  all  stainless  wives,  and  of  Jeanne  of  France 
and  all  stainless  maids,  that  you  put  at  once  out  of  your 
mind,  under  penalty  of  sharpest  Honte  Ban,  all  such  thought 
as  would  first  suggest  itself  to  the  modern  novel  writer,  and 
novel  reader,  concerning  this  matter, — namely,  that  the 
young  girl  is  in  love  with  her  tutor.  She  loves  him  rightly, 
as  all  good  and  noble  boys  and  girls  necessarily  love  good 
masters, — and  no  otherwise  ; — is  grateful  to  him  rightly,  and 
no  otherwise  ; — happy  with  him  and  her  book — rightly,  and 
no  otherwise. 

And  that  her  father  and  mother,  with  whatever  leaven  of 
human  selfishness,  or  impetuous  disgrace  in  the  manner  and 
violence  of  their  dealing  with  her,  did,  nevertheless,  compel 
their  child  to  do  all  things  that  she  did, — rightly,  and  no 
otherwise,  was,  verily,  though  at  that  age  she  knew  it  but  in 
part, — the  literally  crowning  and  guiding  Mercy -of  her  life, 
— the  plaited  thorn  upon  the  brow,  and  rooted  thorn  around 
the  feet,  which  are  the  tribute  of  Earth  to  the  Princesses  of 
Heaven. 

Vol.  II.— 28 


434 


F0R8  GLAVIOEBA. 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE, 


The  minds  of  many  of  the  friends  of  Mr.  Septimus  Hansard  appear  ta 
have  been  greatlj  exercised  by  my  insertion  of,  and  comments  on,  the 
newspaper  paragraph  respecting  that  gentleman's  ministrations  to  the 
poor  of  London. 

I  thought  it  unnecessary  to  take  notice  of  the  first  communication 
which  I  received  on  the  subject,  from  a  fashionable  lady,  informing  me, 
with  much  indignation,  that  Mr.  Hansard  had  caught  his  fever  in  the 
West-End,  not  in  the  East ;  and  had  been  sick  in  the  best  society.  The 
following  letter  is  of  more  importance,  and  its  writer  having  accepted 
what  he  calls  "  my  kind  offer"  to  print  it,  I  have  no  alternative,  though 
he  mistook,  or  rather  misplaced,  the  real  kindness  of  my  private  note, 
which  lay  in  its  recommendation  to  him,*  not  to  accept  the  offer  it 
made. 

"135,  Waterlow  Buildings,  Wilmott  Street, 

Bethnal- Green,  E.,  May  14,  1875. 

*'  Sir, — In  your  49th  Letter  you  say  that  we  clergy  are  not  priests, 
and  cannot  sacrifice.  You  also  say  that  we  are  wlwUy  respoDsible  for, 
and  the  efficient  causes  of,  horrible  outrages  on  women.  In  your  Slsfe 
Letter  you  speak  of  my  friend  and  chief,  Mr.  Hansard,  as  being  cour- 
ageous, impulsive,  and  generous,  but  complacent,  and  living  a  life  "all 
aglow  in  vain  "  ;  and  you  compare  him,  in  Bethnal  Green,  to  a  moth  in 
candle -grease. 

"  I  know  that  I,  as  a  priest,  am  responsible  for  much  wrong-doing  ; 
but  I  must  claim  you,  and  all  who  have  failed  to  be  'perfect  stewards 
of  their  material  and  spiritual  property,  as  responsible  with  me  and  the 
rest  of  the  clergy  for  the  ignorance  and  crime  of  our  fellow-countrymen. 

"But  I  would  ask  you  whether  Mr.  Hansard's  life,  even  as  you  know 
it,  (and  you  don't  know  half  the  St.  George-like  work  he  has  done  and 
is  doing,)  is  not  a  proof  that  we  prieats  can  and  do  sacrifice  ; — that  we 
can  offer  ourselves,  our  souls  and  bodies. 

"Of  course  I  agree  with  you  and  Mr.  Lyttel  that  the  preaching  of 
"  Christ's  life  instead  of  our  lives"  is  false  and  damnatory,  but  I  am 
sorry  that  instead  of  backing  those  who  teach  the  true  and  salutary 
Gospel,  you  condemn  us  all  alike,  wholesale.  I  thiuk  you  will  find  that 
you  will  want  even  our  help  to  get  the  true  Gospel  taught. 

Allow  me  also  to  protest  pretty  strongly  against  my  friends  and 

*  At  least,  I  think  the  tei-ms  of  my  letter  might  have  been  easily  construed  into  such  re^ 
commendation  ;  I  fear  they  were  not  as  clear  as  they  might  have  been. 


FOBS  CLAVIGEIIA. 


435 


neighbours  here  being  compared  to  candle-grease.  I  fancy  that,  on 
consideration,  you  would  like  to  withdraw  that  parable  ;  perhaps,  even, 
you  would  like  to  make  some  kind  of  reparation,  by  helping  us,  candle- 
grease-like  Bethnal-greeners,  to  be  better  and  happier. 

I  am  one  of  those  clergymen  spoken  of  in  Letter  XLIX.,  and  "  hon- 
estly believe  myself  impelled  to  say  and  do  "  many  things  by  the  Holy 
Ghost;  and  for  that  very  reason  I  am  bound  to  remember  that  you  and 
other  men  are  inspired  also  by  the  same  Holy  Ghost;  and  therefore  to 
look  out  for  and  take  any  help  which  you  and  others  choose  to  give  me. 

*•  It  is  because  I  have  already  received  so  much  help  from  you  that  I 
write  this  letter. 

*'  I  am,  yours  faithfully, 

Stewart  D.  Hkadlam, 

Curate  of  St.  Matthew's,  Bethnal  Green. 

To  John  Ruskin,  Esq.,  LL.D." 

I  at  first  intended  to  make  no  comments  on  this  letter,  but,  as  I  re- 
read, find  it  80  modestly  fast  in  its  temper,  and  so  perilously  loose  in  its 
divinity,  as  to  make  it  my  duty,  while  I  congratulate  the  well-meaning 
— and,  I  doubt  not,  well-doing — writer,  on  bis  agreement  with  Mr. 
Lyttel  that  the  preaching  of  Christ's  life,  instead  of  our  lives,"  is  false 
and  damnatory ;  also  to  observe  to  him  that  the  sacrifice  of  our  own 
bodies,  instead  of  Christ's  body,  is  an  equally  heretical,  and  I  can  as- 
sure him,  no  less  dangerous,  reformation  of  the  Doctrine  of  the  Mass. 
I  beg  him  also  to  believe  that  I  meant  no  disrespect  to  his  friends  and 
neighbours  in  comparing  them  to  candle -grease.  He  is  unaccustomed 
to  my  simple  English,  and  would  surely  not  have  been  offended  if  I  had 
said,  instead,  oil  for  the  light "  ?  If  our  chandlers,  now-a-days,  never 
give  us  any  so  honest  tallow  as  might  fittingly  be  made  the  symbol  of  a 
Christian  congregation,  is  that  my  fault  ? 

I  feel,  however,  tliat  I  do  indeed  owe  some  apology  to  Mr.  Hansard 
himself,  to  his  many  good  and  well- won  friends,  and  especially  to  my 
correspondent,  Mr.  Lyttel,  for  reprinting  the  following  article  from  a 
Birmingham  paper — very  imperfectly,  I  am  sure,  exemplifying  the 
lustre  produced  by  ecclesiastical  labour  in  polishing  what,  i)erhaps,  I 
shall  again  be  held  disrespectful,  in  likening  to  the  Pewter,  instead  of 
the  Grease,  and  Candlestick  instead  of  Caudle,  of  sacredly  inflammable 
ReUgious  Society. 

Propkssor  Ruskin  on  thk  Clergy. 

Not  many  years  ago  one  might  throw  almost  any  calumny  against 
the  Church  or  her  clergy  without  fear  of  contradiction  or  exposure. 
Happily,  for  the  cause  of  truth  and  justice,  those  days  are  gone — un- 
happily, however,  for  the  unfortunate  individuals  born  too  late  for  the 
safe  indulgence  of  their  spleen.  Amongst  these,  we  fear,  must  be 
reckoned  Mr.  Ruskin,  the  Oxford  Professor  of  Fine  Art.  He  issues 
monthly  a  pamphlet,  entitled  Fars  Clavigera^  being  ostensibly  *Let- 


436 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


ters  to  the  Workmen  and  Labourers  of  Great  Britain,'  but  the  contents 
of  which  do  not  appear  likely  to  edify  that  class,  even  if  the  price  (ten- 
pence)  were  not  prohibitory.  In  the  forty-ninth  of  these  letters  a  furi- 
ous and  wholly  unjustifiable  attack  is  made  upon  the  Church.  No 
abuse  is  deemed  too  unjust  or  too  coarse  to  bestow  upon  the  clergy,  and 
they  are  assailed  in  a  tone  of  vituperation  worthy  of  the  last  century. 
The  Professor  says  that,*  '  in  general,  any  man's  becoming  a  clergyman 
in  these  days  implies  that,  at  best,  his  sentiment  has  overpowered  his 
intellect,  and  that,  whatever  the  feebleness  of  the  latter,  the  victory  of 
his  impertinent  piety  has  been  probably  owing  to  its  alliance  with  his 
conceit,  and  its  promise  to  him  of  the  gratification  of  being  regarded  as 
an'  oracle,  without  the  trouble  of  becoming  wise,  or  the  grief  of  being 
so.'  Much  more  there  is  in  the  same  insolent  strain,  as  if  the  Profes- 
sor's head  had  been  turned  by  the  height  of  critical  infallibility  to  which 
he  has  elevated  himself,  and  from  which  he  looks  down  with  self-compla- 
cent scorn  and  arrogance  upon  all  fallible  humanity,  clerical  or  lay.  He 
concludes  by  appending  *  a  specimen  of  the  conduct  of  the  Saints  to 
whom  our  English  clergymen  have  delivered  the  Faith.*  This  specimen 
is  afforded,  according  to  Mr.  Iluskin,  in  two  cases  of  revolting  and  almost 
incredible  barbarism,  tried  recently  at  Liverpool  Assizes,  in  one  of  which 
an  unoffending  man  was  kicked  to  death  by  a  gang  of  street  ruffians,  in 
the  presence  of  an  admiring  crowd  ;  and  in  the  other  case,  a  drunken  fe- 
male tramp,  drenched  with  the  rain,  was  taken  into  a  field  and  outraged 
by  half-a-dozen  youths,  after  which  they  left  her,  and  she  was  found 
there  next  day  dead.  We  need  not  enter  into  the  details  of  these  cases, 
which  were  given  fully  enough  at  the  time  ;  suffice  it  to  say  that  in  the 
records  of  no  age  or  nation  will  any  tales  be  found  surpassing  these  two 
in  savagery  of  mind  and  body,  and  in  foulness  of  heart  and  soul.  And 
what  is  Mr.  Ruskin's  reason  for  resuscitating  the  memory  of  these  hor- 
rors ?  What  is  the  explanation  that  he  has  to  give  of  them  ?  What  is 
the  judgment  that  he  has  to  pass  upon  them?  Let  our  readers  behold 
it  for  themselves  in  his  own  words:  —  'The  clergy  may  vainly  exclaim 
against  being  made  responsible  for  this  state  of  thiugs.  They,  and  chiefly 
their  Bishops,  are  wholly  responsible  for  it ;  nay,  are  efficiently  the 
causes  of  it,  preaching  a  false  gospel  for  hire.'  These  w^ords  have  the 
one  merit  of  being  perfectly  plain.  Mr.  Ruskin  does  not  insinuate  his 
vile  charge  by  any  indirect  hints  or  roundabout  verbiage,  but  expresses 
his  infamous  meaning  as  unambiguously  as  possible.  The  clergy,  he 
says,  are  '  wholly  responsible '  for  the  murders  and  rapes  which  horrify 
us,  which,  indeed,  they  *  efficiently  cause ' ;  and  the  chiefs  of  these  in- 
carnate fiends  are  the  Bishops. 

This  very  intemperate  attack  elicited  a  few  temperate  remarks 
from  one  of  the  maligned  class.  The  Rev.  E.  Z.  Lyttel,  of  Werrington, 
near  Peterborough,  wrote  to  Mr.  Ruskin  thus  : — '  I  have  been  reading 
your  words  to  my  conscience,  but  is  it  my  unconscious  hypocrisy,  my  self- 
conceit,  or  my  sentiment  overpowering  intellect  which  hinders  me  from 
hearing  the  word  Ouilty?  The  Gospel  I  endeavour  with  all  my  might 
to  preach  and  embody  is  this— Believe  on,  be  persuaded  by,  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ;  let  His  life  rule  your  lives,  and  you  shall  be  safe  and 

*  I  permit  the  waste  of  type,  and,  it  may  well  be,  of  my  reader's  patience,  involved  in 
reprinting  (instead  of  mei-ely  referring  to)  the  quoted  passages  and  letter,  lest  it  should  bo 
thought  that  I  wished  to  evade  the  points,  or,  by  interruption,  deaden  the  eloquence,  of 
the  Birmingham  article. 


F0R8  CLAVIOERA. 


437 


Bound  now  and  everlastingly.  Is  this  a  false  Gospel  preached  for  hire  ? 
If  not,  what  other  Gospel  do  you  refer  to  ? '  Mr.  Lyttel  seems  to  have 
thought  that  the  charge  brought  against  himself  and  his  clerical 
brethren  of  causing  murders  and  rapes  was  too  gross  tor  notice,  or  too 
intoxicated  to  merit  denial.  He  contented  himself  with  the  foregoing 
very  mild  reply,  which,  however,  proved  adequate  to  the  occasion 
which  called  it  forth.  Mr.  Lyttel  was  recently  curate  of  St.  Barnabas, 
in  this  town,  and  has  also  held  a  curacy  in  London.  His  personal  ex- 
perience gives  him  a  claim  to  be  heard  when  he  assures  the  Professor 
that  he  knows  that  the  morality  of  the  parishes  with  which  he  is  best 
acquainted  has  been  made  better,  and  not  worse,  by  the  self-sacrificing 
efforts  of  the  clergy.  It  is  also  pointed  out  that  while  Mr,  Ruskin  has 
been  freely  travelling  about  in  the  enjoyment  of  beautiful  scenery  and 
fresh  air,  Mr.  Lyttel  and  other  clergymen  have  been  occupied  from  day 
to  day  iu  stuffy  rooms,  in  crowded  parishes,  amongst  ignorant  and  im- 
moral people.  And  whilst  the  censorious  Oxford  luminary  makes  a 
great  fuss  about  getting  paid  for  For 8  CUivigera  and  his  other  writ- 
ings, Mr.  Lyttel  hints  that  surely  the  clergy  should  be  paid  for  their 
teaching  too,  being  quite  equally  worthy  of  their  hire. 

Our  ex-townsman  has  so  effectually  disposed  of  the  Professor's 
charges,  that  there  is  no  need  to  endeavour  to  answer  them  further. 
We  have  only  noticed  them  so  far  in  order  to  show  our  readers  the  ex- 
tent to  which  hatred  of  the  Church  becomes  a  craze  with  some  persons, 
otherwise  estimable  no  doubt,  whose  judgment  is  for  the  time  8wef)t 
away  by  passion.  That  there  is  no  pleasing  such  persons  is  the  more 
apparent  from  Mr.  Kuskin's  curious  comments  upon  the  well-known 
story  of  the  Rev.  Septimus  Hansard,  the  rector  of  Bethnal  Green,  who 
has  caught  the  small-pox,  tho  typhus  fever,  and  the  scarlet  fever,  on 
three  several  occasions*  in  the  discharge  of  his  pastoral  duties  among 
the  sick  poor.  When  he  fell  down  in  his  pulpit  with  the  small-pox,  he 
at  once  said  he  would  go  to  an  hospital,  but  refused  to  enter  the  cab 
which  his  friends  called,  lest  he  should  infect  it ;  and,  a  hearse  happen- 
ing to  pass,  he  went  in  it — a  fine  instance  of  courage  and  self-devotion. 
Mr.  Hansard's  stipend  is  five  hundred  a  year,  out  of  which  he  has  to 
pay  two  curates.  And  what  has  ]\Ir,  Ruskin  to  say  to  this  ?  Surely 
this  must  command  his  fuile^•t  sympathy,  admiration,  and  approval? 
Far  from  it.  His  snarling  comment  is  as  follows:  —  'I  am  veiy  sure 
that  while  he  was  saving  one  poor  soul  in  Bethnal  he  was  leaving  ten 
rich  souls  to  be  damned  at  Tyburn,  each  of  which  would  damn  a 
thousand  or  two  more  by  their  example  or  neglect'  This  peculiar 
mode  of  argument  has  the  merit  of  being  available  under  all  circum- 
stances ;  for,  of  course,  if  Mr.  Hansard's  parish  had  happened  to  be 
Tyburn  instead  of  Bethnal,  Mr.  Ruskin  would  have  been  equally  ready 
with  the  glib  remark  that  while  the  rector  was  saving  one  rich  soul  to 
Tyburn,  he  was  leaving  ten  poor  souls  to  destruction  in  Bethnal.  Are 
we  to  understand  that  Mr.  Ruskin  thinks  Mr.  Hausard  ought  to  be 
able  to  be  in  two  places  at  once,  or  are  we  to  shrug  our  shoulders  and 
say  that  some  persons  are  hard  to  please  ?  The  heroism  of  self- 
sacrifice  Mr.  Ruskin  considers  to  be  a  waste  and  a  mistake.    Mr.  Han- 

♦  Birmingham  accepta,  with  the  chiM-like  confidence  due  by  one  able  Editor  to  another, 
the  report  of  Brighton.  But  all  Mr.  Hansard's  friends  are  furious  with  me  for  "spread- 
ing it;"  and  I  beg  at  once,  on  tlieir  authority,  to  contradict  it  in  all  essential  particur 
lars  ;  and  to  apologize  to  Mr.  Hansard  for  ever  having  bUKpected  him  of  buch  things. 


438 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


sard's  life  has  all,  says  the  Professor,  '  been  but  one  fit  of  scarlet  fevei 
— and  all  aglow  in  vain.'  That  noble-minded  men  should  devote  them- 
selves to  the  noblest  work  of  the  Church  for  the  love  of  Christ,  and  of 
those  for  whom  He  died,  is  apparently  beyond  Mr.  Ruskin's  concep- 
tion. Love  of  sensation,  he  says,  is  the  cause  of  it  all.  *  Sensation 
must  be  got  out  of  death,  or  darkness,  or  f rightfulness.  .  .  .  And 
the  culmination  of  the  black  business  is  that  the  visible  misery  drags 
and  beguiles  to  its  help  all  the  enthusiastic  simplicity  of  the  religious 
young,  and  the  honest  strength  of  the  really  noble  type  of  English 
clergymen,  and  swallows  them,  as  Chary  bdis  would  life -boats.  Cour- 
ageous and  impulsive  men,  with  just  sense  enough  to  make  them 
soundly  piactical,  and  therefore  complacent,  in  immediate  business, 
but  not  enough  to  enable  them  to  see  what  the  whole  business  comes 
to  when  done,  are  sure  to  throw  themselves  desperately  into  the  dirty 
work,  and  die  like  lively  moths  in  candle-grease.'  We  have  read  phil- 
osophy something  like  the  above  extract  elsewhere  before,  and  we 
think  the  philosopher's  name  was  Harold  Skimpole.  What  the  gospel 
is  with  which  Mr.  Ruskin  proposes  to  supplant  Christianity  and  to  re- 
generate the  world  we  do  not  know.  A  gospel  of  this  tone,  however, 
published  in  tenpenny  instalments,  is  not  likely  ever  to  reach  the  hands 
of  the  workmen  and  labourers  of  Great  Britain,  much  less  their  hearts.'* 

With  this  interesting  ebullition,  shall  we  call  it,  of  Holy  Water,  or 
beautiful  explosion, — perhaps,  more  accurately, — of  Holy  Steam,  in 
one  of  our  great  manufacturing  centres,  a  very  furnace,  it  would  ap- 
pear, of  heartfelt  zeal  for  the  Church,  I  wish  I  could  at  once  compare 

a  description  of  the  effects  of  similar  zeal  for  the  Chapel,  given  me 

in  a  letter  just  received  from  Wakefield,  for  which  I  sincerely  thank  my 
correspondent,  and  will  assume,  unless  I  hear  further  from  him,  his 
permission  to  print  a  great  part  of  said  letter  in  next  Fors. 

My  more  practical  readers  may  perhaps  be  growing  desperate,  at  the 
continued  non-announcement  of  advance  in  my  main  scheme.  But 
the  transference  to  the  St.  George's  Company  of  the  few  acres  of  land 
hitherto  offered  us,  cannot  be  effected  without  the  establishment  of 
the  society  on  a  legal  basis,  which  I  find  the  most  practised  counsel 
Blow  in  reducing  to  terms  such  as  the  design  could  be  carried  out  upon. 
The  form  proposed  shall,  however,  without  fail,  be  submitted  to  the 
existing  members  of  the  Company  in  my  next  letter. 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


439 


LETTER  LV. 

No  MORE  letters,  at  present,  reaching  me,  from  clergy- 
men, I  use  the  breathing-time  permitted  me,  to  express 
more  clearly  the  meaning  of  my  charge, — left  in  its  brevity 
obscure, — that,  as  a  body,  they  "  teach  a  false  gospel  for 
hire." 

It  is  obscure,  because  associating  two  charges  quite  dis- 
tinct. The  first,  that,  whether  for  hire  or  not,  they  preach 
a  false  gospel.  The  second  that  whether  they  preach  truth 
or  falsehood,  they  preach  as  liirelings. 

It  will  be  observed  that  the  three  clerg-vmen  who  have 
successively  corresponded  with  me — Mr.  Tipple,  Mr.  Lyttel, 
and  Mr.  Headlam — have  every  one,  for  their  own  part,  ea- 
gerly repudiated  the  doctrine  of  the  Eleventh  Article  of  the 
Church  of  England.  Nevertheless,  the  substance  of  that 
article  assuredly  defines  the  method  of  salvation  commonly 
announced  at  this  day  from  British  pulpits  ;  and  the  effect 
of  this  supremely  pleasant  and  supremely  false  gospel,  on 
the  British  mind,  may  be  best  illustrated  by  the  reply,  made 
only  the  other  day,  by  a  dishonest,  but  sincerely  religious, 
commercial  gentleman,  to  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  who  had 
expressed  surprise  that  he  should  come  to  church  after  do- 
ing the  things  he  was  well  known  to  do  :  "  All,  my  friend, 
my  standard  is  just  the  publican's." 

In  the  second  place,  while  it  is  unquestionably  true  that 
many  clergymen  are  doing  what  Mr.  Headlam  complacently 
points  out  their  ability  to  do, — sacrificing,  to  wit,  them- 
selves, their  souls,  and  bodies,  (not  that  I  clearly  understand 
what  a  clergyman  means  by  sacrificing  his  soul,)  without 
any  thought  of  temporal  reward  ;  this  preaching  of  Christ 
has,  nevertheless,  become  an  acknowledged  Profession,  and 
means  of  livelihood  for  gentlemen  :  and  the  Simony  of  to- 
day differs  only  from  that  of  apostolic  times,  in  that,  while 


440 


FORS  CLAVIGEBA, 


the  elder  Simon  thought  the  gift  of  the  Holy  Ghost  worth 
a  considerable  offer  in  ready  money,  the  modem  Simon 
would  on  the  whole  refuse  to  accept  the  same  gift  of  the 
Third  Person  of  the  Trinity,  without  a  nice  little  attached 
income,  a  pretty  churcli,  with  a  steeple  restored  by  Mr, 
Scott,  and  an  eligible  neighbourhood. 

These  are  the  two  main  branches  of  the  charge  I  meant  to 
gather  into  my  short  sentence  ;  and  to  these  I  now  further 
add,  that  in  defence  of  this  Profession,  with  its  pride,  privi- 
lege, and  more  or  less  roseate  repose  of  domestic  felicity, 
extremely  beautiful  and  enviable  in  country  parishes,  the 
clergy,  as  a  body,  have,  with  what  energy  and  power  was  in 
them,  repelled  the  advance  both  of  science  and  scholarship, 
so  far  as  either  interfered  with  what  they  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  teach  ;  and  connived  at  every  abuse  in  public  and 
private  conduct,  with  which  they  felt  it  would  be  considered 
uncivil,  and  feared  it  might  ultimately  prove  unsafe,  to  in- 
terfere. 

And  that,  therefore,  seeing  that  they  were  put  in  charge 
to  preach  the  Gospel  of  Christ,  and  have  preached  a  false 
gospel  instead  of  it  ;  and  seeing  that  they  were  put  in 
charge  to  enforce  the  Law  of  Christ,  and  have  permitted 
license  instead  of  it,  they  are  answerable,  as  no  other  men 
are  answerable,  for  the  existing^  "state  of  thinofs"  in  this 
British  nation, — a  state  now  recorded  in  its  courts  of  justice 
as  productive  of  crimes  respecting  which  the  Birmingham 
Defender  of  the  Faith  himself  declares  that  "  in  the  records 
of  no  age  or  nation  will  any  tales  be  found  surpassing  these 
in  savagery  of  mind  and  body,  and  in  foulness  of  heart  and 
soul." 

Answerable,  as  no  other  men  are,  I  repeat  ;  and  entirely 
disdain  my  correspondent  Mr.  Headlam's  attempt  to  involve 
me,  or  any  other  layman,  in  his  responsibility.  He  has 
taken  on  himself  the  office  of  teacher.  Mine  is  a  painter's  ; 
and  I  am  plagued  to  death  by  having  to  teach  instead  of 
him,  and  his  brethren, — silent,  they,  for  fear  of  their  con- 
gregations !  Which  of  them,  from  least  to  greatest,  dares, 
for  instance,  so  much  as  to  tell  the  truth  to  women  about 


FORS  CLAVIGERA. 


441 


their  dress  ?  Which  of  them  has  forbidden  his  feminine 
audience  to  wear  fine  bonnets  in  church  ?  Do  they  tliink 
the  dainty  garlands  are  wreathed  round  the  studiously 
dressed  hair,  because  a  woman  "  should  have  power  on  her 
liead  because  of  the  angels  "  ?  Which  of  them  understands 
that  text? — which  of  them  enforces  it?  Dares  the  boldest 
ritualist  order  his  women-congregation  to  come  all  with 
white  napkins  over  their  heads,  rich  and  poor  alike,  and 
have  done  with  their  bonnets?  What,  ^  You  cannot  order '  ? 
You  could  say  you  wouldn't  preach  if  you  saw  one  bonnet 
in  the  church,  couldn't  you  ?  *  But  everybody  would  say 
you  were  mad.'  Of  course  they  would — and  that  the  devil 
Was  in  you.  **If  they  have  called  the  Master  of  the  house 
Beelzebub,  how  much  more  them  of  his  household?*'  but 
now  that  ^all  men  speak  well  of  you,*  think  you  the  Son  of 
Man  will  speak  the  same  ? 

And  you,  and  especially  your  wives  (as  is  likely!;  are 
very  angry  with  me,  I  hear,  on  all  hands  ; — and  think  mo 
hostile  to  you.  As  well  might  a  carter  asleep  on  his  shafts 
accuse  me  of  being  his  enemy  for  trying  to  wake  him  ;  or 
his  master's  enemy,  because  I  would  fain  not  see  the  cart  in 
the  ditch.  Nay,  this  notable  paragraph  which  has  given 
Mr.  Hansard's  friends  so  much  offence,  was  credited  and 
printed  by  me,  because  I  thought  it  one  of  the  noblest  in- 
stances I  had  ever  heard  of  energy  and  unselfishness  ;  and 
though,  of  all  the  sects  of  ecclesiastics,  for  my  own  share,  I 
most  dislike  and  distrust  the  so-called  Evangelical,  I  took 
the  picture  of  Swiss  life,  which  was  meant  to  stand  for  a 
perfect  and  true  one,  from  the  lips  of  an  honest  vicar  of  that 
persuasion. 

Which  story,  seeing  that  it  has  both  been  too  long  inter- 
rupted, and  that  its  entire  lesson  bears  on  what  I  have  to  say 
respecting  the  ministrations  of  Felix  Neff,  1  will  interrupt 
my  too  garrulous  personal  reminiscences  by  concluding,  in 
this  letter,  from  that  of  March,  1874. 

The  old  cart  went  again  as  well  as  ever  ;  and  "he  never 
could  have  believed,"  said  Ilansli,  "  that  a  cart  could  nave 


U2 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


taken  itself  up  so,  and  become  so  extremely  changed  for  the 
better.  That  might  be  an  example  to  many  living  creat- 
ures/' 

More  than  one  young  girl,  however,  in  lier  own  secret 
heart  reproached  Hansli  for  his  choice — saying  to  herself 
that  she  would  have  done  for  him  quite  as  well.  If  she 
had  thought  he  had  been  in  such  a  hurry,  she  could  have 
gone  well  enough,  too,  to  put  herself  on  his  road,  and  pre- 
vented him  from  looking  at  that  rubbishy  rag  of  a  girl.  She 
never  could  have  thought  Hansli  was  such  a  goose, — he,  who 
might  easily  have  married  quite  differently,  if  he  had  had 
the  sense  to  choose.  As  sure  as  the  carnival  was  coming,  he 
would  repent  before  he  got  to  it.  All  the  worse  for  him 
— it's  his  own  fault  :  as  one  makes  one's  bed,  one  lies  in  it." 

But  Hansli  had  not  been  a  goose  at  all,  and  never  found 
anything  to  repent  of.  He  had  a  little  wife  who  was  just 
the  very  thing  he  wanted, — a  little,  modest,  busy  wife,  who 
made  him  as  happy  as  if  he  had  married  Heaven  itself  in 
person. 

It  is  true  that  she  didn't  long  help  Hansli  to  pull  the  cart  : 
he  soon  found  himself  obliged  to  go  in  the  shafts  alone  again  ; 
but  aussi,  once  he  saw  he  had  a  mustard,*  he  consoled  him- 
self. "What  a  fellow!"  said  he,  examining  him.  "In  a 
wink,  he'll  be  big  enough  to  help  me  himself."  And,  there- 
upon, away  he  went  with  his  cart,  all  alone,  without  finding 
any  difference. 

It  is  true  that  in  a  very  little  while  his  wife  wanted  to  come 
again  to  help  him.  "  If  only  we  make  a  little  haste  to  get 
back,"  said  she,  "  the  little  one  can  wait  well  enough — besides 
that  the  grandmother  can  give  him  something  to  drink  while 
we  are  away."  But  the  mustard  himself  was  not  of  their 
mind,  and  soon  made  them  walk  in  his  own  fashion.  Thev 
made  all  the  haste  they  could  to  get  home — but  before  they 
were  within  half  a  league  of  their  door,  the  wife  cried  out, 
"Mercy,  what's  that  !"  "That"  was  a  shrill  crying  like  a 
little  pig's  when  it  is  being  killed.  "Mercy  on  us,  what  is  it, 
— what's  the  matter  !  "  cried  she  ;  and  left  the  cart,  and  ran 
off  at  full  speed  :  and  there,  sure  enough,  was  the  grand- 
mother, whom  the  little  thing's  cries  had  put  into  a  dreadful 
fright  lest  it  should  have  convulsions,  and  who  could  think 
of  nothing  better  than  to  bring  it  to  meet  mamma.  The 
heavy  boy,  the  fright,  and  the  run,  had  put  the  old  woman  so 

*  Moutard — not  -arde  ;  but  I  can't  give  better  than  this  English  for  it. 


FOBS  GLAVIGBRA, 


443 


out  of  breath  that  it  was  really  high  time  for  somebody  to 
take  tlie  child.  She  was  almost  beside  herself  ;  and  it  was 
ever  so  long  before  she  could  say,  "  No — I  won't  have  him 
alone  any  more  :  in  my  life  I  never  saw  such  a  little  wretch  : 
I  had  rather  come  and  draw  the  cart.'' 

These  worthy  people  thus  learned  what  it  is  to  have  a  ty- 
rant in  one's  house,  little  one  though  he  be.  But  all  that 
didn't  interrupt  their  household  ways.  The  little  wife  found 
plenty  to  do  staying  at  home  ;  gardening,  and  helping  to 
make  the  brooms.  Without  ever  hurrying  anything,  she 
worked  without  ceasing,  and  was  never  tired, — so  easily 
things  ran  under  her  hand.  Ilansli  was  all  surprise  to  find 
he  got  along  so  well  with  a  wife  ;  and  to  find  his  purse  grow- 
ing fatter  so  fast.  He  leased  a  little  field  ;  and  the  grand- 
mother saw  a  goat  in  it  ;  presently  two.  He  would  not  hear 
of  a  donkey,  but  arranged  with  the  miller,  when  he  went  to 
the  town,  to  carry  some  of  his  brooms  for  him  ;  whicli,  it  is 
true,  skimmed  off  a  little  of  the  profit,  and  that  vexed  Hansli, 
who  could  not  bear  the  smallest  kreutzer  to  escape  him.  But 
his  life  soon  became  quite  simple  and  continuous.  The  days 
followed  each  other  like  the  waves  of  a  river,  without  mucli 
difference  between  one  and  another.  Every  year  grew  new 
twigs  to  make  brooms  with.  Every  year,  also,  w^ithout  put- 
ting herself  much  about,  his  wife  gave  him  a  new  baby.  Slie 
brought  it,  and  planted  it  there.  Every  day  it  cried  a  little, 
— every  day  it  grew  a  little  ;  and,  in  a  turn  of  the  hand,  it 
w^as  of  use  for  sometiiing.  The  grandmother  said  tliat,  old 
as  she  was,  she  had  never  seen  anything  like  it.  It  was,  for 
all  the  world,  slie  said,  like  the  little  cats,  whicii,  at  six  weeks 
old,  catch  mice.  And  all  these  children  were  really  like  so 
many  blessings — the  more  tiiere  came,  tlie  more  money  one 
made.  Very  soon — only  think  of  it — the  grandmother  saw 
a  cow  arrive.  If  she  had  not  with  her  own  eyes  seen  Hansli 
pay  for  it,  it  would  have  been  almost  impossible  to  make  her 
believe  that  he  had  not  stolen  it.  If  the  poor  old  woman  had 
lived  two  years  more,*  she  would  even  have  seen  Hansli  be- 
come himself  the  owner  of  the  little  cottage  in  which  she  had 
lived  so  long,  with  forest  right  which  gave  him  more  wood 

*  Fate,  and  the  good  novelist,  thus  dismiss  poor  granilniamma  in  a 
passing  sentence, — just  when  we  wanted  her  so  much  to  live  a  little 
longer,  too  !  But  that  is  Fors^s  way,  and  Gotthelf  knows  it.  A  bad 
novelist  would  have  made  her  live  to  exactly  the  proper  moment,  and 
then  die  in  a  most  instructive  manner,  and  with  pathetic  incidents  and 
speeches  which  would  have  tilled  a  chapter. 


444 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


than  he  wanted  ;  and  ground  enough  to  keep  a  cow  and  two 
sheep,  which  are  convenient  things  enough,  when  one  has 
children  who  wear  worsted  stockings. 

(Upon  all  that,*  Hansli  certainly  owed  a  good  deal,  but 
it  was  well-placed  money,  and  no  one  v^^ould  ask  him  for  it, 
as  long  as  lie  paid  the  interest  to  the  day  ;  for  the  I'est,  '*if 
God  lent  him  life,  these  debts  did  not  trouble  him,"  said  he.) 
He  might  then  learn  that  the  first  kreutzers  are  the  most 
difficult  to  save.  There's  alwaj^s  a  hole  they  are  running  out 
at,  or  a  mouth  to  swallow  them.  But  when  once  one  has- 
got  to  the  point  of  having  no  more  debts,  and  is  completely 
set  on  one's  legs,  then  things  begin  to  go  ! — tiie  very  ground 
seems  to  grow  under  your  feet, — everything  profits  more  and 
more, — the  rivulet  becomes  a  river,  and  the  gains  become 
always  easier  and  larger  :  on  one  condition,  nevertheless, 
that  one  shall  change  nothing  in  one's  way  of  life.  For  it  is 
just  then  that  new  needs  spring  out  of  the  ground  like 
mushrooms  on  a  dunghill,  if  not  for  the  husband,  at  least  for 
the  wife, — if  not  for  the  parents,  at  least  for  the  children. 
A  thousand  things  seem  to  become  necessary,  of  which  we 
had  never  thought  ;  and  we  are  ashamed  of  ever  so  many 
others,  which  till  then  had  not  given  us  the  smallest  concern  ; 
and  we  exaggerate  the  value  of  what  we  have,  because  once 
we  had  nothing  ;  and  our  own  value,  because  we  attribute 
our  success  to  ourselves, — and, — one  changes  one's  way  of 
life,  and  expenses  increase,  and  labour  lessens,  and  the 
haughty  spirit  goes  before  the  fall. 

It  was  not  so  with  Hansli.  He  continued  to  live  and  work 
just  the  same  ;  and  hardly  ever  spent  anything  at  the  inn  ; 
aussi,  he  rejoiced  all  the  more  to  find  something  hot  ready 
for  him  when  he  came  home  ;  and  did  honour  to  it.  Nothing 
was  changed  in  him,  unless  that  his  strength  for  work  became 
always  greater,  little  by  little  ;  and  his  wife  had  the  difficult 
art  of  making  the  children  serve  themselves,  each,  according 
to  its  age, — not  with  many  words  neither  ;  and  she  lierself 
scarcely  knew  how. 

A  pedagogue  would  never  have  been  able  to  get  the  least 
explanation  of  it  from  her.  Those  children  took  care  of  each 
other,  helped  their  father  to  make  his  brooms,  and  their 
mother  in  her  work  about  the  house  ;  none  of  them  had  the 
least  idea  of  the  pleasures  of  doing  nothing,  nor  of  dreaming 

*  This  paragraph  implies,  of  course,  the  existence  of  all  modern 
abuses, — the  story  dealing  only  with  the  world  cVS  it  is. 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


445 


or  lounging  about  ;  and  yet  not  one  was  overworked,  or 
neglected.  They  shot  up  like  willows  by  a  brookside,  full  of 
vigour  and  gaiety.  The  parents  had  no  time  for  idling  with 
them,  but  the  children  none  the  less  knew  their  love,  and 
saw  how  pleased  they  were  when  their  little  ones  did  their 
work  well.  Their  parents  prayed  witli  them  :  on  Sundays 
the  father  read  them  a  chapter  which  he  explained  afterwards 
as  well  as  he  could,  and  on  account  of  that  also  the  childien 
were  full  of  respect  for  him,  considering  him  as  the  father  of 
the  family  who  talks  with  God  Himself  (and  who  will  tell 
Him  when  children  disobey"^).  The  degree  of  respect  felt 
by  children  for  their  parents  depends  always  on  the  manner 
in  which  the  parents  bear  themselves  to  God.  Why  do  not 
all  parents  reflect  moie  on  this?  j 

Nor  was  our  Ilansli  held  in  small  esteem  by  other  people, 
any  more  than  by  his  children.  He  was  so  decided  and  so 
sure;  words  full  of  good  sense  were  plenty  with  him;  honour- 
able in  everything,  he  never  set  himself  up  for  rich,  nor 
complained  of  being  j)Oor  ;  so  that  many  a  pretty  lady  would 
come  expressly  into  the  kitchen,  when  she  heard  that  the 
broom-merchant  was  there,  to  inform  herself  how  things 
went  in  the  country,  and  how  sucli  and  such  a  matter  was 
turning  out.  Nay,  in  many  of  the  houses  he  was  trusted  to 
lay  in  their  winter  provisions,  a  business  which  brought  him 
many  a  bright  biitz.  The  Syndic's  wife  at  Thun,  iierself, 
often  had  a  chat  with  him  ;  it  had  become,  so  to  speak, 
really  a  pressing  need  with  her  to  see  him  at  Thun  every 
Saturday  ;  and  when  she  was  talking  to  him,  it  had  happened, 
not  once  nor  twice,  that  M.  tiie  Syiulic  liimself  had  been 
obliored  to  wait  for  an  answer  to  somethin<r  he  had  asked  his 
wife.  After  all,  a  Syndic's  wife  may  surely  give  herself 
leave  to  talk  a  little  according  to  her  own  fancy,  once  a 
week. 

One  fine  day,  however,  it  was  the  Saturday  at  Thun,  and 
there  was  not  in  all  the  town  a  shadow  of  the  broom-mer- 
chant. Thence,  aussi,  great  emotion,  and  grave  faces.  More 
than  one  maid  was  on  the  door-steps,  with  her  arms  akimbo, 
leaving  quietly  upstairs  in  the  kitchen  the  soup  and  the  meat 
to  agree  with  each  other  as  best  they  might. 

*  A  minute  Evangelical  fragment  — dubi table  enough. 

f  Primarily,  because  it  is  untrue.  The  respect  of  a  child  for  its 
parent  depends  on  the  parent's  own  personal  character  ;  and  not  at  all, 
irrespective  of  that,  on  his  religious  behaviour.  Which  the  practical 
good  sense  of  the  reverend  novelist  picaeutly  admits. 


446 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA, 


"You  haven't  seen  him  then  ? — have  you  heard  nothing  of 
him?" — asked  they,  one  of  the  other.  More  than  one  lady 
ran  into  her  kitchen,  prepared  to  dress*  her  servant  well, 
from  head  to  foot,  because  she  hadn't  been  told  when  the 
broom-merchant  was  there.  But  she  found  no  servant  there, 
and  only  the  broth  boiling  over.  Madame  the  Syndic  her- 
self got  disturbed  ;  and  interrogated,  first  her  husband,  and 
then  the  gendarme.  And  as  they  knew  nothing,  neither  the 
one  nor  the  other,  down  siie  went  into  the  low  town  herself, 
in  person,  to  inquire  after  her  broom-merchant.  She  was 
quite  out  of  brooms — and  the  year's  house-cleaning  was  to 
be  done  next  week — and  now  no  broom-merchant — je  vous 
demande  !  f  And  truly  enough,  no  broom-merchant  appeared; 
and  durins:  all  the  week  there  was  a  feelino-  of  want  in  the 
town,  and  an  enormous  disquietude  the  next  Saturday. 
Will  he  come?  Won't  he  come?  He  came,  in  effect  ;  and 
if  he  had  tried  to  answer  all  the  questions  put  to  him,  would 
not  have  got  away  again  till  the  next  week.  He  contented 
himself  with  saying  to  everybody  that  he  had  been  obliged 
to  go  to  the  funeral." 

"  Whose  funeral  ?  "  asked  Madame  the  Syndic,  from  whom 
he  could  not  escaj^e  so  easily. 

"  My  sister's,"  answered  the  broom-merchant. 
Wlio  was  she  ?  and  when  did  they  bury  her  ?  "  Madame 
continued  to  ask. 

The  broom-merchat  answered  briefl}^  but  frankly  :  aussi 
Madame  the  Syndic  cried  out  all  at  once, 

"Mercy  on  us  ! — are  you  the  brother  of  that  servant-girl 
there's  been  such  a  noise  about,  who  turned  out  at  her 
master's  death  to  have  been  his  wife, — and  had  all  his  fortune 
left  to  her,  and  died  herself  soon  afterwards?" 

"  It  is  precisely  so,"  answered  Hansli,  dryly. J 

"  But — goodness  of  Heaven  !  "  cried  Madame  the  Syndic, 
"you  inherit  fifty  thousand  crowns  at  least, — and  behold  you 
still  running  over  the  country  with  your  brooms  !  " 

*"  We  keep  the  metaphor  in  the  phrase,  to  *  give  a  dressing,'  but  the 
short  verb  is  better, 
f  Untranslateable. 

X  It  was  unworthy  of  Gotthelf  to  spoil  his  story  by  this  vulgar  theat- 
rical catastrophe ;  and  his  object  (namely,  to  exhibit  the  character  of 
Hansli  in  riches  as  well  as  poverty,)  does  not  justify  him  ;  for,  to  be  an 
example  to  those  in  his  own  position,  Hanali  should  have  remained  in  it. 
We  will,  however,  take  what  good  we  can  get:  several  of  the  points  for 
the  sake  of  which  I  have  translated  the  whole  story,  are  in  this  part 
of  it. 


FOllS  CLAVIGEIiA. 


447 


''Why  not?"  said  Ilaiisli  ;  I  haven't  got  that  money, 
yet  ;  and  I'm  not  going  to  let  go  my  sparrow  in  the  hand 
for  a  pigeon  on  the  tiles." 

Pigeon  on  the  tiles,  indeed  !  "  said  Madame, — "  ^vhy,  we 
were  speaking  of  it  only  this  morning — I  and  M.  the  Syndic; 
and  he  said  the  thing  was  perfectly  sure,  and  the  money 
came  all  to  the  brother." 

"Ah,  well,  my  faith,  so  much  the  better,"  said  Hansli  ; 
*^  but  about  what  I  called  to  ask, — must  vou  have  the  brooms 
in  eight  days,  or  fifteen  ?" 

"Ah,  bah — you  and  your  brooms,"  cried  Madame  the 
Syndic  ;  "  come  in,  will  you  ; — 1  want  to  see  how  wide 
Monsieur  will  open  his  eyes  !  " 

"But,  Madame,  I  am  a  little  hurried  to-day;  it's  along 
way  home  from  here,  and  the  days  are  short." 

"Long  or  short,  come  in,  always,"  said  Madame  impera- 
tively,— and  Hansli  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  obey. 

She  did  not  take  him  into  the  kitchen,  but  into  the  dining- 
room  ;  sent  her  maid  to  tell  Monsieur  that  Hansli  was  there, 
— ordered  up  a  bottle  of  wine, — and  forced  Hansli  to  sit 
down,  in  spite  of  his  continued  protesting  that  he  had  no 
time,  and  that  the  days  were  short.  But  in  a  wink  the 
Monsieur  was  there,  sat  down  at  the  table  also,  and  drank  to 
Hansli's  health  and  happiness  ;  requiring  him  at  the  same 
time  to  explain  how  that  had  all  haj>|)ened. 

"Ah,  well,  rU  tell  you  in  two  words, — it  is  not  long.  As 
soon  as  she  had  been  confirmed,  my  sister  went  into  the 
world  to  look  for  work.  She  got  on  from  place  to  place,  and 
"was  much  valued,  it  seems.  As  for  us  at  home,  she  occupied 
herself  little  about  us  :  only  came  to  see  us  twice,  in  all  the 
time  ;  and,  since  my  mother  died,  not  at  all.  1  have  met  her 
at  Berne,  it  is  true  ;  but  she  never  asked  me  to  come  and 
see  where  she  lived, — only  bid  me  salute  the  wife  and  chil- 
dren, and  said  she  would  soon  come,  but  she  never  did.  It 
is  true  she  was  not  long  at  Berne,  but  was  much  out  at 
service  in  the  neighbouring  chateaux,  and  in  French  Switzer- 
land, from  what  I  hear.  She  had  busy  blood,  and  a  fanciful 
head,  which  never  could  stay  long  in  the  same  place  :  but, 
with  that,  well-conducted  and  proof-faithful  ;  *  and  one  might 
trust  her  fearlessly  with  anything.  At  last  there  came  a  re- 
port that  she  had  married  a  rich  old  gentleman,  who  did  that 
to  punish  his  relations,  with  whom  he  was  very  angry  ;  but 


*  Fidele  a  toute  epreuve. " 


448 


F0R8  CLAVIGERA. 


I  didn't  much  believe  it,  nor  much  think  about  it.  And 
then,  all  of  a  sudden,  I  got  word  that  I  must  go  directly  to 
my  sister  if  I  wanted  to  see  her  alive,  and  that  she  lived  in 
the  country  by  Morat.  So  I  set  out,  and  got  there  in  time 
to  see  her  die  ;  but  was  not  able  to  say  much  to  her.  Ag 
soon  as  she  was  buried,  I  came  back  as  fast  as  I  could.  I 
was  in  a  hurry  to  get  home,  for  since  I  first  set  up  house  1 
had  never  lost  so  much  time  about  the  world." 

"What's  that? — lost  so  much  time,  indeed!''  cried 
Madame  the  Syndic.  "Ah,  nonsense;  —  with  your  hity 
thousand  crowns,  are  you  going  to  keep  carrying  broonis 
about  the  country  ?" 

"But  very  certainly,  Madame  the  Syndic,"  said  Hansli, 
"I  only  half  trust  the  thing;  it  seems  to  me  impossible  I 
should  have  so  much.  After  all,  they  say  it  can't  fail  ;  but 
be  it  as  it  will,  I  shall  go  on  living  my  own  life  ;  r,o  tliat  if 
there  comes  any  hitch  in  the  business,  people  shan't  be  able 
to  say  of  me,  'Ah,  he  thought  himself  already  a  gentleman, 
did  he  ?  Now  he's  glad  to  go  back  to  his  cart.!  '  But  if  the 
money  really  comes  to  me,  I  shall  leave  my  brooms,  though 
not  without  regret  ;  but  it  would  all  the  same,  then,  make 
the  world  talk  and  laugh  if  I  went  on  ;  and  I  will  not  have 
that." 

"But  that  fortune  is  in  safe  hands, — it  runs  no  dang-er?" 
asked  M.  the  Syndic. 

"I  think  so,"  said  Hansli.  "I  promised  some  money  to 
the  man,  if  the  heritage  really  came  to  me  ;  then  he  got 
angry,  and  said,  '  If  it's  yours,  you'll  have  it  ;  and  if  it  isn't, 
money  won't  get  it  :  for  the  expenses  and  taxes,  you'll  have 
the  account  in  proper  time  and  place.'  Then  I  saw  the 
thing  was  well  placed  ;  and  I  can  wait  well  enough,  till  the 
time's  up." 

"  But,  in  truth,"  said  Madame  the  Syndic,  "I  can't  under- 
stand such  a  sanorfroid  !    One  has  never  seen  the  like  of  that 

  o 

in  Israel.  That  would  make  me  leap  out  of  my  skin,  if  I  was 
your  wife." 

"  You  had  better  not,"  said  Hansli,  "  at  least  until  you  have 
found  somebody  able  to  put  you  into  it  again." 

This  sangfroid,  and  his  carrying  on  his  business,  reconciled 
many  people  to  Hansli  ;  who  were  not  the  less  very  envious 
of  him  :  some  indeed  thought  him  a  fool,  and  wanted  to  buy 
the  succession  of  him,  declaring  he  would  get  nothing  out  of 
it  but  lawsuits. 

"What  would  you  have  ?"  said  Hansli.    "In  this  world, 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA, 


449 


one  is  sure  of  nothing'.  It  will  be  time  to  think  of  it  if  the 
alTair  gets  into  a  mess." 

But  the  affair  got  into  nothing  of  the  sort.  Legal  time 
expired,  he  got  invitation  to  Berne,  when  all  difficulties  were 
cleared  away. 

When  his  wife  saw  him  come  back  so  rich,  she  began,  first, 
to  cry  ;  and  then,  to  scream. 

So  that  Hansli  had  to  ask  her,  again  and  again,  what 
was  the  matter  with  her,  and  whether  anything  had  gone 
wrong. 

Ah,  now,"  said  his  wife,  at  last, — (for  she  cried  so  sel- 
dom, that  she  had  all  the  more  trouble  to  stop,  when  once 
she  began), — "  Ah,  now,  you  will  despise  me,  because  you 
are  so  rich,  and  think  that  you  would  like  to  have  another 
sort  of  wife  than  me.  I've  done  what  I  could,  to  this  day  ; 
but  now  I'm  nothing  but  an  old  rag.*  If  only  I  was  already 
six  feet  under  ground  !  " 

Thereupon  Ilansli  sat  himself  down  in  his  arm-chair,  and 
said  : 

"  Wife,  listen.  Here  are  now  nearly  thirty  years  that  we 
have  kept  house  ;  and  thou  knowest,  what  one  would  liave, 
the  other  would  have,  too.  I've  never  once  beaten  thee,  and 
the  bad  words  we  may  have  said  to  each  other  would  be 
easily  counted.  Well,  wife,  I  tell  thee,  do  not  begin  to  be 
ill-tempered  now,  or  do  anything  else  than  you  have  always 
done.  Everything  must  remain  between  us  as  in  the  past. 
Tliis  inheritance  does  not  come  from  me  ;  nor  from  thee  ; 
but  from  the  good  God,  for  us  two,  ana  ior  our  children. 
And  now,  I  advise  thee,  and  liold  it  for  as  sure  a  tiling  as  if 
it  were  written  in  the  Bible,  if  you  speak  again  of  this  to  me 
but  once,  be  it  with  crying,  or  without,  I  will  give  thee  a 
beating  wnth  a  new  rope,  such  as  that  they  may  hear  thee 
cry  from  here  to  the  Lake  of  Constance.  Behold  what  is 
said  :  now  do  as  thou  wilt." 

It  was  resolute  speaking  ;  much  more  resolute  than  the 
diplomatic  notes  between  Prussia  and  Austria.  The  wife 
knew  where  siie  was,  and  did  not  recommence  her  song. 
Things  remained  between  them  as  they  had  been.  Before 
abandoninor  his  brooms,  Ilansli  c^ave  a  turn  of  his  hand  to 
them,  and  made  a  present  of  a  dozen  to  all  his  customers, 
carrying  them  to  each  in  his  own  person.  He  has  repeated 
many  a  time  since,  and  nearly  always  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 


*  **  Patraque," — machine  out  of  repair,  and  uselesB. 
Vol.  IL— ^0 


450 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


that  it  was  a  day  he  could  never  forget,  and  that  he  never 
would  have  believed  people  loved  him  so. 

Farming  his  own  land,  he  kept  his  activity  and  simplicity, 
prayed  and  worked  as  he  had  always  done  ;  but  he  knew  the 
difference  between  a  farmer  and  a  broom-seller,  and  did  hon-= 
our  to  his  new  position  as  he  liad  to  his  old  one.  He  knew 
well,  already,  Avhat  was  befitting  in  a  farmer's  house,  and  did 
now  for  others  as  he  had  been  thankful  to  have  had  done  for 
himself. 

Tlie  good  God  spared  both  of  them  to  see  their  sons-in-law 
happy  in  their  wives,  and  their  daughters-in-law  full  of  re- 
spect and  tenderness  for  their  husbands  ;  and  were  they  yet 
alive  this  day,  they  would  see  what  deep  roots  their  family 
had  struck  in  their  native  land,  because  it  has  remained 
faithful  to  the  vital  germs  of  domestic  life  ;  the  love  of  work  ; 
and  relioion  :  foundation  that  cannot  be  overthrown,  un- 
moved  by  mocking  chance,  or  wavering  winds. 

I  have  no  time,  this  month,  to  debate  any  of  the  debate 
able  matters  in  this  story,  though  I  have  translated  it  that 
we  may  together  think  of  them  as  occasion  serves.    In  the 
meantime,  note  that  the  heads  of  question  are  these  : — 

I.  (Already  suggested  in  p.  1G9  of  my  letter  for  March, 
1874.)  What  are  the  relative  dignities  and  felicities  of 
affection,  in  simple  and  gentle  loves  ?  How  far  do  you  think 
the  regard  existing  between  Hansliand  his  wife  may  be  com- 
pared, for  nobleness  and  delight,  to  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  re- 
gard for — his  neighbour's  wife  ;  or  the  relations  between 
Hansli  and  his  sister,  terminating  in  the  brief  '  was  not  able 
to  say  much  to  her,'  comparable  to  those  between  Sidney 
and  his  sister,  terminating  in  the  completion  of  the  brother's 
Psalter  by  the  sister's  indistinguishably  perfect  song  ? 

n.  If  there  be  any  difference,  and  you  think  the  gentle 
hearts  have  in  anywise  the  better — how  far  do  you  think  this 
separation  between  gentle  and  simple  inevitable  ?  Suppose 
Sir  Philip,  for  instance — among  his  many  accomplishments — 
had  been  also  taught  the  art  of  making  brooms, — (as  indeed 
I  doubt  not  but  his  sister  knew  how  to  use  them), — and  time 
had  thus  been  left  to  the  broom-makers  of  his  day  for  the 
fashionino-  of  sonnets  ?  or  the  reading-  of  more  literature 


FOBS  CLAVIOERA. 


451 


than  a  ^chapitre'  on  the  Sunday  afternoons?  Might  such 
— not  *  division  '  but  *  collation  ' — of  labour  have  bettered 
both  their  lives  ? 

III.  Or  shall  we  rather  be  content  with  the  apparent  law 
of  Nature  that  there  shall  be  divine  Astrophels  in  the  intel- 
lectual heaven,  and  peaceful  earthly  glowworms  on  the  banks 
below  ;  or  even — on  the  Evangelical  theory  of  human  nature 
: — worms  without  any  glow  ?  And  shall  we  be  content  to  see 
our  broom-maker's  children,  at  the  best,  growing  up,  as  wil- 
lows by  the  brook — or  in  the  simplest  and  innumerablest 
crowd,  as  rushes  in  a  marsh  : — so  lonor  as  thev  have  whole- 
some  pith  and  sufficing  strength  to  be  securely  sat  upon  in 
rush-bottomed  chairs  ;  while  their  masters'  and  lords'  chil- 
dren grow  as  roses  on  the  mount  of  Sharon,  and  untoiling 
lilies  in  the  vales  of  Lebanon  ? 

IV.  And  even  if  we  admit  that  the  lives  Penshurst,  and 
by  the  woods  of  Muri,  though  thus  to  be  kept  separate,  are 
yet,  each  in  their  manner,  good,  how  far  is  the  good  of  either 
of  them  dependent  merely,  as  our  reverend  Novelist  tells  us, 
on  "work"  (with  lance  or  willow  wand)  and  "  religion,"  or 
liow  far  on  the  particular  circumstances  and  landscape  of 
Kent  and  Canton  Berne, — while,  in  other  parts  of  England 
and  Switzerland,  less  favourably  conditioned,  the  ministra- 
tion of  Mr.  Septimus  Hansard  and  Mr.  Felix  Neff  will  be 
always  required,  for  the  mitigation  of  the  deeper  human 
miserv, — meditation  on  which  is  to  make  our  sweet  Eni^lish 
ladies  comfortable  in  nursing  their  cats? 

Leaving  the  first  two  of  these  questions  to  the  reader's 
thoughts,  I  will  answer  the  last  two  for  him  ; — The  extremi- 
ties of  human  degradation  are  not  owing  to  natural  causes  ; 
but  to  the  habitual  preying  upon  the  labour  of  the  poor  by 
the  luxury  of  the  rich  ;  and  they  are  only  encouraged  and 
increased  by  the  local  efforts  of  religious  charity.  The 
clero'v  can  neither  absolve  the  rich  from  their  sins  for 
money  —  nor  release  them  from  their  duties,  for  love. 
Their  business  is  not  to  soothe,  by  their  saintly  and  dis- 
tant example,  the  soft  moments  of  cat-nursing  ;  but  sternly 
to  forbid  cat-nursing,  till  no  child  is  left  unnursed.    And  if 


452 


FOBS  GLAVIGERA. 


this  true  discipline  of  the  Church  were  carried  out,  and  the 
larger  body  of  less  saintly  clerical  gentlemen,  and  .Z/ifelix 
Neffs,  who  now  dine  with  the  rich  and  preach  to  the  poor, 
were  accustomed,  on  the  contrary,  to  dine  with  the  poor  and 
preach  to  the  rich  ;  though  still  the  various  passions  and 
powers  of  the  several  orders  would  remain  where  the  provi- 
dence of  Heaven  placed  them — and  the  useful  reed  and  use- 
less rose  would  still  bind  the  wintry  waters  with  their  border, 
and  brighten  the  May  sunshine  with  their  bloom, — for  each, 
their  happy  being  would  be  fulfilled  in  peace  in  the  garden 
of  the  world  ;  and  the  glow,  if  not  of  immortal,  at  least  of 
sacredl}''  bequeathed,  life,  and  endlessly  cherished  memory, 
abide  even  within  its  chambers  of  the  tomb. 


FOIiS  GLA  VIOERA.  453 


NOTES  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


I. — I  publish  the  following  leg-al  documents — the  first  articles  for 
which  I  have  to  expend  any  of  St.  George's  money, — intact :  venturing 
not  so  much  as  the  profanity  of  punctuation.  The  Memorandum  is 
drawn  up  by  one  of  our  leading  counsel,  from  my  sketch  of  what  I 
wanted.  The  points  on  which  it  may  need  some  modification  are  re- 
ferred to  in  my  added  notes  ;  and  I  now  invite  farther  criticism  or  sug- 
gestion from  the  subscribers  to  the  Fund. 

"2,  Bond  Court,  Walbuook,  London,  E.  C, 
"  June  Iblhj  1875. 

"  St.  George's  Company. 
Dear  Sir, — According  to  the  promise  in  our  Mr.  Tarrant's  letter  of 
the  11th,  we  now  beg  to  send  you  wha'i  Mr.  Win.  Barber,  after  reading 
your  sketch,  has  approved  of  as  the  written  fundamental  laws  of  the 
Company, — though  we  shall  be  quite  prepared  to  find  that  some  altera- 
tions in  it  are  still  necessary  to  express  your  views  correctly. 
**  We  are, 

'^Dear  Sir, 

Yours  faithfully, 

Tarrant  &  Mackuell. 
**  Professor  Ruskin,  Corpus  Ch.  Coll. ,  Oxford." 

MEMORANDUM  AND  STATUTES  OF  THE  COMPANY  OF  ST. 

GEORGE. 

The  Company  is  constituted  with  the  object  of  determining  and  in- 
stituting in  practice  the  wholesome  laws  of  agricultural  life  and  econ- 
omy and  of  instructing  the  agriculLural  labourer  in  the  science  art  and 
literature  of  good  husbandry,  (a) 

With  this  object  it  is  proposed  to  acquire  by  gift  purchase  or  other- 
wise plots  or  tracts  of  land  in  different  parts  of  the  country  which  will 
bo  brought  into  such  state  of  cultivation  or  left  uncultivated  or  turned 
into  waste  or  common  land  and  applied  to  such  purposes  as  having  re- 
gard to  the  nature  of  the  soil  and  other  surrounding  circumstances  may 
in  each  case  be  thought  to  be  most  generally  useful. 

The  members  of  the  Comxmny  shall  be  styled  Companions  of  the  Com- 
pany of  St  George  (b)  Any  ])crson  may  become  a  Companion  by  sub- 
scribing not  less  than  £  in  money  to  Ihe  funds  of  the  Company  or 
by  making  a  gift  to  the  Company  of  land  not  less  than  £      in  value 


454 


FOBS  CLAVIGEEA. 


(c)  and  by  having  his  name  entered  on  the  Roll  of  Companions  with 
due  solemnity. 

The  name  of  every  Companion  shall  be  entered  on  the  Roll  of  Com- 
pnnioDs  either  by  himself  in  the  presence  of  two  witnesses  of  full  age 
who  shall  attest  such  entry  or  if  the  Companion  shall  so  desire  by  the 
Master  of  the  Company  with  the  same  formalities  The  Roll  of  Com- 
panions shall  be  kept  in  safe  custody  within  the  walls  of  the  College  of 
Corpus  Christi  in  Oxford  or  at  such  other  safe  and  commodious  place 
as  the  Companions  shall  from  time  to  time  direct. 

Each  Companion  shall  by  virtue  of  the  entry  of  his  name  on  the  Roll 
be  deemed  to  have  bound  himself  by  a  solemn  vow  and  promise  as 
strict  as  if  the  same  had  been  ratified  by  oath  to  be  true  and  loyal  to  the 
Company  and  to  the  best  of  his  power  and  might  so  far  as  in  him  lies 
to  forward  and  advance  the  objects  and  interests  thereof  and  faithfully 
to  keep  and  obey  the  statutes  and  rules  thereof  yet  so  nevertheless  that 
he  shall  not  be  bound  in  any  way  to  harass  annoy  injure  or  inconven- 
ience his  neighbour. 

Chief  among  the  Companions  of  the  Company  shall  be  the  Master 
thereof  who  so  long  as  he  shall  hold  office  shall  have  full  and  absolute 
power  at  his  will  and  pleasure  to  make  and  repeal  laws  and  bye  laws  {d) 
and  in  all  respects  to  rule  regulate  manage  and  direct  the  affairs  of  the 
Company  and  receive  apply  and  administer  funds  and  subscriptions  in 
aid  of  its  objects  and  to  purchase  acquire  cultivate  manage  lease  sell  or 
otherwise  dispose  of  the  estates  and  properties  of  the  Company  and 
generally  direct  and  control  the  operations  thereof. 

The  Master  shall  be  elected  and  may  from  time  to  time  and  at  any 
time  be  deposed  by  the  votes  of  a  majority  in  number  of  the  Companions 
in  General  Meeting  assembled  but  except  in  the  event  of  his  resignation 
or  deposition  shall  hold  office  for  life  The  first  Master  of  the  Company 
shall  be  John  Ruskin  who  shall  however  (subject  to  re-election)  only 
hold  office  until  the  first  General  Meeting  of  the  Companions. 

The  Master  shall  render  to  each  Companion  and  shall  be  at  liberty  if 
he  shall  so  think  fit  to  print  for  public  circulation  a  monthly  report  and 
account  of  the  operations  and  financial  position  of  the  Company. 

No  Master  or  other  Companion  of  the  Company  shall  either  directly 
or  indirectly  receive  any  pny  profit  emolument  or  advantage  whatsoever 
from  out  of  by  or  by  means  of  his  office  or  position  as  a  member  of  the 
Company. 

The  practical  supervision  and  management  of  the  estates  and  proper- 
ties of  the  Company  shall  subject  to  the  direction  and  control  of  the 
Master  be  entrusted  to  and  carried  out  by  land  agents  tenants  and  la- 
bourers who  shall  be  styled  Retainers  of  the  Company. 

The  name  of  each  Retainer  in  the  permanent  employ  of  the  Company 
shall  be  entered  in  a  Register  to  be  called  the  Roll  of  Retainers  and  to 
be  kept  at  the  same  place  as  the  Roll  of  Companions  Such  entry  shall 
be  made  either  by  the  Retainer  himself  in  the  presence  of  one  AvitneFS 
of  full  age  who  shall  attest  the  entry  or  if  the  Retainer  shall  so  desire 
by  the  Master  with  the  same  formalities. 

No  pecuniary  liability  shall  attach  to  any  Retainer  of  the  Company 
by  virtue  of  his  position  as  such  but  each  Retainer  shall  by  virtue  of  the 
entry  of  his  name  on  the  Roll  be  deemed  to  have  bound  himself  by  a 
solemn  vow  and  promise  as  strict  as  if  the  same  had  been  ratified  by 
oath  to  be  true  and  loyal  to  the  Company  and  faithfully  to  keep  and 


FORS  CLAVIGEJiA. 


455 


obey  the  statutes  and  rules  thereof  and  the  orders  and  commands  of  the 
officers  of  the  Company  who  from  time  to  time  may  be  set  over  him. 

Each  land  agent  and  labourer  being  a  Retainer  of  the  Company  shall 
receive  and  be  paid  a  fixed  salary  in  return  for  his  services  and  shall  not 
by  perquisites  commissions  or  any  other  means  whatever  either  directly 
or  indirectly  receive  or  acquire  any  pay  profit  emolument  or  advantages 
whatever  other  than  such  fixed  salary  from  out  of  or  by  means  of  his 
office  or  position  as  a  Retainer  of  the  Company. 

The  rents  and  profits  to  be  derived  from  the  estates  and  properties  of 
the  Company  shall  be  applied  in  the  first  instance  in  the  development  of 
the  land  (e)  and  the  physical  intellectual  moral  social  and  religious  im- 
provement of  the  residents  thereon  in  such  manner  as  the  Master  shall 
from  time  to  time  direct  or  approve  and  the  surplus  rents  and  profits  if 
any  shall  be  applied  in  reduction  of  the  amount  paid  by  the  tenants  in 
proportion  to  their  respective  skill  and  industry  either  by  a  gradual  re- 
mission of  rent  towards  the  close  of  the  tenancy  or  in  such  other  way  as 
may  be  thought  best  but  in  no  case  shall  the  Companions  personally  de- 
rive any  rents  or  profits  from  the  property  of  the  Com[)any. 

All  land  and  hereditaments  for  the  time  being  belonging  to  the  Com- 
pany shall  be  conveyed  to  and  vested  in  any  two  or  more  of  the  Compan- 
ions whom  the  Master  may  from  time  to  time  select  for  the  office  as 
Trustees  of  the  Company  and  sliall  be  dealt  with  by  them  according  to 
the  directions  of  the  Master.  (/) 

The  property  of  the  Company  shall  belong  to  the  Companions  in  the 
shares  and  proportions  in  which  they  shall  have  respectively  contributed 
or  by  succession  or  accruer  become  entitled  to  the  same. 

Each  Companion  shall  be  entitled  by  writing  under  his  hand  during 
his  lifetime  or  by  will  or  codicil  to  api^K)int  one  person  as  his  successor 
in  the  Company  and  such  person  shall  on  entry  ol'  his  name  on  the  Roll 
of  Companions  in  compliance  with  the  formalities  hereinbefore  pre- 
scribed become  a  Companion  of  the  Company  and  become  entitled  to 
the  share  of  his  appointer  in  the  property  of  the  Company.  (<;) 

Each  Companion  shall  at  any  time  be  entitled  to  resign  his  position 
by  giving  to  the  Master  a  Notice  under  his  hand  of  his  desire  and  inten- 
tion so  to  do. 

If  any  Companion  shall  resign  his  position  or  die  without  having  ap- 
pointed a  successor  or  if  the  person  so  appointed  shall  for  calendar 
months  alter  the  date  when  notice  of  such  resignation  shall  have  been 
received  by  the  Master  or  after  the  date  of  such  death  as  the  case  may 
be  fail  to  have  his  name  entered  on  the  Roll  of  Companions  in  compli- 
ance with  the  formalities  hereinbefore  prescribed  his  share  in  the  prop- 
erty of  the  Company  shall  forthwith  become  forfeited  and  shall  accrue 
to  the  other  Companions  in  the  shares  and  proportions  in  which  tbey 
shall  i?it€J'  se  be  for  the  time  being  entitled  to  the  property  o£  the  Com- 
pany, [h) 

The  Company  may  at  any  time  be  dissolved  by  the  Votes  of  three- 
fourths  of  the  Companions  in  General  Meeting  assembled  and  in  the 
event  of  the  Company  being  so  dissolved  or  being  dissolved  by  any  other 
means  not  hereinbefore  specially  provided  for  the  property  of  the  Com- 
pany shall  subject  to  the  debts  liabilities  and  engagements  thereof  be- 
come divisible  among  the  Companions  for  the  time  being  in  the  shares 
and  proportions  in  which  they  shall  for  the  time  being  be  entitled  thereto 
yet  so  nevertheless  that  all  leases  agreements  for  leases  and  other  ten- 


456 


FOES  CLAVIOERA. 


ancies  for  the  time  being  subsisting  on  the  property  of  the  Company  shall 
bind  the  persons  among  whom  the  property  comprised  therein  shall  so 
become  divisible  and  shall  continue  as  valid  and  effectual  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  as  if  the  Company  had  not  been  dissolved. 

Notes  on  the  above  Mkmorandum. 

{a)  This  sentence  must  be  changed  into  :  such  science  art  and 
literature  as  are  properly  connected  with  husbandry." 

{b)  In  my  sketch,  I  wrote  Companions  of  St.  George.  But  as  the 
existence  of  St.  George  cannot  be  legally  proved  or  assumed,  the  tauto- 
logically  legal  phrase  must  be  permitted. 

{c)  This  clause  cannot  stand.  The  admission  into  the  Company  must 
not  be  purchaseable  ;  also  many  persons  capable  of  giving  enthusiastic 
and  wise  help  as  Companions,  may  be  unable  to  subscribe  money. 
Nothing  can  be  required  as  a  condition  of  entrance,  except  the  consent 
of  the  Master,  and  signature  promising  obedience  to  the  laws. 

{d)  This  clause  needs  much  development.  For  though  the  Master 
must  be  entirely  unrestrained  in  action  within  the  limits  of  the  Laws  of 
the  Company,  he  must  not  change  or  add  to  them  without  some  manner 
of  consultation  with  the  Companions.  Even  in  now  founding  the  So- 
ciety, I  do  nofc  venture  to  write  a  constitution  for  it  without  inviting  the 
help  of  its  existing  members  ;  and  when  once  its  main  laws  are  agreed 
upon,  they  must  be  iuabrogable  without  the  same  concurrence  of  the 
members  which  would  be  necessary  to  dissolve  the  Society  altogether. 

{e)  To  the  development,  and  enlargement,  of  the  Society's  opera- 
tions, also. 

(/)  I  do  not  think  the  Master  should  have  the  power  of  choosing  the 
Trustees.  I  was  obliged  to  do  so,  before  any  Society  was  in  existence  ; 
but  the  Trustees  have  to  verify  the  Master's  accounts,  and  otherwise 
act  as  a  check  upon  him.   They  must  not,  therefore,  be  chosen  by  him. 

(g)  A  questionable  clause,  which  I  have  not  at  present  time  to  dis- 
cuss. 

{h)  Partly  the  corollary  of  {g).  The  word  '  forfeited '  is  morally,  if 
not  legally,  objectionable.  No  idea  of  forfeiture  ought  to  attach  to 
the  resolved  surrender  of  transferable  claim  ;  or  to  the  accidental  in- 
ability to  discover  a  fitting  successor. 

Reserving,  therefore,  the  above  clauses  for  future  modification,  the 
rest  of  the  Memorandum  fully  expresses  what  seems  to  me  desirable  for 
the  first  basis  of  our  constitution  ;  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  whether 
any  of  the  present  subscribers  to  St.  George's  Fund  will  join  me  on 
these  conditions. 

II. — I  should  willingly  have  printed  the  letter  from  which  the 
following  extracts  are  taken,  (with  comments,)  as  a  Fors  by  itself  ; 
but  having  other  matters  pressing,  must  content  myself  to  leave  it 


FOBS  GLAVIOERA. 


457 


in  the  smaller  print.  The  more  interesting  half  of  it  is  still  reserved 
for  next  month. 

*'What  long  years  have  passed  since  my  eyes  first  saw  the  calm 
sweet  scene  beyond  Wakefield  Bridge  !  I  was  but  a  small  creature  then, 
and  had  never  been  far  from  my  mother's  door.  It  was  a  memorable 
day  for  me  when  I  toddled  a  full  mile  from  the  shady  up-town  street 
where  we  lived,  past  strange  windows,  over  unfamiliar  flags,  to  see  the 
big  weir  and  the  chapel  on  the  Bridge.  Standing  on  tiptoe,  I  could  just 
see  over  the  parapet  and  look  down-stream. 

*'  That  was  my  first  peep  into  fair,  green  England,  and  destined  never 
to  be  forgotten.  The  gray  old  chapel,  the  shining  water  below,  the 
far- winding  green  banks  spangled  with  buttercups,  the  grove- clad  hills 
of  Heath  and  Kirkthorpe, — all  seemed  to  pass  into  my  heart  for  ever. 

There  was  no  railway  then,  only  the  Doncaster  coach  careering 
over  the  Bridge  with  a  brave  sound  of  horn ;  fields  and  farmsteads 
Btood  where  the  Kirkgate  station  is ;  where  the  twenty  black  throats 
of  the  foundry  belch  out  flame  and  soot,  there  were  only  strawberiy- 
grounds  and  blossoming  pear-orchards,  among  which  the  throstles  and 
blackbirds  were  shouting  for  gladness. 

"The  chapel  lay  neglected  in  a  nest  of  wild  willows,  and  a  peaceful 
cobbler  dwelt  in  it.  As  I  looked  at  it,  Duke  Richard  and  King  Edward 
became  living  realities  to  me ;  the  dry  bones  of  Pinnock's  Catechism 
started  suddenly  into  life.  That  was  the  real  old  chapel  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  Some  years  after,  they  ousted  the  cobbler,  pulled  down  tho 
old  stones,  restored  it,  and  opened  it  for  ritualistic  worship  ;  but  the 
cheap  stonework  has  crumbled  away  again,  and  it  now  looks  as  ancient 
as  in  days  of  yore.  Only,  as  1  remember  it,  it  had  a  white  hoariness  : 
the  foundry  smoke  has  made  it  black  at  the  present  day. 

*'  Some  of  my  companions  had  been  farther  out  in  the  world  than 
myself.     They  pointed  out  the  dusky  shape  of  Heath  Hull,  seen 

through  the  thinly-clad  elm-trees,  and  told  me  liow  old  Lady  'a 

ghost  still  walked  there  on  stormy  nights.  Beyond  was  Kirkthorpe, 
where  the  forlorn  shapes  of  the  exiled  Spanish  nuns  had  been  seen  flit- 
ting about  their  graves  in  the  churchyard. 

There  on  the  right  was  the  tree-crowned  mound  of  Sandal  Castle, 
which  Cromwell  had  blown  down;  the  dry  ditch  was  full  of  primroses, 
they  told  me  ;  those  woods  bounded  Crofton,  famous  for  its  cowslip 
fields  ;  and  in  Heath  wood  you  would  see  the  ground  white  with  snow- 
drops in  March. 

I  do  not  think  that  it  is  the  [)artiality  of  a  native  that  makes  ma 
think  you  could  hardly  find  a  fairer  inland  pastoral  scene,  than  the  one 
I  beheld  from  Wakefield  Bridge  the  first  time  I  stood  there.  On  the 
chapel  side  there  was  the  soft  green  English  landscape,  with  woods  and 
spires  and  halls,  and  the  brown  sails  of  boats  silently  moving  among  tho 
flowery  banks ;  on  the  town  side  there  were  picturesque  traffic  and 
life ;  the  thundering  weir,  the  wide  still  water  beyond,  the  big  dark- 
red  granaries,  with  balconies  and  archways  to  the  water,  and  the  lofty 
white  mills  grinding  out  their  cheering  music. 

But  there  were  no  worse  shapes  than  honest,  dusty  millers*  men, 
And  browned  boatmen,  decent  people;  no  open  vileness  and  foul 
language  were  rampant  in  our  quiet  clean  town  in  thc>se  days.  I  can 
remember  how  clean  the  pavement  used  to  look  there,  and  at  Don- 


468 


FOBS  CLAVIGERA. 


caster.  Both  towns  are  incredibly  dirty  now.  I  cannot  bear  to  I00I5 
at  the  filthy  beslavered  causeway,  in  places  where  1  remember  to  have 
never  seen  anything  worse  than  the  big  round  thunder  drops  I  used  to 
watch  with  gleeful  interest. 

"In  those  days  we  were  proud  of  the  cleanness  and  sweet  air  and 
gentility  of  Wakefield.  Leeds  was  then  considered  rather  vulgar,  as  a 
factory  town,  and  Bradford  was  obscure,  rough,  and  wild  ;  but  Wake- 
field prided  itself  in  lefined  living  on  moderate  means,  and  cultured 
people  of  small  income  were  fond  of  settling  there. 
Market  day  used  to  be  a  great  event  for  us  all. 

•'Iwish  that  you  could  have  seen  the  handsome  farmers'  wives 
ranged  round  the  church  walls,  with  their  baskets  of  apricots  and 
cream  cheese,  before  reform  came,  and  they  swept  away  my  dear  old 
school-house  of  the  seventeenth  century,  to  make  an  ugly  barren  desert 
of  a  market  ground.  You  might  have  seen,  too,  the  pretty  cottagers' 
daughters,  with  their  bunches  of  lavender  and  baskets  of  fruit,  or  heaps 
of  cowslips  and  primroses  for  the  wine  and  vinegar  Wakefield  house- 
wives prided  themselves  upon.  On  certain  days  they  stood  to  be  hired 
as  maid-servants,  and  were  prized  in  the  country  round  as  neat,  clean, 
modesfc-spokeu  girls. 

*'I  do  not  know  where  they  are  gone  to  now, — I  suppose  to  the 
factories.  Anyhow,  Wakefield  ladies  cry  out  that  they  must  get  ser- 
vants from  London,  and  Stafford,  and  Wales.  So  class  gets  parted 
from  class. 

Things  were  different  then.  Well-to-do  ladies  prided  themselves  on 
doing  their  marketing  in  person,  and  kindly  feeling  and  acquaintance- 
ship sprang  up  between  town  and  country  folk.  My  Wakefield  friends 
nowadays  laugh  at  the  idea  of  going  to  market.  They  order  every- 
thing through  the  cook,  and  hardly  know  their  own  tradespeople  by 
sight.  We  used  to  get  delicious  butter  at  tenpence  a  pound,  and  such 
curds  and  cream  cheese  as  I  never  taste  now.  *Cook'  brings  in  in- 
different butter  mostly,  at  near  two  shillings. 

'*As  for  the  fanners'  wives,  they  would  not  like  to  be  seen  with  a 
butter-basket.  They  mostly  send  the.  dairy,  produce  off  by  rail  to 
people  whom  they  never  see,  and  thus  class  is  more  sundered  from 
class  every  day,  even  by  the  very  facilities  that  railways  afford.  I  can 
remember  that  the  townspeople  had  simple  merry-makings  and  neigh- 
bourly ways  that  this  generation  would  scorn.  Many  a  pleasant  walk 
we  had  to  the  farms  and  halls  that  belted  the  old  town ;  and  boating 
parties  on  the  Calder,  and  tea-drinkings  and  dances — mostly  extem- 
pore,— in  the  easy  fashion  of  Vicar  Primrose's  days. 

But  pleasure  must  be  sought  farther  off  now.  Our  young  folks  go 
to  London  or  Paris  for  their  recreation.  People  seem  to  have  no  leisure 
for  being  neighbourly,  or  to  get  settled  in  their  houses.  They  seem  to 
be  all  expecting  to  make  a  heap  of  money,  and  to  be  much  grander 
presently,  and  finally  to  live  in  halls  and  villas,  and  look  down  on  their 
early  friends. 

'*But  I  am  sorry  for  the  young  people.  They  run  through  every- 
thing so  soon,  and  have  nothing  left  to  hope  for  or  dream  of  in  a  few 
years.  They  are  better  dressed  than  we  were,  and  have  more  accom- 
plishments ;  but  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  we  young  folks  were 
happier  in  the  old  times,  though  shillings  v/ere  not  half  so  plentiful, 
and  we  had  only  two  frocks  a  year. 


FOES  CLAVIGKKA. 


459 


"  Tradespeople  were  different,  too,  in  old  Wakefield. 
They  expected  to  live  with  us  all  iheir  lives ;  they  had  high  notiona 
of  honour  as  tradesmen,  and  they  and  their  customers  respected  each 
other. 

They  prided  themselves  on  the  '  wear '  of  their  goods.  If  they  had 
passed  upon  the  housewives  a  piece  of  sized  calico  or  shoddy  flannel, 
they  would  have  heard  of  it  for  years  after. 

"Now  the  richer  ladies  go  to  Leeds  or  Manchester  to  make  pur- 
chases :  the  town  tradesmen  are  soured  and  jealous.  They  put  up  big 
plate-glass  fronts,  and  send  out  flaming  bills  ;  but  one  does  not  know 
where  to  geo  a  piece  of  sound  calico  or  stout  linen,  well  spun  and  well 
woven. 

''Give  me  back  our  dingy  old  shops  where  everything  was  genuine, 
instead  of  these  glass  palaces  where  we  often  get  pins  without  points, 
needles  without  eyes,  and  sewing  thread  sixty  yards  to  the  hundred — 
which  I  actually  heard  a  young  Quaker  defend  the  other  day  as  an 
allowable  trade  practice." 

III. — I  venture  to  print  the  following  sentences  from  *'a  poor 
mother's"  letter,  that  ray  reply  may  be  more  generally  intelligible.  I 
wish  I  could  say,  useful ;  but  the  want  of  an  art-grammar  is  eveiy  day 
becoming  more  felt : — 

*'  I  am  rather  ashamed  to  tell  you  how  young  he  is  (not  quite  eleven), 
fearing  you  will  say  I  have  troubled  you  idly;  but  I  was  sincerely 
anxious  to  know  your  views  on  the  training  of  a  boy  for  some  definite 
sort  of  art-work,  and  I  have  always  fancied  such  training  ought  to 
begin  very  early, — [yes,  assuredly], — also,  there  are  reasons  why  we 
must  decide  early  in  what  direction  we  shall  look  out  for  employment 
for  him." 

(I  never  would  advise  any  parents  to  look  for  employment  in  art  as  a 
means  of  their  children's  support.  It  is  only  when  the  natural  bias  is 
quite  uncontrollable,  that  future  eminence,  and  comfort  of  material 
circumstances,  can  be  looked  for.  And  when  it  is  uncontrollable,  it 
ceases  to  be  a  question  whether  we  should  control  it.  We  have  only  to 
guide  it.) 

"  But  I  seem  to  dread  the  results  of  letting  hira  run  idle  until  he  is 
fourteen  or  fifteen  years  old — [most  wisely] — and  a  poor  and  busy 
mother  like  me  has  not  time  to  superintend  the  employment  of  a  boy 
as  a  richer  one  might.  This  makes  me  long  to  put  him  to  work  under 
a  master  early.  As  he  does  fo  little  at  book-learning,  would  the 
practical  learning  of  stone-cutting  under  the  village  stonemason  (a  good 
man)  be  likely  to  lead  to  anything  further  ? 

I  do  not  know,  but  it  would  be  of  the  greatest  service  to  the  boy 
meanwhile.  Let  him  learn  good  joiners*  work  also,  and  to  plough,  with 
time  allowed  him  for  drawing.  I  feel  more  and  more  the  need  of  a 
useful  grammar  of  art  for  young  people,  and  simple  elementary  teach- 
ing in  public  schools.  I  have  always  hoped  to  remedy  this  want,  but 
have  been  hindered  hitherto. 


